#but again he threatened a now-friend of mine with a knife so maybe I dodged a bullet

[snickerzanddoodlez]

I’ve never been popular but once a kid had a crush on me and I honestly look back on it with regret because he was totally my type, but then he got “asked to leave” for threatening a kid with a knife so maybe I dodged a bullet

[blackmissfrizzle]

Sweatpants SZN (Miguel Edition)

Characters: Miguel Galindo x black!reader (Reader used from Wild Child)

Summary: The reader gets the rare sight of Miguel in sweatpants

Warnings: Smut, knife play, a lil violence

A/N: Shoutout to @thesandbeneathmytoes sending me this video that inspired this fic.

“Marcus, where’s my husband?” You just gotten back from work and were eager to see Miguel. “He’s downstairs training with Nestor, Mrs. Galindo.” When you heard the word training, you took off and ran for the gym, Marcus’ laugh getting fainter with each step you take.

The reason for your Usain Bolt run was that it wasn’t often that you got to see Miguel train aka see him in gray sweatpants. He only wore them when he was in the gym because he didn’t consider them proper loungewear (like he has time to lounge anyway).

You got there out of breath, but you were there just in the nick of time. Miguel was sparring with Nestor in the ring. As the boss, there was no need for your husband to get his hands dirty but he always needed to stay sharp. It was a great turn on to see him this way. Primal, swift, and strong. An alpha.

He was keeping up with Nestor which was no easy feat. That man was military trained and a top-notch killer. “Alright, good job Mikey.” Nestor patted his friend on the back and jumped out the ring. “Y/N,” he acknowledges you on his way out.

“You’re either getting slow or he’s getting good,” you nudged him the ribs. “Watch yourself.” He nudged you back and ruffled your hair.

“Mi amor.” He came out of the ring and kissed you. “Nestor’s getting slow or I’m getting good? I don’t know if I should be insulted or proud.”

“How was your day,” you ignored his comment and changed the subject. Miguel smirked at you, knowing you were avoiding the subject of his fighting capabilities. “Actually good, Agro project moving on and the other world is quiet.”

Miguel kept talking, but you weren’t listening. You would give the mandatory ‘mmhmm’ and look in his eyes for a bit, but your eyes always made it back to his dick. It really was a shame he wouldn’t wear the sweats more often. Or maybe it was a good thing, because nothing would get done if he did.

“Baby,” Miguel lifted your chin with two of his fingers. “My eyes are up here.”

“I know that.” You pulled away, feeling a bit of shame at being caught. “They’re just sweats. Nothing special. I don’t get why you get all hot and bothered.”

“Same reason you bend me over when I wear those green shorts,” you whispered in his ears as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “But they make your ass looks so delicious.”

“And these,” you gripped his dick, “makes you your dick look scrumptious. Makes me want to slurp it like an icee.”

“Mujer tonta (Silly woman), anyway how was your day?” You tried, you honestly did, but you couldn’t continue talking to your husband without looking at his crotch. Miguel was tired of it, so he decided to get your attention. He swung at you, knowing your reflexes were quick.

Blocking his punch with your forearm, you threw your own only for him to block it. “So that’s how its gonna be?” You kicked off your heels and threw off your suit jacket. “Si, let’s see if Nestor is getting slow or if I’m getting good.” Smiling you circled around Miguel, planning your attack. “I’m putting my money on Nestor getting slow.”

Your tactic, wait Miguel out. Being weaker than Miguel meant that you had to use his body as leverage. “Come on, Miguelito. Show me those killer moves,” you taunted him.

At first, Miguel got a couple of licks in. He was definitely getting better, but you wouldn’t let him know that. Spinning your leg around, you went to kick him, but Miguel caught it. “Really, honey? You go for that every time.”

“Hmm, you’re right.” Using your free leg, you swiped Miguel’s leg from under causing him to fall on the mat. Quickly, you got on top of him. “Pinned ya again,” you smiled down at him.

Miguel couldn’t be mad that you bested him, because the view he got was breathtaking. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” He stroked your cheek. “Hmmm, I believe you told me when I was on my lunch break.”

“That was too long ago, so I’m gonna tell you again. The moon, the stars, the universe couldn’t contain my love for you.” Leave it to Miguel Galindo, ruthless businessman and cartel boss to make you all soft and gooey inside. “I love you too, Senor Galindo, but if you wanted pussy all you had to do was ask.”

Miguel laughed as he pulled you down to kiss him. The kiss started off innocently, but as it went on it gained heat and you began grinding on Miguel. His hands went for the buttons of your blouse, but than Nestor ran in. “Nestor no!” You pointed at the man to leave and take whatever bad news with him.

“Sorry, Y/N/N. Mikey, it’s an emergency.” Nestor informed Miguel and then left, not wanting to see anything explicit between you two.

Pushing Miguel’s shoulder, you picked up your discarded shoes and jacket. “You just had to jinx it.”

“What?” He asked, somewhat jogging to the room so he could shower quickly. “Earlier you said there was no problems in the other world and now look there’s a problem.”

Miguel pulled you by the hips and smirked down at you. “So, you were listening?”

“Of course, I was listening. I can multitask. Now shower so you can leave and come home faster.” Miguel followed your orders and promptly left the house, making you promise not to stay up for him.

Boredom struck. The boys were helping out with Miguel, so you couldn’t go to the clubhouse and hang with them. You already visited Felipe, so you didn’t want to bother him. Your girl friends all had their own boos to snuggle up to and you weren’t in the mood for tv. What you were in the mood for though was teasing.

Typically, you wouldn’t tease Miguel when he had a work emergency, but your body was still revved up from early. A little teasing wouldn’t hurt. Quickly you shed your frumpy clothes and put on the green booty shorts Miguel loved, a white lacy bra, and halfway zipped hoodie. Standing in your full body mirror, you took a couple of photos until you were satisfied with them.

Sifting through the photos, you finally choose the winner and sent it to Miguel. He responded quicker than you expected him to.

Miguelito: What is wrong with you? I’m working!

You: I just wanted to show you what you have waiting for you at home. It was a onetime thing.

Miguelito: Well, now I’m unsuccessfully hiding a hardon from your friends.

When Miguel told you that you switched to the group chat and threatened your friends.

You: Leave my husband alone or you can’t come over for Sunday dinner.

Coco: My bad!

Angel: Damn that’s cold!

Gilly: Angel started it!

Angel: Snitch!

You: Children. I’m friends with children.

You left the men alone, knowing they had work to do.

That text held you over for a couple of hours, but boredom hit you once again. One more picture couldn’t hurt, and it would be less harmless. Taking a lollipop out of the candy dish, you unwrapped it and placed it in your mouth suggestively, taking selfies of the lower half of your face.

You: Last one, I promise.

Miguelito: You don’t know how to fucking listen. Wait til I get home.

Hoe well, you thought and didn’t bother to respond.

Soon, you found entertainment elsewhere making time fly by. You were sitting on the island swinging your legs while eating cookies and cream ice cream when Miguel finally came home. “Didn’t I tell you not to wait up?”

“Yup,” you emphasized the ‘p’, licking your spoon clean. “But when do I ever listen?”

“True,” Miguel took the spoonful of ice cream and put in his mouth. “Hey, that’s mines!” The thief didn’t care. He kept on eating your ice cream like it was his.

Enough was enough. Grabbing one of the kitchen knives you swiped at Miguel, but he dodged it. “You sure you want to do this, sweetheart?” Miguel grabbed a knife of his own and twirled it around. “Yeah, we both know you’ll end up on your back with me pinning you again.”

“You’re too cocky, mi amor.” Miguel swiped at you and your knives clashed. The two of you fought throughout the kitchen. If you weren’t busy protecting yourself, you would’ve admired your man, but right now he was the enemy and you had to kick to his ass.

Miguel was gaining on you. You didn’t expect him to have this kind of energy after the day he had. He should’ve been more tired than this. Maybe he is actually getting better.

Using a random kitchen towel, you tried to twist the knife out of Miguel’s hand, but he must’ve been hitting the weights because his arm wouldn’t budge.  With his other hand he twisted your arm, taking your knife and holding in under your hair in the back while his is at your throat.

For awhile both of you stood there, staring at each other. Miguel with smugness and victory and you with shock and lust. “You should’ve known better, mi amor. Knives aren’t your strongest suit, you should’ve stuck to guns.”

“I guess you are getting better.”

The knife Miguel had to your throat was lightly trailing your skin. Your breath quickened as the metal went down to your clavicle and to your chest. Miguel cut through your bra, shorts, and underwear. “Hey!”

“Shut up,” Miguel backed you into the counter. “I’ll buy you more.” He dropped both knives and caressed your body with his hands instead. “So beautiful,” he stroked the edge of your hair with his pinky. “My little wild child of a wife. What am I gonna do with you?”

Pulling the collar of his shirt, you bent Miguel down to kiss you. “Whatever you want, my dear husband.”

“Whatever?” He raised his eyebrows at you and backed away to the refrigerator. “Whatever.” You leaned back and spread your legs wide open to expose your dripping folds.

Miguel took an ice cube and crunched it in his mouth. His cold kiss on your shoulder caused you to hiss at the beautiful sting it caused on your body. “I really should punish you for those pictures earlier, but I got this beautiful body in front of me and now I want you crying from my cock. Do you want that, baby?” Miguel tugged on your bottom lip while he scissored two fingers inside of you.

“God, yes,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “Look at you,” He drew out his fingers from you, your stick essence clinging them together. “So needy and desperate because some of goddamn sweatpants. You’re my little slut, huh?”

“Yes, Miguel.”

“Uh huh,” he seized up your neck. “Wrong name.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Better,” he harshly grabbed you by the neck and kissed you. Eager to get things moving along, you started unbuckling Miguel’s belt and pushing down his slacks.

“Clam down.” Miguel ordered you when you groaned when he had to stop kissing you to take off his shirt. “Can’t even stop touching you without you having a damn fit.”

Kissing along his neck, you dug your fingers in his hair. “I can’t help it, daddy. I’m your little slut.”

“Damn right,” Miguel growled, slamming into you.  “So, fucking tight. You were made for me.” Miguel was fucking you just like he was fighting with you earlier. Sharp, precise, and fast. This time he was hitting his target, making sure you felt every little thing.

“Daddy, please,” the tears were running down your face. It was too much too fast. “Daddy please what?” Miguel mocked you, leaning his forehead against yours. “Its getting too much for you?” He led you into a false sense of security, because in your drunk state you thought you could push him away. Miguel took your offending hand and twisted it behind your back. “See, that’s not what you’re gonna do. You’re not gonna run from this dick after you were acting like a damn fiend today.”

“But daddy,” you tried to kiss Miguel, but he pulled away and darkly chuckled at you. “That’s not nice, daddy.” You pouted, disappointed that Miguel denied you a kiss.

“It wasn’t nice when you doubted daddy’s fighting skills today. It wasn’t nice when you sent those pictures knowing I had a work emergency.” Once again, Miguel wrapped his hand around your throat but with much more pressure. “Actually,” he whispered in your ear like you two weren’t in the comfort of your home. “I’m quite merciful,” he slowed down significantly, making you feel the drag of his dick and miss it when he pulls out all the way. “I’m allowing you the pleasure on my cock, but I need one thing from you.”

“Wha- wh- wha- what is that?” You stumbled over the words, ready to do whatever your man says.

“Beg.” He enunciated perfectly, still keeping up with his slow pace. The thought to say no crossed your mind. Oh, how you loved to but the need to cum was overwhelming and you could always act up later and lure him into thinking you were going to be compliant for the night. This was just the first of many rounds for the night. “Daddy, pretty please let me cum on your beautiful cock.”

“There’s my good girl.” Miguel smiled and kissed you as he pulled you closer to drill into you. His name left your mouth repeatedly like a fervent prayer.

“Keep squeezing me just like that.” He panted in your ear, grabbing a handful of ass.

“Fuck. Fill me up, let me make you a real daddy.” Miguel came to a complete stop. “You’re serious?”

Cupping his face, you gave him a million little kisses. “Yes. I wanna make my daddy a daddy.” Expanding your family has been weighing on your mind heavily lately. Baby fever was getting to you and you couldn’t wait anymore to have some with Miguel.

Miguel snapped his hips into yours, resuming his brutal pace. “You’re gonna look exquisite with carrying my babies.” He whispered softly, contradicting from how hard he was fucking you. “You’re not working though.” He added, knowing you were just as much as a workaholic as he was.

“Debatable.” You weren’t about to get into this argument with Miguel while he was balls deep in you and you weren’t even pregnant yet.

“You can never just agree with me, can you?” Miguel didn’t give you a chance to answer, he just went harder of that was even possible. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll fuck it out of you tonight.”

You couldn’t do much, but you managed to roll your eyes. Good luck with that, you thought.

Miguel bit into your shoulder. “A fucking brat until the end.” He pummeled into you, triggering your release and his.

Both of you stood or rather Miguel stood there with you wrapped around him, covered in sweat. Kissing the spot where he bit you, he asked, “You were serious right? That wasn’t just heat of the moment dirty talk?”

“Yeah I’m ready to start a family…well only if you are.” You quickly added, suddenly nervous that Miguel changed his stance on kids. “Of course, I am,” he smacked your ass. “I get to tame your wild ass down.”

“Never! Imma have a mini-me and we’re gonna run you ragged,” you cackled, thinking of all the ways of you and your future child will terrorize Miguel.

“Typical.” Miguel shook his head as he walked the both of you to the bedroom. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Let me slurp you like an icee?” You bat your eyelashes at him. The corner of his mouth ticked before he rolled his tongue around. “Yeah something like that.”

Welp, looks like you were about to get that punishment.

Tagging: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @otomefromtheheart @ljstraightnochaser @my-rosegold-soul @angrythingstarlight @brattyfics @lovebennycolon @langiinspirations @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @spookys-girl @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

[nightwingshero]

"Next time I'll hit you like I mean it" for Jane pleaseee? 🥺✨

Thank you sweetie!! Have some Jane canon!!! I just want to make it clear that I am not at all responsible for the damage she causes. She is who she is. 

It was fucking annoying. But if I was being honest, there wasn’t much that wasn’t nowadays. Even as I sat there with my feet propped up on one of our supply boxes, I couldn’t help but dig my knife into the wooden table next to me as they carried on. Even as Randy stood off in the distance, too preoccupied playing fetch with his new pitbull John had gifted him. Blue was about a year now, and she was so full of energy and getting so big. I couldn’t wait to see her once she was older, even though I would never admit it.

I watched in distaste as the others carried in supplies for John, stacking things neatly in his hanger. It annoying, watching over shit like this when there were more important matters at hand, like the Reaping that had just started. I had insisted we take back Fall’s End, that we could easily do it. And eyeing my sniper rifle leaning against a crate, I felt that familiar urge again. This time I would drag Fairgrave out myself, kicking and screaming if I had to. But John had decided not to, insisting that the new Sinner—the new heretic—wasn’t one we needed to concern ourselves with. Just a rookie deputy that was still green around the edges, someone that didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. It was amusing to me slightly, that the so-called Resistance trusted someone so inexperienced to spearhead this. Perhaps it would be easier to take them out now, all things considering. Either way, I was ready to test those boundaries, to see what made her so damn perfect to be a leader. I was ready to knock her ass down a peg.

“Viking Princess looks displeased, does she demand a sacrifice to appease her?” Randy teased as he approached, using the rope to play tug a war with the puppy.

“Shut up, Randy.”

“Pissed off, indeed.” He smirked. “What do yah got up your ass this time?”

I glared at him then, the mischief dancing in his light blue green eyes as I wondered how fast I could cut his face to pieces. It wasn’t as if we haven’t fought before, enough to know that I was at a disadvantage…for now. His size and experience in fighting outweighed mine, but I knew I would better him. I would take him the fuck down and see who the fuck was smiling then, with this face bloody in the ground. “Fuck off.”

Raising his brow, he pulled a chair out and straddled it, his eyes shifting to the few members that were doing most of the work. It was one of his fancy days, dressed in a button up and waistcoat. The Chosen always got special treatment, and when you were John’s, you were really special. Being John’s righthand had given us privileges…like not dressing like a fucking homeless person. I preferred a tank top and jeans, it was easier to move in, it was more practical and made more fucking sense to me.

“Y’know…you could just work that shit out, mate. Go punch a tree or something.” My grip on my knife tightened as I stabbed the table again, this time with more force than before. “Ain’t no reason for scarin’ everybody.”

“They can fuck off.” I muttered. It was infuriating. And maybe the problem was that I was stuck here, overlooking low-leveled members when I could have been out there, fighting and bringing people in like I was trained to do. What was the point of being one of the best marksmen in the fucking county when I couldn’t even use it? Or perhaps part of it was because I was itching to fight her. It was only a matter of time before our paths would cross again, and I knew exactly where she would be holed up. After her father died, that’s all she ever fucking did. Visit her father’s memorial at that fucking church.

I couldn’t wait until John gave the order to destroy them.

“They’re taking to fucking long. It’s annoying. And why the fuck are we here when we can be out there?” I spat bitterly, throwing a glare at one a younger guy, his eyes immediately cast down as he hurried past and out of my line of sight. “What’s the fucking point of this bullshit?”

“Supplies are important.” Randy answered as he lightly tossed the rope, Blue quickly running after it. “And we’re Chosen. Not a Priestess, not a hunter—”

“Who would wanna work with Jacob anyway?” I scoffed, my foot pushing against the crate and tilting my chair on the back legs. “Have you fucking been up there? Couldn’t handle the training he gave, can’t imagine workin’ for his ass. I’d scar that face up more than it already is.”

“Easy there, Scarface. You almost became one of his.” He threw me a smirk and I knew he was messing with me, doing what he could to poke and get me riled up. It wouldn’t fucking work though, not this fucking time.

“Almost became one of hers too, but could you fucking imagine? Rainbows and sunshine. Iced teas and fucking brownies. Fuck that shit. I don’t need that fucking overly sweet southern belle trying to make me smile all the damn time. She fucking hugged me last time.”

“Hmm. The Mother’s not so bad.”

“Pretty sure she poisoned Brady and almost got Miss Mable.”

“That a bad thing?” he laughed. “Mable is someone I can live without. You meet Brady? Asshat.”

I rolled my eyes at him and made a face. “She makes my teeth fucking rot. And she’s touchy. I don’t fucking like touchy.”

“But you’ll let Faith braid flowers in your hair.”

Grabbing the nearest glass, I chucked it at his head and watched in frustration as he skillfully dodged it. I didn’t know what I was expecting, it was so fucking him. Perfect fucking Randy, with his beard and muscular frame. His eyes found mine again, his small smile not widening even the slightest before he pulled the rope away from Blue and threw it again. “Fuck. You.”

My hand twitched on the knife that was still protruding from the table, wishing nothing more than to fucking fight someone, to go after Grace or that fucking deputy. Anything but to sit here, watching as everything fucking went on without us. When was the last time we got into a good fight? When was the last time I saw Randy beat someone until his fists ran red? I was tired of being on the sidelines while our people were constantly being attacked, constantly at war. It was bullshit that I was just used to babysit when I could do so much fucking more, I was better than this shit.

My mood only seemed to worsen when the next person came in, her honey blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, her head held high as if she owned the fucking place. I sneered as Holly looked around, her arrogance dripping off of her. Once upon a time we had gotten along a bit, which I suppose for me it just meant I hadn’t threatened to fucking kill her. Randy had defended her, people said, in a bar from her abusive husband. This was when John had been talking to her, slowly convincing her to join us. Which only led to him bailing Randy out that fateful night…and a few years later, we were here. Giving me plenty of time to know that I was tempted to rip her extensions out from time to time.

“She’s sleeping with Johnny again.” Randy sighed as Blue ran back, her front paws on his leg to hold herself up as he pets her, cooing praises.

“Shocker.” I muttered as I dug the knife out roughly. “Probably because poor Holly couldn’t snag her a place next to the Father. She wants a fucking position and thinks being the Baptist’s wife is gonna fall in her lap because she blows him. Fucking Holly.” After giving a quick look around, her eyes fell on us and an overly sweet smile spread across her face. I suddenly longed for the presence of the Mother in comparison.

“Hey, y’all! How yah doin’?”

Fucking Christ.

“Holly.” Randy gave a polite smile in return, a slight nod as he gave attention to the excited puppy tugging on the rope. Satisfied with the attention from him, she looked at me expectantly, her smile becoming tight. My chin tilts, holding my head high as I stared her down, daring her and showing her that I wasn’t playing her fucking game. I wasn’t her friend, I wasn’t gonna cater to her. She wasn’t my fucking Herald, no matter how badly she wanted to be.

“Well hey there, Jane.” She called, finally breaking the silence between us. I moved my feet, allowing my chair to fall back onto the floor on all fours again. Eyeing her up and down, I gently slid my knife back in place. John wouldn’t be too happy if I impulsively stabbed her, and I wasn’t taking any chances. I would behave…for now.

“Surprised to see you out here considering I never see you do any heavy lifting.” I replied, enjoying the way her face turned a bit pink. Pride swelled as I smirked at her.

Finally recovering, she scoffed. “Well, it seems that all your heavy lifting is going just fine.” She offered a pointed look at Randy as she put her hands on her hips as her words dripped with condescension. “You really are Sloth, aren’t you? Just sitting there when you can put those muscles of yours to actual use.”

It happened too fast for her, but I was in her face the next second, making her stumble back in shock as I glared at her. Randy watched quietly and I knew he was trying to tell me to ease up, to not let me be ruled by the pride that felt wounded on his behalf. But I wasn’t going to allow this, not when she owed him. Not when she needed to know her motherfucking place. So, I followed her stumble, taking a menacing step forward as the others stopped to watch.

She was trembling underneath her façade, her eyes wide as she tried to stand strong. It looked pathetic on her, it didn’t fit right on her. Not the way it was with the Heralds, not with Whitney, let alone on of the Chosen. Holly didn’t deserve the entitlement she reeked of. She earned nothing. I sneered in her face, our noses coming close to touching. The creak of his chair tells me he’s tensing, Randy’s own way of reminding me where we are, reminding me that I need to keep it together. I just wanted to claw her fucking eyes out. Just a little bit. Just enough to draw blood, to make her blind, to make understand that I wasn’t someone to fuck with.

“Most of your work is done behind closed doors, Holly. I would say watch your fucking mouth, but I think we’re both well fucking aware of what comes in and out of it.” Her mouth hangs open as she gaps at me like a fucking fish, taken aback by the crude and direct words that I’ve spoken. It makes me want to laugh at her. “Remember who’s in charge here. Last time I checked, we’re the Chosen. Fucking John doesn’t give you power here, don’t even fucking try.”

I wanted her to swing. I wanted her to give me a fucking reason to drop her, I was practically shaking for it. Violence vibrated in my veins, making me run hot. Another creak from his chair as he shifts, a subtle clearing of his throat, and I know I need to walk it off. Perimeter check was probably due, Randy could easily watch over this to make sure everything was in order. Maybe I could work of the frustration. Maybe I would see someone and be able to use my fucking rifle for once.

With one last glance over her, looking down at her, I turn away with the intention of grabbing my gun. I could make Randy pay me back later, giving me his best whiskey at his cabin while we sat around the fire. He fucking owed me for this. Biting my tongue until I was sure I could taste the iron of my own blood. The temptation to spit it in her face is one I have to shove down hard. Her scoff stops me though, makes me listen careful as her nasally voice echoes through the hangar as everyone hold their breath.

“Bitch, you fucking wish you could. You’re just jealous that nobody fucking wants you. Grace didn’t want you, your own husband didn’t fucking want you. Best you can do is this washed-up lumberjack—"

Years of ballet. That’s what it is, and I wouldn’t ever fucking admit that shit to anyone. But that’s how I’m able to turn on my toes so quickly. It’s how I’m able to throw my elbow in her face as swiftly as I do. I didn’t care what anyone fucking said, dancing gave you a fighting advantage. Cardio, flexibility, speed, balance…it was useful in moments like this. She jerked back, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to process, but I wasn’t giving her the time to. Finishing my turn, I reach out and grab the back of her head with my other hand, quickly slamming her face against the table. I smiled when I hear the satisfying crunch, that’s when I let her go and watch as she slips to the floor on her back. There’s blood from her broken nose and busted mouth, running down her face. Finally.

Her hands cup her nose, covering her face as her scream pierces the air, and even though it’s muffled by her hands, it was enough to carry through the hangar and I’m sure it could have been heard outside. I just hoped that John had decided to keep his damn office windows closed. Randy sighed as he calmed Blue, and I just glared down at her, towering over her with clenched fists. “Let this be a fucking warning to you, Pepper. I do not care to be fucked with, and I fucking dare you to pull that shit again. Because next time?” A humorless laugh escapes my lips as I sneer. "Next time I'll hit you like I mean it." Giving her one more onceover, I turn back and see the others gapping at me, completely shocked and a bit terrified. Good. “What the fuck are you doing? Brother John needs this shit done, get it done!” I snapped, making them scramble and collect themselves as they continued moving supplies in.

Randy follows me instead of staying behind, Blue nipping at the edges of my trenchcoat as we walk, the incident completely forgotten. He gave me a side glance as he crossed his arms. “Johnny boy ain’t gonna like that.”

“John’s judgement is obviously clouded, Randy.” I scoffed. “Someone needs to fix that for him.”

[twisted-tales-of-all]

The True Commitment

Bodyguard!Jeno x (Gender Ambiguous) Lawyer!Reader ft. Lawyer!Taeyong

Requested by @mirohhhuuuu​

Summary: As a lawyer specializing in werewolf-human affairs, you run the high risk of attacks from those whose cases didn’t work out properly. You’ve had multiple bodyguards injured before, but this new bodyguard deals with the idea of werewolf attacks suspiciously well. What’s his secret?

Word Count: ~2.2K

Warnings: Werewolf AU, mentions of death and trauma, violence, betrayal, lying

"What are you going to do now? That's the fourth guard to get injured this month. Nobody will want to work for you anymore, Y/N." Your partner, Taeyong, asks, worried for your safety.

"Believe it or not, there's a resume that came in earlier today. At least one person still wants to be my bodyguard."

"Yeah, until they get injured, too. They'll quit, just like the others. Why can't you go back to non-violent cases? It's only been a month, but you've been threatened and attacked so much already."

You roll your eyes at Taeyong, not wanting to explain for the hundredth time that solving violent crimes has been your dream since the incident with your brother. You were only 12 years old then, but you knew that the person they convicted in the case was wrong. You've felt wronged all these years, insisting that you'd find his killer to truly bring him peace. Taeyong's heard the story plenty of times; he knows why you refuse to stick to non-violent cases, but he can't help but worry that your obsession with your brother's killer will end with your injury.

As the two of you part ways, you breathe out and pull out your headphones, deciding to blast music to get rid of your thoughts for the small remainder of the walk home. As you walk up the stairs of your building, you notice something unusual about the second flight, seeing them stained by a black liquid. Taking no chances, you decide to call the elevator to take you up the remaining way to the fourth floor. When the doors open to your floor, a man stands there, waiting for you. This wasn't someone from any violent case. You truly don't recognize this man, but he definitely recognizes you, diving for you the moment the doors fully open. Luckily, you've trained your reflexes enough to dodge him and hit the "door close" button on the elevator before rushing out and down the hall.

Quickly, you unlock the door and slam it behind you as you enter your apartment. You lock the three locks you have and lean against the door, wondering who the man was. It's possible he was a friend or family member of someone you put in jail, but, usually, they don't get that violent. With a shake of your head, you throw the thought away. Instead, you dig the new resume out of your bag and sit down to look it over.

"Hm... Seems promising. He's young, too, so he should be pretty fast. I usually wouldn't hire teens, but I don't have much of a choice."

You dial the number on the resume, reaching voicemail. You leave him a message, asking him when he can start work. Then, you throw yourself onto your bed, exhausted.

"Don't worry, Jaejoong. Slowly, but surely, I'll give you your peace."

With that, you drift off to sleep, woken up in the morning to banging on your front door. Grabbing your phone to check the time, you're blinded by the bright pop-up, indicating that you have 14 missed calls from Taeyong, despite it only being 7 AM.

"Ugh... What on earth?" You roll out of bed, too tired to make yourself presentable. Opening the door, you're greeted by Taeyong screaming at you.

"Why can't you wake up early like the rest of us? I've been trying to call you! The office is trashed! Whoever it was probably destroyed evidence in the case we're close to closing!"

Still too tired to deal with it, you shrug it off and head back to your bed. Taeyong follows you, giving you a run-down of everything that's happened. While you ignore most of it, one part catches your attention, "Wait, say that again."

"Some kid came by, asking for you. Said you called him last night about working."

"He went to the office? Damn it, kid. You should've just called me back." You scramble to get your phone, dialing the number again, ignoring your partner's rant about hiring a child.

You finish the call and rush to get ready. Taeyong, who accepted being ignored, lays on your bed while scrolling through his social media feed, unfazed by your sudden energy spike. Once you're ready, you announce it to your partner, who simply follows you out the door.

When you both arrive at the office, a young man with innocent brown eyes waits for you at the entrance.

"Jeno, right? I'm Y/N and this is my friend, Taeyong. We usually work together on cases, but you'll be working under me. I work with violent and non-violent cases that involve werewolves. Do you think you can handle guarding me, even if werewolves come and attack?"

Without batting an eye, the boy calmly insists that he believes he can, "Trust me. I'll do better than any other guard you've hired."

"What makes you so sure?" You hear Taeyong chuckle at your question, so you turn your attention to him.

"I'm sure he has his reasons. Let's just let him prove it."

It's strange for Taeyong to trust someone so quickly, so you take his word on it and hire Jeno on the spot. Then, all three of you make your way upstairs to examine the destroyed office. Taeyong explains that he arrived this morning to the office door broken down and the inside completely trashed. He asked for the security tapes but found nothing unusual on them, so he insists that someone hacked the system.

During Taeyong's long explanation, Jeno walks away and takes a look at the nearest camera.

"Liar." He starts, gaining everyone's attention. "How can you check them when they were turned off yesterday?"

You look to the evidence and see that Jeno is telling the truth. The camera is off, with the last recorded time shortly after you and Taeyong left last night.

"Alright, so maybe I didn't check them. I kinda rushed over to check on you, concerned that you might've been attacked at home."

Even though you consider Taeyong one of your most trusted friends, you begin to doubt him, "So, why lie about it, then? Why not just say that so we can check the tapes together?"

Taeyong stumbles over his words, trying to explain how he wanted to sound more productive than he truly was. Although you tell him he's forgiven for the slip-up, you keep in mind that he was the first one to see the destruction. As much as you don't want to suspect your friend, you know that you need to think logically and consider all suspects. Jeno also clearly suspects him, always making sure he's in between you and Taeyong, keeping his eye on him no matter what.

After you clean up the disaster in your office, you only find one thing missing: the file on your brother's case. You're infuriated at this, as it makes it even more likely that Taeyong had some involvement in this. However, still not wanting to suspect him too much, you choose not to confront him until finding more evidence against him.

While the day started in chaos, the workday drags on. You and Taeyong discuss the case you're working on for the weekend while Jeno sits nearby, hyperfocused on your partner.

Once the workday ends, you find yourself walking home with Jeno instead of Taeyong, who went home about a half-hour earlier.

"Jeno, you suspect him, too, right?"

"There's no good reason to lie about checking the tapes, so yes. I'll be keeping an eye on him, even if you call him your friend."

"Good idea. It wasn't just the security camera that bugs me. He said the intruder destroyed evidence that was still there. The only thing missing was a folder of a personal case of mine. He's disliked my interest in the case for years."

He agrees that it's very suspicious, but before you can continue the conversation any further, a man jumps out in front of you, knife aimed directly at you. Quickly, Jeno brings you behind him. The man still directs his threats at you, telling you to drop the Jaejoong case. You freeze for a second, eyes wide, but anger boils inside.

"Why should I drop it, huh? What's that to you?!" The rage erupts when you recognize him, "You're the guy who attacked me last night! What the hell did I do to you?! Are you the one who actually killed him?! What do you know?!"

At this point, Jeno has to not only protect you from the assailant but also hold you back from attacking the stranger at the same time. He struggles to stay between the two of you, and the stranger only makes it worse by taunting you.

"So what if I killed him, huh? What are you gonna do? What if I came back for his little sibling? Maybe I should've killed you both back then." He jokes with a smirk plastered on his face. 

Although he's clearly faking it, you lunge yourself forward, blinded by your anger. Jeno manages to stop you just before the stranger jabs at you, getting cut in your place. Hearing his groan of pain snaps you back to reality, so you look to him to make sure he's okay. Rather than looking at you, he steadies himself before punching the guy in the chest. The stranger drops the knife as his hands fly to his chest, trying to regain the breath that the punch took from his lungs. Jeno kicks the knife back towards you, and you cover your hand to pick it up without leaving your fingerprints. When you look back to the two boys, Jeno has one of the assailant's hands pinned behind his back tightly.

"So, what do we do with him?"

Before you respond, you dial the police and explain the situation. After hanging up, you simply respond, "That."

The stranger starts laughing - a laugh fit for a psychopath - and slowly lifts his head towards you. His teeth showing clear, sharper than human teeth. Suddenly, you realize the danger. He wasn't just any man with a knife - no, this man is a werewolf. In a matter of mere seconds, your worry for Jeno grows stronger. He's still a teenager, with years to look forward to. He shouldn't be risking his life to protect - SMACK.

The noise brings you back to reality, and you make a mental note about zoning out too much. Looking over, you expect the worst. You fear that the wolf overpowered Jeno and ran, maybe taking a piece of your bodyguard with him. What you find, however, is the wolf's face against the floor, Jeno's hand holding him down with ease.

"You... can overpower a werewolf?" Your confusion shows.

"This lame excuse of anything more than a human isn't a wolf. Most of the people that get called werewolves are only dogs, nowadays." He calmly explains everything, "It's hard to tell the difference as a human, so everyone is blanketed under 'werewolf,' and we don't fight it."

"We? So, then... If you're more powerful than a, uh, a weredog? Does this mean you're a werewolf?"

"Oh, Taeyong didn't mention that?"

At that moment, the police show up, take the attacker to their car, and start asking you and Jeno questions about the incident. You explain what happened, hand over the man's weapon, and give them your card so they can call you if they need you again. Before they leave, they warn you both to be safe. You and Jeno finally continue your walk to your apartment after seeing the officers off.

"So, Taeyong knows?" You finally ask as you unlock the door to your apartment, gesturing for Jeno to come in after you.

"I assumed that's why he told you to hire me. He's a dog, y'know. He could feel it."

Your eyes grow wide. You and Taeyong worked together for years, yet he never told you anything. Slowly but surely, you feel like Taeyong isn't who you believed him to be at all.

"Y/N? Didn't you know that? I figured that's why the two of you were partners. That's usually how it works - a human and a hybrid usually work together on hybrid cases; the same goes for wolves, except that it can be a weredog or werewolf on the case because of the blurred lines."

"I had no clue. He never told me. Never even hinted at it. I think I'm gonna have to sleep on this thought. Did you want to stay? You're free to use the couch."

After the day's events, Jeno decides that it's best if he stays. After all, he has to protect you, even if it's from your closest friend. He promised his dad that he'd atone for his brother's mistakes. Even if you never figure out that he destroyed the office and stole your file. Even if he has to forever hide the fact that his brother killed yours. He'll protect you. From anything.

Especially since you're his mate. He's known since the day you met years ago. He'd never mistake your sweet scent for anyone else. No matter what, he'll keep his mate safe, even if his own brother comes back to hurt you.

[justlostinautumn]

Agent Zero Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Agent Zero)

Part 1

Agent Zero is the best of the best and puts The Avengers to shame. She isn’t perfect and she knows that, but she has made many good decisions that have gotten her to where she is now and one of them was falling in love with a certain Black Widow. Natasha is the only one to know Y/N (Agent Zero).

Natasha had a big secret that she wasn’t sure she wanted to share with her team. But what happens when that secret is put into the middle of the team. Can she keep her wife secret or will the team all find out? If the team finds out how will they react to the news? How long will their game last and will it blow up in their faces when they are found out?

There are still secrets that need to be shared, stories not fully explained and truths that need to be told. Y/N isn’t a liar, but sometimes you bend the truth so much you don’t even remember what it is anymore.

She had already managed to take out Wanda and Strange. They were decoys in the game her job was to get these four to work together, she could tell they were getting frustrated. Every time Steve would say something Tony would do the opposite.

“I’m getting bored and you don’t seem to be grasping what this exercise is about.” She looked at her nails dodging a knife Bucky threw at her head.

“You’ve not touch Rhodey and I.” Tony laughed.

The next thing they knew Steve threw his shield at her and she caught it spinning around and throwing it up so it hit Tony first and then bounced and hit Rhodey. She slid on the floor and caught the shield landing just by Bucky’s feet who punched down and grabbed the shield she grabbed his metal wrist, twisted it spun on her knee back to him pulled him over her shoulder pulled out the gun and shot him in the head leaving a red paint mark between the eyes. Steve charged at her and without flinching lifted the gun and shot him between the eyes too.

“Your arrogance got two of your strongest team members killed.” She looked at both Rhodey and Stark.

“What do you mean?” Tony was furious.

“I mean if they were bullets you’d be cleaning brains off your floor.” She hissed.

“Agent!” Nick shouted.

“No! Listen good all of you. Since your little Civil War I’ve had to clean up your mess, who do you think kept HYDRA at bay while you lot were having a temper tantrum about everything. So what if Barnes killed your parents Stark? You are fucking selfish! Yes, he’s killed his fair share of people, but he was made a monster. You created machines of destruction, you created Ultron. At the end of the day we all have our ledgers, we all have a hole filled with corpses. All I can say to you Stark is be grateful I wasn’t the one who killed your parents.” She slammed her hands against his chest and before he could fall he was caught by Bucky.

“You have no right to talk to him like that!” Steve shouted.

“Really, you’re going to stand up to the man who put your team in the Raft? The man who allowed his arrogance to let him believe he was a God? It’s funny Rogers. When I first learnt about you I idolised you and your BFF there, people willing to die for what they believe to be right. I was like you, the only difference is you would have killed me because I was born on the wrong team. You died a Martyr! Was it guilt that made you stay on the plane instead of jumping out and living your happy ending?” She tilted her head and she dodged as Rhodey swings at her.

“You need to stop before some kills you.” Rhodey threatens. Y/N can see Nat stiffen and Clint smirk, everyone else is looking in awe as they figure out what she’s doing.

“Aren’t you angry, after all, you did almost become paralysed because of them. The rehab you went through, having to watch your best friend mourn the loss of his parents again, as well as his friends and his team?” She smirked at him, her eyes held nothing but cruelty and malice.

“You bitch!” Bucky shouted and she let him pin her to the floor by her throat.

“Go on Soldat!” She laughed and saw something flicker in his eye, “always one to lose his cool too quickly.”

Y/N wrapped her legs around his metal arm and twisted her body causing him to let go of her. They both got up and she blocked every punch and kick he tried until she kicked him in the chest with enough force for him to hit the wall and leave a bent. Tony, Rhodey and Steve run to him.

“That’s how you get them to work as a team.” She brushes the dirt off her stealth suit as she addresses Fury.

“It was all a trick?” Steve was furious.

“Of course.” She smiled at him.

“How did you know it’d work?” Tony looked shocked as he and Rhodey helped Bucky stand, while Y/N walked up to them.

“I was a test, if you didn’t step in for each other I knew it would be a waste of time. But, you did and now I have something to work with.” She spoke lifting Bucky’s shirt and pushing ribs back into place, as Bruce runs up to her with gauze wraps and helps her wrap him tightly so the ribs don’t move.

“How did you know about the anger thing?” Bucky asked.

“In my time working, you and I have crossed paths. HYDRA liked to move you a lot, it kept people like Fury and that guessing if you were real.” She shrugs tapping his hip indicating he can lower his shirt and a memory burst in his mind.

“You’ve done this for me before.” Bucky looked her over carefully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked at him and her eyes gave him nothing.

“I think we’ve done enough for today.” Fury barked.

“I’m beat.” Y/N smirked at Nick and she looked at Maria who giggled.

“Food?” Nat appeared next to her.

“Yes, I’m starved. Maybe pizza, no… sushi? Mexican? Chinese? Oh God anything, I don’t think I’ve had decent food in a year. Natasha, its been a year since I’ve eaten something that wasn’t HYDRA Asset food. Good God, I want everything!” She looked at Nat giving her puppy dog eyes and she then turned her charm to the team who all looked at her with soft eyes.

“Fine, we will order a bit of everything!” Tony sighs breaking, he could help but be grateful for the girl who just might be able to fix the team.

“Agent Zero had to wrap somethings up on a previous mission.” Clint walked into the room with the information they had been dying to know since yesterday’s introduction and training activity.

“I wanted to train with her.” Bucky looked a little put out.

“Fury said she should be back either this evening or tomorrow.” Clint shrugs.

“Spill everything you know.” Tony leans in and points at both Natasha and Clint.

“Clint’s worked with her more.” Natasha shrugs, it was the truth.

“Bird Boy.” Tony looks at him and the rest of the team are waiting expectantly.

“She’s one of a kind, she was from some organisation. A test subject, no one really knows much about it. She’s only ever been an Agent. Only Fury and Hill knows her name. Everyone calls her Zero or Reaper nothing else.” Clint shrugs.

“She doesn’t do teams. So, when she brings down a base she normally doing it solo.” Nat adds.

“That’s impossible!” Steve looked shocked.

“It’s not if you are on both teams.” Nat finally looks at them.

“What does that mean?” Bucky was defensive.

“She use to be a part of HYDRA, she wasn’t originally from HYDRA but she worked with them. They think she is working for them and helping infiltrate SHIELD again.” Nick spoke from the doorway.

“She’s a double agent?” Tony looked impressed but worried.

“She didn’t lie when she said she was a free agent. She fights for what she wants, it’s just her hatred for HYDRA outweighs the hatred she has for your stupidity.” Nick smirks at them.

“Why would she hate us.” Steve frowned confused.

“There is always a story, but it isn’t mine to tell you and if she wants to tell you she will.” Nick nodded as he looked around the room.

“What can you tell us?” Bucky leaned in something was nagging in his mind and he couldn’t figure it out.

“She is like nothing anyone has ever seen, you only got to experience a small bit of what she can do. She is ruthless and she has killed more than any of you. Know this we are lucky to have her on our side otherwise we would be royally screwed.” Maria says as she walks in casually looking for Nick.

“What’s wrong Agent Hill?” Nick frowns looking at Maria.

“Agent Zero called and informed me there have been some... complications?” Maria raised a brow and Nat stiffen along with Clint and Fury.

“Did she say complication?” Nick looked at Maria who nodded, Nick pulled out his phone and called her, looking at the Team and putting it on speaker.

“Nicolas, how may I help?” She sang through the phone and gunfire could be heard in the background.

“What’s the complication?” Nick frowned at the phone and her voice.

“Oh you know some HYDRA goons decided to see if there was anything to collect and then saw me and may have wanted some target practice.” Nick could hear the amusement in her voice.

“We are coming to help!” Clint shouted.

“NO!” Y/N voice was hard and she had lost any kind of amusement it held originally.

“Why?” Nat was furious at her wife and wanted answers.

“You are far from the Team you were and you coming in would get me killed. I work alone for a reason, I don’t want to be a part of your Team.” Her voice is harsh and cold and Nat felt a little hurt.

“What?” Nat spoke softly.

“Trust me, Natasha, I would team up with you any day but having you drop in now would only get you killed. This isn’t your usual HYDRA Agents, think more Winter Soldier meets a diluted version of me.” They hear her grunt through the line.

“Zero!” Maria shouts.

“Stay the fuck down!” She shouts and they hear a loud gunshot ringing in the room.

“Agent?” Nick sounded worried.

“Don’t worry Nick I’m not dying on you yet, I have a few plans before that happens.” They can hear the smirk and mischief in her voice.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Nick looked at the Avengers who were staring intently at his phone waiting for her answer.

“Shit, shit, shit. Nick this is bad! Take me off speaker right now!” Nick frowned at her.

“Talk to me,” Nick said not taking off speakerphone.

“He’s here.” Was all she said.

“Sweetling, I know you are here.” They hear a voice on the other end.

“Nick!” They can hear the panic in her voice.

“You need him there,” Nick growled looking at Barnes.

“NO! He would be no use, he is not who he was.” She hissed back.

“Sweetling, I know you have no allegiance. I know you are trying to get your Soldier back... tell me that’s the only reason you are with them.” The male voice was louder.

“I have many reasons to do what I do. So what if I want the soldier back?” Her voice was cold and deadly.

“You killed all my men Sweetling, I want you to come back with me. None of this double agent crap... you can be Queen again.” They could hear him purr at her trying to entice her with a title.

“Who’s to say I’m not the Queen right now?” Something in her voice made them shiver, her tone held nothing but power.

“You are always are the Queen, but you need a King and I can be it. Drop the old and upgrade.” An image was being projected to Fury and they saw a burly man and the smaller form of Y/N from a drone she set up. Her head tilts back and they heard her laugh.

“You are hilarious thinking you’re an upgrade.” She cackled, it was cold and the room seems to chill with the sound of it.

“What's so funny?” He changed into a fighting stance.

“You were made to be nothing but guard dogs, sterile. Nothing but disposable! There is only one King and you should learn to respect him.” She growled, her stance like a lioness ready pounce. The look on her face was slightly feral as she snarls at him.

“He will never be King again.” He bellowed.

“Then I will never be Queen again.” She smirked back.

He charged at her and dived and she jumped to the side dodging him but grabbing his arm and swinging herself to land on his shoulder. Legs wrapped around his neck she twisted so fast and loud snap filled their ears and the room and the giant fell and she lept off him.

“Zero?” Nick shouted.

“I’m going to kill you, Fury!” She was pissed because she knew they heard everything.

“She’s a Queen? Bucky was there a Queen and King of HYDRA?” Steve turned to his friend.

“No, there wasn’t. This is nothing to do with you or your Team.” She growled viciously, this was a twisted truth but not an outright lie... I’m not a liar Y/N reminds herself. Nat didn’t know much about the term but Y/N had mentioned something about it being used when referring to her.

“Do you need a medic.” Maria was frowning at the hologram taking in some blood.

“Not my blood, I should leave before he wakes up.” Y/N walks over the body and loots a USB drive from the body and many other things. Checking each for bugs and anything else.

“You coming home?” Clint asked.

“I’m coming back to the compound, yes. It’s not my home.” There was something distant in her voice and they wanted to know who he was. They couldn’t make out his face only his form, almost like she’d done it on purpose.

“See you soon,” Nat said softly, she was worried. Nat knew something was off and there was an issue.

“Yeah... see you soon.” A frown could be seen on her face as she looks directly at the drone and it shuts off along with the phone hanging up.

“Did she say before he wakes up? We all heard that crack, he’s dead... right?” Tony looked at them and they all shrugged and then shivered as they felt the chill at their spines.

Walking in refreshed and in a pair of black jeans and a black tee-shirt, she drops on the sofa next to Clint. 

“Barton.” She grunts.

“Zero,” Clint smirks.

The rest of the Avengers look at her and Clint as they stare at each other unblinkingly. Clint blinks first.

“Ha! I win!” She laughs, it was such a difference to the phone call leaving them with whiplash.

“Evil!” Clint growls going to tickle her but she catches his hands pinning them to his sides and sliding on his lap and then tickling him, he tries to buck her off but she doesn’t budge.

“Submit!” She smirks at him.

“Never!” He shouts and Nat laughs along with the rest of the team.

“Then perish!” She laughs.

Nat can’t help but fall deeper in love with the woman who is tormenting her best friend.

“Nat save me!” Clint shouts.

“I think I’ll pass, you made your bed maybe you should lay in it.” Nat tilts her head and stared at Y/N’s ass.

“Enjoying the view Romanoff.” Y/N giggled as she looked over her shoulder.

“Very much, but I’m not the only one,” Nat smirked, there was a glint in her eyes that Y/N knew well. The Widow was hungry and maybe a little jealous and it caused Y/N to smirk at her. Getting off Clint she saunters over and leans in close.

“Remember Romanoff you can look all you like, but you can’t touch.” Y/N lips were a breath away from Natasha’s and if Nat leaned in a little closer she would be able to kiss her. But, Y/N pulled away before she could and turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Clint shouted.

“Debriefing with Fury and Hill.” She called over her shoulder with a two-finger wave.

“That was so hot.” Wanda looked in awe at the doorway to Nat.

“That is just Zero,” Clint smirks at the shocked faces of the Team and Nat laughed as she dropped next to Clint on the sofa. They need to know more and they knew a perfect time would be team bonding night.

Tags:

@peteyparkersbabyy, @demonstracija, @ludwigvonbaethoven, @i-just-wanna-run-hell, @saturngirlz, @5aftermidnight, @lesbian-x-blackwidow

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 35)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34

Part 36: here

.

LEWIS POV:

Whereas he barely felt the knife stabbing into him, Lewis definitely feels it come out. It doesn’t help that the thing pretending to be Arthur seems to be going out of its way to cause as much pain as possible. And yes, there is a lot of pain. Even with a whole lot of adrenaline smoothing over the worst of it, it is probably the worst thing Lewis has ever experienced. It briefly whites out his vision, so he almost misses Arthur as he steps out of the torchlight. What Lewis does see, in amongst the white spots, is that twisted uncanny smile, smug and self-assured. Nothing like any expression he has seen Arthur make before. It’s all wrong.

Lewis doesn’t remember kneeling, but he must have because suddenly Vivi is crouched in front of him, supporting his weight, preventing from face-planting into the concrete. Quickly, she ties her scarf around his side.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, trying to wave her away, “Go after Arthur.”

“You’ve been stabbed,” Vivi objects, frustrated, adding, “…and I can’t,” blue eyes meeting his before flicking over to Mystery who is blocking her way. The dog is glowing red, and his growls make Lewis’s neck prickle with unease despite not being the target. Right. Because, not only is Arthur possessed by that thing, but Mystery is a supernatural whatever as well. If he weren’t in so much pain, the revelation would be more impactful.

His next words are drowned out by another louder shout.

“ALRIGHT ASSHOLE…STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Both he and Vivi turn. Lewis stares openly at the middle-aged man who seems to have materialised from the gloom, holding a shotgun that moves between all three of them, landing on Arthur.

“Nobody move.” Is ordered in a tone consisting of visibly uncontained rage which doesn’t bode well in the slightest. Just when Lewis thinks they are done with the nasty surprises, another one comes crawling from the woodwork. Lewis struggles to stand so he’s ready to run if need be, his side throbs with a spike of intense pain.

The man, Lewis vaguely recognises him but, with the darkened surroundings, he is hard to really place, addresses Vivi, “Never heard of Arthur huh?”

Vivi stiffens, and Lewis realises, with a quick note of leather clothing, that this must be the leather-wearing crazy guy from earlier. Though, given the circumstances, perhaps he isn’t as crazy as initially thought.

“Good thing I didn’t believe yah now isn’t. You kids are in some real shit,” The man glowers past them, “I finally got ya. Nowhere to run now.”

“I’m sorry. Have we met? You human’s all look alike,” The body snatcher, Lewis refuses to think of this thing as Arthur, sounds mildly irritated.

“You fucking know who I am!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” Lewis recognises one of his chef knives as it is waved around flippantly.

“Sonofabitch. You’re going to regret messing with…”

“Hold it. Wait…” The body snatcher interrupts, clicking its fingers, “I remember. Wait. No…I’ve lost it. Maybe give me a hint?”

The man’s face twists into a snarl of furry, “Slimy rat-bastard…If you think for one…”

“Oh! I’ve got it! Mickey. No. Micky. Yes. Apologies. You were such a useless, forgettable host that it completely slipped my mind.” If the body snatcher is trying to make the other man mad, it is succeeding. Worried, Lewis observes the livid expression on the gunman’s face. Even in the dark, the rage is very apparent.

“How is that gunshot wound treating you? It looks infected.”

“How about I give you a matching one, and you can tell me all about it!?”

“Tch,” Arthur’s green eyes narrow losing some of their humour. Then, seemingly addressing none of the people present, it comments, “And this is exactly why leaving hosts alive always backfires.”

Before, when the creature had been supposedly conversing with Mystery, it had made clear eye-contact with the dog. Now, it gestures loosely into the middle distance. It’s talking to Arthur, he realises, and it simultaneously fills him with hope and makes him sick to the stomach.

“They all get this notion in their head that it’s my fault their pathetic lives went down the toilet. And then it’s all ‘you’ll pay for this’ and whatnot.” It turns Arthur’s eyes back to Micky, “I suppose you’re still mad about your brother. Dan was it?”

“Don’t say you dare say his name!”

“Dan? Short for Daniel? The most promising exorcist in three generations and far better than you could ever be? That Daniel? …Maybe if you’d been even half of what he was, you wouldn’t have been possessed so damn easily. I mean, this kid put up more of a fight, and he’s pretty much a walking collection of neurosis.’”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

“Did you even go back to bury him, or did you just leave him there? What happened to all the ritual, funeral nonsense to send his soul on its merry way? How disrespectful.”

The gun clicks. It’s like it wants to get shot! Lewis feels Vivi tense beside him and knows that she has come to the same conclusion.

“Stop!” Vivi lurches uprights, trying and failing to dodge around Mystery. “If you shoot, you’ll kill Arthur!”

“That fucking brat sent us to our deaths. He’s just as guilty.”

The body snatcher sniggers, “I’m sure Dan would be very unimpressed at how you’re threatening this poor innocent human. I mean, if he weren’t a shish-kebab at the bottom of a cave.”

A loud, almost animalistic, yell. In the fraction of an instant before the gun goes off, Arthur’s body lurches to the right. For a moment, it looks like Arthur might manage to dodge. Lewis’s breath catches.

Crack.

The gun fires. Arthur flickers. It is as if, for a split second, there are two people overlayed atop each other. If the body snatcher is planning to dodge, protecting both itself and Arthur, it fails, stumbling, visibly hurt.

Next, there is an explosion of energy, briefly lighting the space with ominous red. From the flash leaps a giant canid creature with many lashing tails, obstructing his view. The gunman, obviously just as surprised by its appearance, turns wildly, aiming the gun at the new threat. A second shot discharges with another loud crack, point-blank, right into second monster’s chest. The giant- Lewis thinks it might be a fox- doesn’t falter, slamming into the gun-wielding maniac, jaws closing on the weapon.

“Arthur!” Vivi’s voice snaps his attention back to Arthur. Lewis is not sure where the bullet has hit but the way the body snatcher’s face twists, spitting to itself, “You little shit,” before toppling over backwards, means it hit somewhere. He struggles to follow Vivi, who has already run forward, ignoring how his side burns and his breath is more laboured than it should be. Lewis hurries up to his prone friend, spotting the quickly spreading stain of red on Arthur’s left shoulder.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Vivi mutters, “Bleeding…that’s a lot of blood. Need to control the bleeding.” She pulls off her shirt, placing it over the wound, pressing down. Arthur’s eyes snap open, bright green, focusing on Vivi and then on him. They flicker to golden-brown.

“Arthur?” Vivi breaths, also noticing the change.

“Vi…”

“Shh. Don’t speak. Everything will be okay. I don’t think its hit anything important. Just lie still.”

Gold flickers to green again, and Arthur grins, “What’s…up. You…goin…watch him die …with me?” The words get chocked off when the gold returns. The smiles twists into something more pained. Lewis leans in as Arthur tries to speak again.

“No.” Vivi puts out a hand, leaving a red mark on his shirt, “Don’t make skin contact.”

Green and gold flicker again, so fast that the two colours bleed into each other like coloured ink running together. “Even if …you save him…I’ll be here. You’ll never get me out…He’ll be mine for…” It’s the body snatcher, struggling to form words as blood trickles out the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

“Don’t talk,” Vivi snaps. The hand nearest to him twitches, trying to touch her wrist. But the blood loss has made it slow and lethargic, allowing Vivi to draw away.

“Lewis, hold his arm down so it doesn’t try to grab me. I need to keep pressure on this. Do you have your phone on you? We need to call for help, like an ambulance, and….”

Vivi’s instructions wash over him as he stares at the hand then back at Arthur. If they do save Arthur, then they would be right back to where they started, with this thing piloting around his friend’s body. Probably, hurting Arthur in the process because he can’t imagine that it’s a present experience. Lewis takes his phone from his back pocket and places in on the ground.

“Lew…is.” It’s Arthur again, barely managing to speak, breathing hard as Vivi pushes down, stemming the worst of the flow. Even the two words sound so defeated and sad. Lewis can’t just do nothing. Not when he can save Arthur from this thing. In that moment, in the seconds between Arthur’s breathing and the sounds of fighting behind him, Lewis reaches to take Arthur’s hand.

“Look after Arthur.” He orders. Vivi makes a brief noise of objection, but it is too late.

Skin against skin.

Arthur’s hand is unnaturally cold.

There is a sharp pain in his palm which travels up the limb. Quickly, he lurches upright, stumbling two steps back to get as far away from Vivi and Arthur as possible. A portion of his arm begins to turn a sickly green, which travels up towards his shoulder. Arthur, the real Arthur, is now the picture of horror.

“W…hy?” His friend coughs. Lewis finds he can’t respond, body frozen. Slowly, green creeps, inching along, making his skin crawl.

Then, a heavy weight hits him from behind, causing him to stagger. Jaws and sharp teeth clamp down around his upper arm, halting the green. One large, red eye stares at him, almost apologetic. As if moving in slow motion, Lewis sees the fox bite and hears the crunch of bone splintering. Blood droplets spin hypnotically in the air.

It is probably fortunate that, right then, Lewis is yanked back and away. If he can’t handle the pain of a stab wound, he can’t imagine enjoying the sensation of having his arm ripped apart. This is what Lewis thinks while he falls into deeper, more complete darkness.

He is falling, nothingness surrounding him. He is falling right up until he isn’t.

Above him, a ceiling fades into view. Confused, he blinks at the pale grey roof overhead. Is he dead? He doesn’t feel dead. Hurriedly, Lewis sits upright, grasping for his arm. It is still there, attached to his shoulder, no worse for wear. Except, Lewis’s eyes widen, watching the limb flicker, disappearing then reappearing. He can feel it and move it, but when he stares at it for too long, it doesn’t seem real. Transparent.

“…have known… too good to be true….It’s always too good to be true…” The irritated voice, though muffled, is familiar. Lewis twists, searching for its source, finding himself on the floor of a grey-coloured version of the Kingsman workshop. However, unlike Kingsman Mechanics, which was always alive with activity and the sound of machinery, everything here is still and eerily silent. Through the open garage doors, instead of the Tempo desert, Lewis sees an expanse of endless grey void. Across the floor and ceiling spreads several jagged cracks like the room is seconds from falling to pieces.

“…there was no way in any of the hells that some punk human would get away with breaking The Rules and not have it blow up in their stupid face...”

Leaning against the workbench, a few feet away, is Arthur. Only, it’s not Arthur. The skin is tinted green, not unlike his arm in those brief moments before Lewis was pulled down here.

“…and I just got suckered in like some witless porn.” Growling, kicking the bench irritably, not-Arthur grumbles, “What a waste of potential.”

Slowly, Lewis tries to climb to his feet without catching its attention. He is unsuccessful because, no sooner has he moved, its eyes snap to him. Now, instead of bright green, they are flecked with golden yellow.

“Hello Lewis,” It greets in a voice so like Arthur’s that it grates on Lewis’s ears. A larger crack appears across the ceiling, lengthening, almost splitting the room in half. Grey dust rains down around them, and the room shakes.

“Nice of you to stop by, even if it is for a few seconds. I was so looking forward to possessing you too. It really is a shame.”

Lewis glares at the twisted, mock version of his friend, who, despite everything, is still grinning. Now his mind is no longer muddled with the pain of a stab wound, there is new mounting anger. He clenches a fist.

“What’s the matter big guy? Had a rough day? Not often you get stabbed by your best friend now is it?”

Lewis should be scared. This thing has made it apparent that it didn’t give two shits about killing him. Hell, this bastard had stabbed him. Lewis glances briefly at his side. There is no wound to be seen. In his mind’s eye, he sees the last few minutes flash past. He can see Arthur, in pain. His best friend had looked so defeated. Somehow he knows it is this things fault. Everything until now, all the supernatural weirdness and confusion, this thing is at the centre of it all. No, Lewis isn’t scared. He's furious.

"There's the Lewis I was waiting to see. None of that sentimental concerned crap…only anger,” The fake-Arthur grins wider, noting his rage.

"This is your fault." He snaps in lieu of a proper come-back, taking an aggressive step forward clenching and unclenching his fist. "What did you do to Arthur.”

“Hehe, still more worried about Arthur? You really should adjust your priorities, considering there is a high chance that my removal will kill you. Losing an arm isn’t pretty.”

Lewis twitches. The rage builds. It builds in waves, expanding to fill his chest and, before he knows it, he’s across the room, picking the fake-Arthur up by the shirt, and slamming into a wall. There is no real-Arthur here to hold him back. He wants to wipe that smile off its face and make it pay for all the stress and hurt it has forced on all of them in the last few days.

“What happened to Arthur!”

A scoff of contempt. “Nothing happened to Artie, aside from getting shot, he’s back in his body. All he had to do was sit back and not interfere, but instead, he got in the way like the suicidal little shit he is. I’d watch out for that, your friend is a real basket case.”

Lewis sees fire and red. He slams the creature against the wall, causing new cracks to form and spread like a spider web. It feels unevenly satisfying to hurt this creature. It feels good right up until the body snatcher turns its face into something that looks almost exactly like Arthur. No smug smile. Just pain. If it weren’t for the green skin, Lewis might have believed it.

“So willing to hurt Arthur. You’re giving me goosebumps.”

His grip falters. “You’re not Arthur,” He retorts.

“No. But I look like him.  Not that that matters when assigning blame. No wonder Arthur is scared of you.”

His anger simmers down into something more akin to apprehension. Before, outside his family diner, the demon had said something about knowing the truth behind Arthur’s reason for avoiding him. What did this thing know?

Lewis grits his teeth, "I didn't do anything to Arthur. I couldn’t of. It must be something else. Another variable." That’s what Vivi said, and she is right. Why does it sound like he's trying to convince himself now?

"Is that what you think, or is that what our good friend Vivi thinks? She's smart, I'll give you that, a real catch, but you can't rely on her for everything. You have to make your own decisions based on what you want. You know Arthur is scared. You saw it. Pure fear."

The body snatcher gives him a shove in the chest, forcing Lewis to drop the other to the floor. Tense, he watches it spend a moment straitening its shirt in a very Arthur-like move. Suddenly, he feels very guilty despite knowing this was only a replica of his friend.

It grins again, glancing up, “I can show you, you know. I have Arthur’s memories. I can leave them behind before I’m forced to leave." More cracks are appearing now, covering every surface like one half of the room is about to fall away. Deliberately, fake-Arthur leans towards him, “What do you say?”

“Arthur will tell me the truth when he’s ready.” Lewis wants to object further but finds the words stuck.

It laughs, an unpleasant sound, full of malice, “Not if he thinks the truth will hurt you. He’ll continue lying for forever if he thinks it’ll protect you. Besides, you might die right now, so Arthur might not even get the chance. Then you’ll never know.”

Uneasy, Lewis swallows, realising that it is right. Arthur would lie to protect him and Vivi. It is probably the reason why he’d been lying for the last few weeks.  Lewis frowns down at the ground, breaking eye contact, trying to work through what he actually wants and not liking the answer. Its got him. Despite knowing that having Arthur’s memories is a bad idea that it will cause more harm than good, he finds he doesn’t care.

"Well, do you want the truth or not? Quickly now, I don't have a lot of time here."

Why is Arthur scared? He needs to know why. He desperately needs to know.

“I want to know.” He says it before he can really help it.

One elongated step and the body snatcher is suddenly close, acting before Lewis can change his mind. He attempts to move back, but the body snatcher is reaching up, grabbing his collar, yanking him down to eye level, “Good choice.”

Lewis instinctively pulls back, but the faker's eyes swirl hypnotically, shifting to a more potent green, holding him in place.

"It’s been nice talking, I think I’m beginning to see why Arthur’s so damn obsessed with you, so much delicious internal conflict...but alas our time is up.”

The walls around them crumble, splintering apart.

“It may be a day, a year or even a few decades, but I’ll be back so we’ll meet again. That's a promise."

The workshop dissolves.

"Until then, enjoy Arthur’s memories. And remember, you wanted this."

..

Note: Lewis joins Arthur in the pit of bad decisions. 

Part 36: here

[swanky-batman]

Narnia Part 6

Peter Pevensie x Reader, Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: drinking, swearing, violence, probably just mature situations all around.

Part 6! Sorry it’s taken a while to start posting again but I’m trying to get caught up on some of this stuff! Back from my honeymoon now <3 It continues immediately after part 5, I hope you enjoy! (also the gifs aren’t mine!)

Masterlist  || Ko-Fi

Beginning- Previous- Next

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

His heart sped up as he went towards the window, seeing a makeshift escape route. Immediately, he gathered Edmund, Lucy, Susan, Caspian and Reep in his room to speak to them.

They devised a route for each of them to take to cover the most ground, taking a small group with each to search.

One by one, each returned to the castle- empty handed. Peter, who was the last to return after the longest and farthest search, retreated towards his room. Angrily, he tossed his equipment to the side, making a large noise around him as he did. 

He spotted his letter on his desk, tearing it open before pouring over the contents.

Dearest High King,

I am so sorry to leave this way, but your opinion of me breaks me to my core. I cannot, will not, go back with the uncle who sought to leave me- who cannot even look at me.

I cherished the time we all spent together, and will miss you all dearly. Please take care, and keep a watchful eye of those surrounding you. I beg you to be safe, regardless if you will listen to me or not.

Your Ex-Princess

He did not feel better after reading it. He reread it over and over and scoffed at the idea of him listening to her warnings. His mind began to reprocess the events leading up to her seclusion. 

He had trusted her, given her open access to almost all areas of the castle. To his family and most trusted friends…

A knock at the door sent him from his thoughts, calling for the person to come in. 

“Peter, can we speak?” Ed asked, his own letter clutched in his hand.

He sighed, setting his jaw.

“I had a question about the guard that came to speak to you.” Edmund continued after closing the door.

“He did what he thought was right…”

“That’s just it, Peter- how did he know it was something traitorous?” Edmund paused, waiting for his words to hit him. Peter stood, annoyed that there was a questioning of his leadership going on. “How could he have known it was unless he knew what it said himself?”

Peter stopped his groaning, not moving at all for a few moments. When his head whipped around to look at Edmund, his face shown a bit of fear and confusion. “Guards!” He yelled, striding over towards the door.

----

“Oh, mother, look at your daughter. How far I thought I had progressed, just to be part of the wildlings once again.” You murmured to yourself, content with some of the products you had grabbed.

The first few hours had been a scramble after you left the castle. Still early enough before the servants and the sun arose, you had to be quick to get a lead on and not leave a path behind you. You had hidden often with your mother when you were younger but it was like using something covered in dust, trying to remember everything about it.

Once you had gotten further out you still remained cautious, knowing they would probably send out a hunting party for their prisoner- so you perched your stuff high above and dug yourself a cove inside a tree and covered yourself with moss and other coverings. 

Staying there for a while, you had gotten quite cozy and since you hadn’t slept through the night your eyes threatened to close now.

You woke with a snap of your eyes as you heard hoofbeats not far away.

You could hear the horses breath, and the riders as he had to have come far out of the way to get towards you.

You could hear mumbling and were worried you would have to stay hidden from several pairs of eyes so you lowered your breathing to a minimum.

Coming into view, the shaggy hair and tired eyes of the High King himself came into your vision for a split second. There were emotions crossed on his face- concern, worry, slight anger and exhaustion were the ones you caught in the moment. You whispered an apology as he rode on and waited even longer to come out of your hiding.

With the compass you managed to tie around your neck you used the general directions to navigate you to where- you hoped- there was a small village a few miles up. From there you decided to move West as best you could and try to find some sort of work since you were starting from scratch.

“Mother, how did you manage?” You mumbled with a small smile to yourself, suddenly very aware of how alone you were. It had been a while since you had no one else to please, to answer to… to talk to. 

Noises another half hour on your journey made you cautiously step back and pause. Voices- maybe three or four. On horseback, unfamiliar. You held yourself in one spot, sinking into the trunk you were by and counted. Five minutes went by and their voices seemed to be circling your south. Another five minutes and you heard them a little further off.

Taking a deep breath you rushed a little faster by foot. If you were going to succeed you needed to get out of the easy radius of the castle. The good news was you knew how to hide your tracks so they didn’t know which way you had moved from the castle. 

How Peter had happened to be the one on your journey seemed a bit too close for comfort- a bad sign for the start. Although it did give you one last chance to see him, not glaring or filled with anger towards you. 

You had arrived, another close call with one more group and some time later. With it being near evening, the general shop was closed along with most of the food stalls so you set yourself up on the outskirt of town up in a strong tree. You were lucky for the wildlife around Narnia or you would have little to no chance. 

You nodded off and woke fairly early, the sun hitting your eyes up the tree. You thought through what you might need at the shops and recounted the amount of coin you had- you would need a bigger bag able to carry most of your supplies, a new hunting knife and tinder box would make your nights easier, as well as a head scarf for the sun as well as to help you through any towns you would hit. 

Things seemed to go smooth- you bartered with the shop and the food stall vendors, everyone seeming to be a little wary of a stranger but friendly enough all the same. 

That’s when you spotted it- a riding party coming from the direction of the castle. You quickly finished up your purchase and threw your head scarf on, dodging as quickly as you could while avoiding attention. Last house towards the end of town, you heard them coming closer and your heart raced, a hand reaching out and pulling you off to the side and inside the building.

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

“Lucy please stop your tapping.” Susan asked, sitting across from her.

Lucy pouted and then looked over at Peter, “I’m worried.”

“I think everyone is a bit worried, my dear.” Reep chimed in, looking out the window next to Peter. He followed Peter’s gaze across the gardens and towards the forest.

“I for one think we were a little hard on the whole topic.” Lucy mumbled, earning a shush from Susan.

A knock at the door got everyone’s attention, Caspian walking in, “We have visitors- they aren’t pleased at the moment.”

Peter rubbed his face, “ The King of Calormen.” He groaned.

“I almost forgot about them.” Lucy jumped up, looking worried, “What’s going to happen?”

“We shall see.” Peter straightened and walked towards the room Caspian indicated.

“Where is she?” The King asked in a quiet tone. “What so-called crimes has she committed against you- against Narnia?”

Peter felt the whole rooms gaze upon him, “It is not what she has done, but the crimes your majesty has committed.”

At this, he seemed taken aback, “Me?”

“Yes, we have found one of your traitors.” Peter gestured for a pair of his guards who were holding the guard that accused Y/N of the statement made.

“Blasphemy!” The king shifted, “I have no idea who this man is.”

“We know his story, your majesty. The only thing I am concerned about is why you had him bring Princess Y/N into question.” Peter crossed his arms, as did Caspian.

“Father!” His son turned towards him, “Tell me you didn’t put her in danger!”

“My son you should care less about the peasant who is no line to the throne.”

“She is family!”

“She is nothing but a pawn!” The king raised his voice.

“Not to me.” His son and Peter answered at the same time, surprising each other.

“Your peace treaty is void.” Caspian proclaimed, trying to keep the conversation in the room.

“Guards!” Peter shouted, guards flooding the room with their weapons drawn.

The king frowned, “You have made a big mistake, boy.”

“It’s High King Peter- and I was not the one who wanted war.” Peter glared, ordering them away.

Moments later there was a silence that filled the room.

“I’ll go with the guards to the King’s room- maybe send Ed or someone to interrogate that son of his.” Caspian nodded, walking out.

Peter sighed, looking around, “Where is Ed?”

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

You struggled for a moment, the stranger placing a hand over your mouth after the door was shut and yanking the scarf from your head.

“It is you.” He sighed, stepping back into the room with the fire hitting his face.

“Edmund?” You breathed, your heart racing, “How did you find me? What will you do with me?”

“I was thinking dinner and a drink.” He smirked, mocking you a little after his eyes ran over you. “If you have the time.”

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

Tags: @i-regret-this-already, @breezy1415, @seninjakitey, @imboredsueme, @courtneychicken, @marriedtopeterparker, @imeannooffensebabybut, @cassiopeia-barrow, @daphne-fandom-writing, @notmyfault404, @i-larb-spooderman, @aussiearies, @marvelismylifffe, @kdcollinsauthor

Narnia Tags: @firedancernix, @ttawny, @hopebaker

[shirtlesssammy]

4x13: After School Special

Then:

Sam and Dean were once kids, and they had a pretty crappy father.

Now:

High school, amirite?

A joyous time where friends call you “slut” so you turn around and call a nice helpful classmate a “fat, ugly pig”, only to have the nice helpful classmate turn around and swirly you to death the next day in the bathroom. Plus your parents set your curfew at 9 pm on weekdays.

April, the girl who murdered her classmate, is in an institution. No one believes her story, but Sam Winchester in white scrubs does. Sam asks about sulfur or black smoke, but April just thinks he’s crazy.

Back in the Impala, Sam tells Dean that he believes April’s story and thinks they’ve got a case of demonic possession. The only thing off about it is that she didn’t see any black smoke. Time to check out the school. Dean sarcastically agrees. “Truman High, home of the Bombers.” (Oof, I’m surprised there wasn’t a referendum in that town to change that mascot!)

(And because I paused the video and was granted this aesthetically pleasing shot, I will share with the class)

It seems that the brothers went to this school once upon a time. Dean wants to know their cover. “FBI? Homeland Security? Swedish Exchange students?” Sam’s got an idea.

Cue Foreigner’s “Long, Long Way From Home”, porn shots of Baby, and a flashback to Sam and Dean’s first day at Truman High. A) Baby Sam in his little Carhartt just is the cutest thing ever. B) For all the math nerds out there, the caption says “Truman High School, 1997”. Sam says that it’s November. So, do the math and Dean should have graduated in the spring of 1997. We all know he didn’t because he got his GED. So, the question remains, was Dean held back in school (a VERY real possibility considering his extreme intelligence and extreme dislike for book learning, and all the monster hunts and moving and being a full time parent, etc.) or is he going through the motions of school just to watch out for Sammy? I don’t know which is worse.

Sam and Dean are introduced to their respective classmates. As Sam plops his stuff down on his new desk, his butterfly knife falls out. Millhouse Barry, another student that will soon become friends of sorts with Sam, notices.

Dean, meanwhile is pressing hard on the condescending, misogynistic bravado that we all know isn’t him at all. I really love this tidbit of information that Jensen gave to Brock Kelly, who played the flashback Dean in this episode.  

In Sam’s classroom, while the teacher discusses an essay assignment, Barry gets bullied by another classmate. Sam Fucking Winchester tells the bully to knock it off. Sam, who hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, is called a midget and Sam, gifted with the self-confidence of a boy that has his tribe (albeit small) and an outsider’s assurance that fitting in won’t matter to his drifter lifestyle (and that butterfly knife in his pocket, no doubt), challenges the bully. The bully flinches.

Present day Sam wanders the halls of Truman High as a custodian. He just walks past his old English class when his old English teacher, Mr. Wyatt, comes out.

Present day Dean is A LOT. He’s dressed as the substitute gym teacher. And well, we all know how much Dean loves to dress up. When he leans into an act, he leans into an act.

He tasks his poor underlings to the art of the Dodge while reconvening with Sam. Sam shames Dean’s outfit, and Dean’s slight look of abashment is so sad. The dude loves to LARP. Sam has been all over the school but not one clue. Maybe there isn’t a case after all.

Meanwhile in Home Ec, Male cheerleader threatens his table partner with a fist to his throat if he doesn’t share his homework. So, the other dude does what any sane person would do and takes said fist and pushes it into a whirling food processor. Sam is there to see the cheerleader whisked away and the other kid fall to the floor, black goo oozing from his ear.

While the school has a non-violence assembly, Sam and Dean have free reign to search the school for EMF and ghosts. 

They’re dealing with a seriously pissed off ghost. Dean already did a little searching in the principal's office and found out that there was one suicide back in 1998, Barry Cook.

Flashback to this gem of a school banner:

Mr. Wanek is the art teacher. ALL THE HEARTS.

We’re shown more bullying of Barry with Sam coming to help. Sam learns that Barry wants to be a veterinarian. “You like animals?” dog loving Sam inquires. “They’re a lot nicer than people.” We also learn that Sam is adorable in his little brown striped hoodie. 

Dean, meanwhile, is making out with a fellow student in the broom closet. This whole scene is a gold mine for Dean analysis. Needless to say, the more Dean tells the girl about his life, the more her alarm bells are going off for him. You’re life isn’t normal or healthy, Dean bby.

Sam and Barry run into Barry’s bully, Dirk, in the hallway. Sam tells Barry to run while Dirk threatens Sam. Sam just stands him down, and starts to walk away before Dirk punches him. His English teacher breaks it up.

In the present day, Sam and Dean burn Barry’s bones and leave town.

Sam laments the fact that if he could have stayed at Truman High just a little longer, maybe he could have helped Barry. Dean tries to console him, and tells him that it was a good thing they got out of there so soon. Sam doesn’t think it was all bad.

Flashback to Dean raging about what Dirk did to Sam, but Sam doesn’t want Dean’s help. He wants to be normal. They’re stuck in this town for at least another week (MY GOD, JOHN WINCHESTER. This. Is. Child. Neglect.) (Sidenote: Dean tells Sam that Amanda wants him to meet her parents. He then says he doesn’t “do parents” and well, we know he met Cassie’s mom and he met Cas’s dad, so sometimes he’ll meet the parents. Just saying, and welcome to my world where I can make literally anything about Dean and Cas.)

Back in time, Mr. Wyatt pulls him aside to ask him about a “non-fiction” essay he turned in where he describes how he and his family killed a werewolf over the summer. Sam’s only somewhat abashed. He’s clearly taken on the mentality that whatever he does in class won’t matter since they’ll be moving on soon. But the teacher tells Sam that his work is good enough that he could be a writer someday. Sam shuts him down: he has to go into the “family business.” (Hey Sam, you can always write on the side, baby.) The teacher asks him if he wants to go into the family business. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” Sam says. SAMMY. While I weep over Sam’s childhood, the teacher encourages Sam to make his own choices in life.

For Pretty Patterns Science

In the present, Sam heads back to find the teacher who encouraged him when he was a child. Standing nervously outside the door, he’s interrupted by a girl who asks him for directions. “Thanks, Sam,” she tells him when he helps her and then she STABS HIM OH MY GOD. “You got tall.” 

She starts beating him up, ectoplasm oozing. Sam shoves a handful of salt into her mouth and expels the ghost.

Back at the car, Dean mirrors the school scene from earlier. He feeds Sam alcohol while he rages about ripping out the ghost’s lungs. “Or, you know what I mean.” They realize that all three of the attacking kids rode the same school bus.

Cut to Dean stalking through the suspect school bus with his shotgun, as one does.

They’re looking for hair, for skin, for anything that might tie a ghost to the bus. Dean finds the bus driver’s recent certification; he started the route 2 weeks ago. He’s the dad of Dirk, Sam’s youthful tormentor.

In the past, Sam confronts Dirk for beating up Barry. When Dirk attacks him, Sam’s had enough. He pulls out his raised-from-birth fighting tactics and quickly beats Dirk to the ground. “You’re not tough. You’re just a jerk. Dirk the jerk.” The nickname spreads like wildfire.

Sam and Dean talk to Dirk’s dad. Dirk died when he was 18 of an overdose. Dirk Sr. tells them that Dirk was poor and bullied. When he was thirteen, his mom got cancer and Dirk took care of her while he dad worked three jobs. As a cloud of guilt descends on Sam, Dean asks for Dirk’s burial site. Unfortunately, Dirk Sr. had him cremated. “All of him?” Dean asks. Dean. Bean.

It gets the job done. Dirk Sr. keeps a lock of Dirk’s hair in the bible on his bus.

That evening, the bus ferries a load of (presumably) football players to a game. Ectoplasm oozes out of the bus driver’s nose. The bus rams over a set of road spikes. I’m asking the screen WHY there are road spikes when Sam Winchester approaches the bus driver. Yeah, motha fuckahs, it’s a Winchester trap. (Related: they keep ROAD SPIKES in Baby’s trunk? Ooookay.) Dean ties up the bus driver, aka Dirk, in salt-soaked rope and then heads into the bus to find Dirk’s remains. He gets recognized as the gym teacher but Dean deflects: He’s 21 Jump Street, man. This ain’t nothin’ but a drug bust.

Dean finds the bible, but there’s nothing in it. Dirk falls into his villain monologue. In his experience, Sam and the popular kids are the bullies - they’re evil. “I’m not evil,” Sam protests because he is CUT TO THE CORE by being called evil. (Me: remembers that this is Season 4 and nods knowingly.)

“We were scared and miserable and we took it out on each other...that’s high school. But you suffer through that and it gets better.” Sam’s words don’t convince Dirk, who bursts free of his bonds. He gets shot out of the bus driver’s body and possesses one of the students. While Sam’s getting the crap beaten out of him, Dean searches everywhere for the hair, eventually finding it in the bus driver’s shoe.

Dean fumbles with his lighter (MY GOD invest in better lighters, boys) and then lights the sheaf of hair on fire. Dirk bursts free from the student and dissolves into flame.

And...we’re in flashbacks again. Dean’s kissing a different girl in the supply closet. Amanda walks in and Dean very, very poorly tries to cover.

Amanda delivers a scathing analysis of Dean: “I thought maybe underneath your whole ‘I could give a crap,’ bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on. I mean, like the way you are with your brother. But I was wrong. And you spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool...but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad, lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.” This devastates Dean, of course. We close the episode with Sam riding an absolute high, beloved by the school and Dean at his lowest. John Winchester shows up just in time, or way too soon, depending on your viewpoint. They climb into John’s car, Sam waves goodbye to Barry, and they leave town.

In the present, Sam finally heads in to talk to Mr. Wyatt. (Sam’s still bruised and cut from the fight so...awkward.) He thanks Mr. Wyatt for the advice he gave him years ago. Sam admits that he made his own choices for a little while but got pulled into the family business in the end. Oh, Sammy. <3 “You took an interest in me when no one else did,” Sam tells him. “That matters.”

“The only thing that really matters is that you’re happy,” Mr. Wyatt tells him. “Are you happy, Sam?”

And...fin.

Rollin’ with the Quotes:

You got your lunch? Books? Butterfly knife?

The whistle makes me their god.

I have to go into the family business.

There may be three or four big choices that shape someone's whole life, and you need to be the one that makes them, not anyone else.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Alright guys, after the longest spell of writer’s block I’ve had in a while, here it is: chapter 29 of A Thread of Fate is finally up on AO3. It’s shorter than usual and far from my best work, but after next week, the developments in my life chipping away at my focus should hopefully be stabilizing. Here’s to the promise of a much better chapter 30 - and, Maker willing, a much shorter wait for it, as well!

Chapter 29: Signet

Aside from morning drills, the rest of Nalissa’s days are free, and except for a couple of short missions that thankfully don’t keep me away overnight again, so are mine. It’s a strange thing, both to feel safe here and not to be burdened by all the responsibilities of being a king. I could almost fall into the routine, embrace a life as a Grey Warden again, and forget the weight of the crown.

Almost. The longer time stretches on without any word from the Crows or Zevran, the more restless I become. It’s a fine thing, being a Warden during a Blight when there are real threats and important things needing doing, but this? I feel useless just putting on the armor and not acting the part. It reminds me of being sent away to the Tower of Ishal when any actual, critical missions are immediately handed off to others. Just another virtue of my father’s blood, I suppose.

I eventually find myself thinking more than once that if assassins can’t find us here, maybe Rial and his masked mage compatriot have given up. Surely it would be just as safe in Denerim. Surely by now, Eamon’s spies have had time to rout out any Crow sympathizers, and it would be nice to feel like I’m making an actual difference again.

What exactly happened to me and when, I wonder, that I find myself actually missing duties I once despised?

If it was just me, I would probably even take the risk and return to the palace. It’s only the fact that it’s Nalissa’s life I would be endangering if I’m wrong that keeps me from doing anything rash in my discontent. So I try my best to keep busy, doing whatever I can to feel useful. I help one of the merchants with a stall in the courtyard resolve an issue with one of her distributors not delivering. I patch a roof for a Warden’s widow, even though I never knew the man. I take Nalissa to see Wade and Herren, and commission a new set of drakeskin armor for her so she doesn’t have to keep wearing Warden blue.

We’ve just returned from collecting the finished set, which is a deeper violet than her last one and custom designed with plenty of hidden pockets for her knives and a light hood that sheds water. It suits her, I think—graceful but subtle, and more than it appears. And more importantly, it will afford some anonymity and keep her safe on the journey back to Denerim, as soon as we’re able to make it.

Then I open the door to our quarters and find myself staring in surprise. As if my train of thought has manifested into reality and summoned him, Zevran Arainai leans against the writing desk, crossing his arms and grinning at us.

“Well, it is about time!” he says haughtily, as if he’s been waiting for us for some time, which I suppose he may have been. I’m still trying to unstick my tongue and find a retort to throw at him when Nalissa moves, and it takes the flash of white steel before I realize with a start that she has never actually seen Zevran’s face before.

“Duck!” I order, because I’m far too late to stop her this time. I hurtle myself between them anyway just as the knife sails past me, and catch her wrist before she can ready another blade. She shoots me a look of startled confusion, and I can hear a thud behind me that I sincerely hope is Zevran hitting the floor in a dodge and not a collapse.

Thankfully, the next thing I hear is a laugh that I take to mean he actually listened to something I said, for once. “My, my! I can see why you like this one, my friend! Beautiful and deadly.”

“Zevran,” I explain quickly before Nalissa can assume I’ve gone suddenly mad and try to attack again anyway. Understanding erases the alarm from her eyes, and as her shoulders un-tense if not quite relax, I slide my hand down to hers and turn. The throwing knife is solidly embedded in the wall just behind where Zevran was standing, and the assassin himself is leaping back to his feet to approach, still grinning.

“You can only be the infamous Nalissa,” he says in what I would probably classify as a flirtatious tone if the same couldn’t be applied to every single word out of Zevran’s mouth. “Zevran Arainai, my lovely lady. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Ah. Yes. Sorry about that,” she says, gesturing toward the wall and still seeming a little uncertain. “I wasn’t aware you would be… dropping in.”

“Zev doesn’t exactly send a card ahead of his visits,” I mutter, and the elf in question laughs again.

“What fun is life without a little mystery, yes?”

Nalissa raises an eyebrow and mutters, “The mystery might be what’s behind the Veil if you make a habit of surprise visits to people expecting Antivan assassins.”

“That it might, if everyone had aim like yours,” Zevran compliments her. “I can see why you’ve given Rial and his team such trouble.”

I can’t quite tell whether that’s meant to say the trouble is over or not, so not being one to beat around the bush, I ask. “Does that mean we’re done dealing with them, then?”

It comes out hopeful, but Zevran crushes it with a downturn of his lips and a shake of his head. “Unfortunately not. Between the three of us, we managed to dispatch all of Rial’s original group except the man himself him and that lovely but deadly mage. But it seems whoever paid for your life has a great deal of coin at their disposal. The Crows have sent reinforcements.”

Nalissa swears a streak that would make a sailor blush, and Zevran manages to look both surprised and oddly impressed. I glance between them for a moment, waiting for someone to say something, because I don’t have a plan for continued reinforcements from the Crows but surely one of them does. When none seems to be forthcoming, I settle my frown on Zevran and ask, “Then what do we do?”

“Run,” Nalissa decides at once, and though her eyes focus somewhere far away, she speaks too certainly for me to believe she’s only thinking of this plan now. “Slip out in disguise, with a merchant caravan. Or stow away on a trade ship. If we can find one willing to risk the Storm Coast, my uncle will help us. I look more Mac Eanraig than Cousland; it should work, if we can make it there.”

I suppose I should be comforted that she at least says “we,” this time. The idea of her trying to slip away as I slept again would have made me too afraid to sleep again. It was bad enough before, but now—now that she knows that I love her, that I would sooner walk unarmed into the Deep Roads than return to Denerim without her, the thought would drive me mad.

But still it isn’t comforting that her first thought is to run. If there’s anywhere in Thedas that’s safe from assassins, it would have to be here. I look to Zevran as I say so aloud, hoping he will laugh and tell her her plan is unnecessary, but the frown lines creasing his face don’t fade.

“This new batch is not so dim as to spread themselves thin enough to give me a clean opening,” Zevran says in a tone that's almost bitter. “Rial has learned, it would seem. It is only a matter of time before one of them finds a way inside.”

“Impossible,” I assure him. “Nalissa is the only one one inside this keep that hasn’t taken the Joining. The only merchants allowed through the portcullis are well known and impossible to impersonate. We would know if anyone tried to sneak in.”

“Ah, but did you know I had sneaked in?” Zevran counters, and I open my mouth to speak but close it again immediately. He has a point. The weakness of Grey Warden senses is that we can only pick out each other, only identify outsiders by sight and the process of elimination.

“How did you get in?” Nalissa asks suspiciously, and Zevran gives a sheepish grin.

“Normally I would say it is a trade secret, but I could not allow you to worry your pretty head about gaps in security. Oghren… escorted me in.”

“Escorted? What, he marched you through the front door?” she asks doubtfully, and Zevran gives a little cough that I’m sure he means to be discreet.

“Yes, in fact. Though it may have been inside an empty wine cask.”

Nalissa snickers, but though yes, it does make for a hilarious mental picture, it also proves my point. “Aha! See, even you needed help to get in. From a Warden. None of the other Wardens are going to help an assassin—er, no offense. So clearly we’re still safe here.”

“Clearly, you are not,” Zevran says, waving a sealed envelope in my face with a frown. “Just because they cannot get inside does not mean they have no way to reach you. Here, have a look at what I found on your desk when I arrived.”

I take the missive and frown at it, unsure of the point he’s trying to make. “Yes? It’s addressed to Nalissa, so that means someone knows where she is, right?”

“Not quite incorrect, but also not quite the problem,” Zev says, shaking his head. “It is a trap, and a rather devious one. A Crow specialty, if you will. Upon breaking the seal, a tiny blade hidden within will cut the hand of its victim, administering an extremely potent poison—”

“Let me see that,” Nalissa says sharply, making a sudden lunge for the envelope. Much to my surprise, Zevran snatches it away before she can.

“Do you wish to die? I just told you—”

“I heard your warning, now let me see the seal!” Nalissa is positively snarling, and I realize with a start that she looks angrier than I’ve ever seen her.

“It is a trap,” Zev emphasizes again, but under her threatening gaze, he flips the envelope around so she can view the wax insignia.

“That fucking bastard,” she whispers, but the anger in her voice is suddenly overshadowed by something else. It’s a shade of fear, I realize, and a moment spent examining the letter more closely is all I need to tell me why.

The seal meant to entice her into opening it without question is the crest of Highever. I know of only two people alive bearing rings with that seal, and Nalissa still wears hers on a chain around her neck.

“They want a fight, I’ll give them one,” she snaps, and before I can do more than reach for her hand again, she’s spun on her heel and marched out the door like she means to hunt down a troupe of assassins all on her own.

Right now, I think with alarm, she probably does.

“Lady Cousland!” a Warden greets me at the head of the stairs, right before he visibly recoils when I come close. Probably at the look on my face, but I don’t have the time or the will to spend arranging my expression to a more pleasing one.

“I need to see the Warden-Commander. Now.”

“Er—what do you—”

“Don’t play dumb, Aldin; it doesn’t suit you” I warn, putting as much restraint as I can into not sounding like a potentially murderous lunatic, even if right now, I might just be on the edge of that. “I spent an entire summer here once when Vigil’s Keep still belonged to the Howes. I know where the arl’s chambers are, and I need to see the arl.”

Aldin hesitates, thumbing the pommel of his sword thoughtfully. “Is the Warden-Commander expecting you?”

“I have an open invitation,” I lie, but of course the poor boy isn’t expecting me to lie to him, so he sighs in relief.

“Of course, my lady, of course. Silly of me not to—yes, go on in.”

He opens the door and gives a full Fereldan salute as I pass, but I barely notice. Walking into what had once been Rendon Howe’s study is… disconcerting, to say the least. Most of the furnishings have changed, including the desk itself, but the drapery is still the same plush velvet that I remember.

I shut the door behind me quickly, before I can change my mind and try to leave. And also before Aldin can lock eyes with the Warden-Commander and realize I don’t have permission to be here at all.

Caron has his back turned, working with something on a low table near the fireplace, and when he looks up it’s with an expression of surprise and a tumbler of what’s likely some fancy Orlesian liqueur in one hand.

“Wh—Lady Cousland, what in the Void are you doing in my office?”

His shock is quickly turning toward the self-important puffing of his chest that I suddenly realize might be as much a defense mechanism as anything else. Curious—or it would be, if I had time to think on exactly why that might be.

“I need an escort,” I tell him firmly, crossing my arms and squaring my stance. I present myself as the teyrn’s daughter he likely expects me to have been, like a woman unused to being told no. Not that my mother in particular ever had difficulty denying me anything outlandish or unnecessary or even especially unladylike, but there’s no way for him to know that.

“A what?” he asks, blinking quickly. It seems the brashness of my request has stunned him. Good.

“An escort. A trustworthy unit to help me make it to Highever in one piece. And to fight a dispatchment of Antivan Crows, if necessary.”

I expect nothing of the kind, of course; I know well how negotiating works. Ask first for the moons, my father used to say, and they will think a single star a bargain.

Caron snorts at me, then raises his glass in my direction. “Just how many of these have you had already this evening?”

“I’m not drunk, and I’m quite serious. Don’t pretend Wynne or Oghren or someone hasn’t told you by now why I was unconscious when Alistair first brought me here. No lord is so short on knowledge in his own keep.”

This time, his dark eyebrows rise but his expression spells something close to amusement. “A lord now, am I? My, but you want something important to call me that. Want to tell me what it really is?”

I can feel my teeth clenching, and have to work to soften the expression. Apparently it isn’t only in a sparring arena that he can read me much more clearly than I’m used to, and that’s a very frustrating thing to have to deal with right now.

“I received a letter today marked with the seal of Highever.”

“Interesting, seeing as we’ve received no runners from the west, but do go on.”

“It was another attempt on my life. A trap set to poison me if I opened it. Obviously, my brother doesn’t want me dead—”

“Felicitations; he sounds like a much friendlier fellow than mine.”

I try to pin him down with a glare, but he only laughs at my attempt. “My lady, I was a half Fereldan bastard in the Orlesian court. You shall have to work harder than that to force me into silence.”

“Then perhaps I should inform you that this—” I fish the chain and attached ring from the neck of my shirt to accentuate my point, “is one of only two Cousland crest rings still in existence. Meaning the Crows sealed a letter to me with the signet ring of the teyrn of Highever.”

Caron takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes wandering up to the vaulted ceiling. When he looks back to me with a sigh, his expression has at least turned more serious. “That is… problematic. But a concern your betrothed should be better suited to address, is it not? A Grey Warden army could not be sent to storm castle Cousland, but a Fereldan one certainly could.”

“No,” I object, firmly and instantly. “If they have Fergus hostage, they would kill him if they were cornered. So they can’t know they’re cornered.”

“So you’re asking, not for a party to escort you as requested, but a… routine dispatch of a caravan to Highever. A place for you to hide along the way.”

I hesitate, certain from the tone of his voice that the answer will be no, but what choice do I have but to play along? “That would suffice.”

Caron puts down his half-empty glass on the desk and crosses his arms to look across it at me. “Have you any other proof, besides the seal on this letter, that your brother is compromised?”

That gives me pause. “I… suppose not.”

“And you say it was meant to kill you, yes? So why would they go to the trouble of keeping your brother hostage at all, if they expected you dead already?”

“A back-up plan, obviously. They’ve failed to kill me at least twice already. They won’t be surprised by a third.”

Caron strokes his goatee in what seems to be a habit when he’s considering something. I take some heart in the fact that he’s at least considering it.

“And you’re quite certain the teyrn isn’t simply the one that hired these assassins?”

I stiffen, and a scoff passes my lips before I can stop it. “Very. Whoever paid the Crows did it when I was promised to the king. Fergus was one of the parties arranging that. Besides which, he’s my brother.”

“That must mean something different in Ferelden,” Caron says dryly. “I have three brothers, and not a one wouldn’t trade my life for political advancement.”

“Then I pity you what family means in Orlais.”

Caron hums something noncommittal, then picks up the glass again to swirl the liquid within and stare into it as he does. Finally, he decides, “I will not authorize any deployment to Highever.”

Internally, I curse this stubborn and self-centered Orlesian to the depths of the Void. Externally, I bite my tongue and dig my nails into my forearms. Fine, then. I will find another way.

“I will, however, send a dispatch,” Caron says suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. “A single runner to the teyrn with a request for recruitment. One who you will not accompany, but who is trained in espionage. He will determine whether the teyrn is actually in danger, or if this is only a ploy to drive you out into the open.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t even considered that but Caron has a point. Maybe the seal wasn’t chosen just to get me to open the letter. Maybe it was a different kind of back-up plan, to ensure I rushed to my brother’s aid if the letter trap failed.

A cold chill creeps down my spine though as I wonder, but what if it wasn’t?

“A fast runner,” I emphasize, but it’s an acquiescence and we both know it. At this point, I will take whatever I can get, and pray that it means news of my brother’s safety. At least Alistair will be happy to hear that we’re waiting it out in the keep.

For now.

[luna473]

Water Attracts Lightning // Zuko X Kasami (OC) [FanFiction]

Chapter 3: “we are rarely proud when we are alone.”

Kasami’s P.O.V

My eyes flutter open to the sight of a Fire Nation flag across from me. I try to sit up but I find that my body is too sore to move just yet. I notice various parts of my body have bandages.

Where am I?

I look to the other side of the dark and cold room to see a boy, sleeping on the couch next to my bed. I tilt my head and furrow my brows in confusion. His raven colored hair resting messily on his pillow and I can only see his toned, shirtless back. I can’t help but notice the scars and marks that run along his upper back. Maybe he’s a soldier? A warrior, perhaps.

Whoever he is, he must have been the one who bandaged me up.

I rub my temples to ease my pounding headache. I try to sit up again, successful, I hold on to the railing beside me. A sharp pain in my side causes me to yelp in pain as I clutch my waist.

Oh right..Thats where I had a knife thrown at me.

“Hello?” I call out to the mystery boy hoarsely. He sits up from his position on the couch and yawns, stretching his arms out above him. He turns around just as I recognize him from the scar on his face.

“No..”

I start scooting back on my bed.

“Wait wait, It’s okay!”

“Get away from me!” I scream out at him before I realize that I scooted too far. My body falls to the floor, right on the same side I have my deep cut. I yell out in pain, holding my side as I try to sit up. Zuko makes his way around the bed to my side, a look of apprehension and worry on his face. My long dark hair falling messily down to my waist in waves, and my cut face staring back up at him with anger.

“Wait! please!”

He shouts as I bend the water out of a cup on the nightstand at him. The small amount of water barely splashing his face, at most getting his hair wet. He groans in frustration, running his hand through his now soaked hair.

“KASAMI!”

He yells my name at the top his lungs, immediately stopping me in my tracks and gaining my attention.

“Just. Listen.” He enunciates, staring me down.

“If you would just stop trying to fight me, I can help you heal.”

He peered over at my now bleeding wound. My eyes glance down at my side. The cut must have reopened when I fell off the bed.

“Let me help you.”

He steps towards me as I give him an aggravated look. He goes to wrap his arm around me to try and help me up but I quickly slap it away.

“Don’t you dare touch me.”

I hiss out at him. I stared him down with every ounce of hatred in my body.

“Well I kinda have to if I’m going to get you up off the floor.” He sarcastically exclaimed, crossing his arms.

“Don’t you remember the last time you laid your hands on me, Prince Zuko?”

It was 3 years ago, the Gaang and I were on the run from, you guessed it, Prince Zuko himself. He had just captured me and was in the midst of bringing me onto his ship.

“You know it’s stupid keeping me here, right?”

Zuko glanced in my direction, an unamused expression on his face.

“They are long gone by now.”

“Don’t worry Kasami, as long as I have you, I already know they are bound to show up to your rescue.”

Zuko smirked at me. I know he’s right. As much as I begged for them to leave me and keep the mission going, that’s not who they are. I know they will be back and I know they’ll step right into his trap. They will all get hurt or even killed. Just because of me.

“How about a challenge. Just you and me, man to man.”

He glances in my direction and scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“What? Too scared I’ll beat you?”

“As if a Water Tribe peasant like you could ever stand a chance against the Fire Lord’s son.”

I mentally groan in annoyance and frustration. I have to make this work, or my friends will end up dead.

“Scared I’ll beat you in a fight just like your father did?”

A quick moment of silence is shared between the prince and I. He gets up and makes his way over to me. He snakes his hand around my throat and squeezes, making me unable to breath.

“If a fight is what you want, a fight is what you shall receive.” He growls under his breath, his face inches away from mine. He releases my throat, leaving me gasping for breath as he unleashes his breath of fire out into the sky. A show of his skill and strength.

“Release her!”

Zuko yells out to the guards as they untie my hands and feet.

“Foolish boy.”

We stand in front of each other in our fighting positions. He opens his hands of fire as I gather up my water, creating a cloud of ice daggers, ready to unleash on him at any moment. He punches multiple bursts of fire at me while I easily dodge his attacks. I release my ice daggers, effectively injuring multiple parts of his body.

“That all you got, Prince?” I sneered out at him, he was clearly no match for a waterbending master, especially one of my level. Well of course he didn’t know that at the time. He was doubled over, trying to catch his breath prior to unleashing his breath of fire. I winced in pain as I slightly got burnt.

“You’ll regret that.”

I release all of my water, knocking him down. Successfully, I bend water from the ocean beside us and freeze his entire body, leaving only his head out of the ice. He stared me down, seeming as if he was shooting daggers with his eyes. His breath was shaky and he was struggling to move his limbs, which were of course encased in ice.

“Come on, Zuko,” I laughed at the boy incapacitated in front of me. “That was just too easy.”

I wiped myself off and put my hand on my hip.

“I thought a water tribe peasant like me was no match for a Fire Prince,” I remarked sarcastically. “Oh wait! My apologies, banished Fire Prince.”

His face turned beet red, obviously infuriated. The Fire Prince had been beaten by a Water Tribe girl. He shamefully peered down at the ground. That didn’t seem to last long though, quickly after, his frown turned into a devious smirk. I raised an eyebrow at him. He peered over my shoulder but before I could turn around, it was too late. Everything seemed as if it were in slow motion. Prince Zuko’s soldiers chi blocked me, immediately making my bending abilities and my limbs useless. A look of terror spread across my face as he was freed from the ice I had previously encased him in.

“W-what are you doing?!” I shouted out, frantically looking around. His earthbender soldiers swiftly enclosed my hands and feet onto the ground with rocks.

“This wasn’t a part of the rules! It was just supposed to be me and you!”

He walked over to me, towering over the spot where I lay, unable to move.

“You are a coward, Prince Zuko.”

He bends over, looking down at me. Refusing to make eye contact with him, he lifts my chin with his finger. He squeezes my face harshly, forcing me to look up at him.

“And you are worthless.” He hissed out at me.

“Zuko, please. Why are you doing this?” I whispered softly. “You have to leave the Avatar alone, he is our one chance at peace.”

“You don’t understand. I’ve lost something of mine. My honor.”

“Why would you want to please the same man that has destroyed nations, killed families...innocent people.”

It almost looked like there was a glimpse of shame in his eyes. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“The Avatar is my last shot at restoring my honor and gaining my fathers love. I won’t let anything get in my way.”

I audibly groaned in anger.

“Why do you want the love of the same man who burned you, Zuko?!” I blurted out harshly.

He let go of my face and pushed me back, his fists balled in anger.

“Why are so obsessed with honor!? Just leave us alone!” I shouted out at him, tears threatening to fall.

“Nothing will get in my way.”

“God, Zuko. You are a coward. You are weak. You will never regain your honor.” I ruthlessly let out all of my frustration.

“I’LL SHOW YOU JUST HOW POWERFUL I AM!”

My eyes widen with fear as he whips his hands around in the air, channeling lightning from the dark, ominous clouds above us.

“Please..Please don’t do this.”

Zuko turns around with his lightning dancing and buzzing all around him, mostly focusing on his hands. He yells out as he swiftly points his two fingers at me, the lightning following.

“NO!”

Theres nothing I could do. My limbs were useless and encased in heavy rocks. I let my tears fall as I accepted my fate. The last thing I remember were his golden eyes staring into mine. When I woke up, I was on Appa with Aang right beside me. I was badly damaged on a small part of my left jaw, which continued all the way down the side of my neck, to my shoulder.

That night has haunted me ever since.

I delicately traced the outline of my scar with my finger. My eyes swelled up with tears, but there was no way in hell I’d let Zuko see me cry.

“Well..Y-You know I’m different now! Plus all the shit you said to me, I just-“

“How could you ever do that to someone else? The same way your father scarred you, you did to me. I was powerless,” I glared up at him as I got up on my own, holding onto the railing of the bed. “You lied and you cheated. I had you beat and you couldn’t stand it.”

He seemed to wince as if my words had physically hurt him, but then he just turned back and looked at me coldly.

“Well I still beat you, didn’t I?”

I scoffed in shock.

“You are still the same coward who burned me on that boat all those years ago.” I snapped at him, pushing him as I tried to make my way to the door. I was quickly stopped by him spinning me around and pinning me to the wall. With his hand at the base of my neck, he glared down at me.

“I am the Fire Lord. I am not-“

“You seem to still have a habit of choking me, don’t you Zuko?” I stared up at him with my eyebrow raised.

“W-what? No! I-“

Watching him get all flustered was the funniest thing, but sadly I can’t keep teasing men and waste any more time. I quickly caught him off guard when he loosened his grip. I pushed past him and made my way to the door.

“Kasami! You know you are still too weak to be going out.” He started, “At least stay a couple more days so you can heal. You have get stronger if we want to get our friends back.”

I whipped my head around to see him standing with his arms crossed.

“How do you know? and what do you mean we?”

I mimicked his stance with an annoyed look plastered across my face.

“You were talking about it all night in your sleep, and yes, I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

“There is no way Im going anywhere with you.”

“Yeah I’d rather not be anywhere near you, but these are our friends I’m talking about, Kasami.”

As much as I hate admitting it, I know he’s right.

“Fine! But I don’t want you in here while I heal.”

“Well it’s my-“

“Zuko.”

“Okay fine.”

I begin to walk slowly towards my bed, shuffling my feet against the dark wood floor.

“Hey! Wait, let me help-“

“Zuko I’m fine I can do it myself.” I blew him off as I tried to walk but quickly after a few seconds the floor seemed to sway beneath my feet and my legs went weak. I fell to my hands and knees.

“Damnit, damnit, damnit.” I curse under my breath.

“Oh god.” Zuko rushes over to my side. He snakes his arm around my waist and puts my arm around his neck. I wince at his touch, but I’m in too much agony to do anything about it. I peer down to the floor, almost shamefully, as he picks up my body from off the floor. He’s definitely not the same boy I fought with years ago. That boy would have never even helped me in the first place. How am I supposed to work together with, let alone trust the same man who burned me? Left me for dead with no remorse?

He struck me...with lightning.

I had to spend days trying to convince Aang not to tell the others about what had happened to me. After the last time I even tried to trust Zuko, I knew I would end up being the one who got hurt.

Zuko’s P.O.V

I slipped my arm around Kasami’s waist and lifted her up off the floor, trying to be as gentle as I possibly could. I notice her doing everything in her power to look away from me. You’d think after saving her life and helping her I’d at least get a thank you? Well, I did burn her, but that’s beside the point. I laid her down on my bed. I reached behind her to grab the pillows, but my hand accidentally moved some of her hair away from her face. My eyes fixated on her scar, her eyes still avoiding mine. A dark pink raised lightning bolt shape ran from the bottom of her jaw, down her neck, and reaching all the way to her shoulder. The surrounding area had gone a softer pink, pale with age. Much like my own scar. How could I have done this? My own horrible memories of earning my mark taunting me, as I lightly run my hand down her scar. After realizing what I’m doing, I quickly snap back into reality as Kasami looks up at me with a concerned and fearful expression. She looks...scared.

“Sorry. I-I’ll leave now. Just...Just shout to maids if you need anything.” I stutter on my words as I make my way out of the bedroom. I can feel her eyes piercing through my back as she watched me walk out. I close the door and lean back against it, slowly sliding down to ground. I raise my knees to my chest and lay my head in my palms.

Part of me feels a sickening pit in my stomach. How could I have put her through that? I feel so completely and utterly ashamed of actually making her afraid of me...of hurting her. The other part of me wants to point the blame to her. If she hadn’t provoked me then I wouldn’t have...Damnit Zuko, stop it! Im a different person now. Growing up with a father like mine, I guess you could say I’m still trying to let go of that part of me. Key word “trying”.

Sokka’s P.OV

My eyes open to see a cage, and my own hands trapped in metal. I look around, groggily trying to walk to the front of my cage. I spot Katara, still sleeping in her own prison.

Wait.

“Where’s Aang and Kasami?!” I grab onto the bars of my cage and start vigorously shaking it.

“Sokka?” Katara asked, rubbing her eyes. “What the hell is going on?”

“Kasami and Aang aren’t here!”

“D-don’t worry Sokka! I’m sure they’re fine.” Katara’s motherly instincts kicking in as she tries to console me.

I groan and shake my cage even more, making as much noise as possible.

A door shutting in the distance immediately catches my attention.

“What a shame.”

A man in a dark robe circles around our cages.

“Such young children, filled with so much hope.”

“Where. Is. Kasami?” I snap at him.

“Oh you mean the one who tried to escape last night?”

She tried to escape?

“Sorry to tell you, but unfortunately we had to shoot her down. I guess you could say she was...” The mystery man raised his hand, fire sprouting from his palm. “taken care of.”

[sihtric]

The Fall of the Watchtower || One

Summary: Dean and Sam struggle to obtain information from the Nephilim, leading to certain complications.

A/N: This is my interpretation on what will happen in the 13th season. Yes, I know that Misha is signed on as a series regular for next season, but I will most likely not be adding Castiel’s return into this. Also, I know I wrote Sam a bit out of character, but it’s only to get the point across that losing family has changed him. I hope that makes sense.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Season 12 finale spoilers, angst, language, torture, fist fighting, attempted murder, mentions of drowning, unbeta’d – all mistakes are mine

Sam stood frozen in his place in the center of the nursery, dark eyes locked on the figure crouched low in the corner before him. His feet seemed to be rooted to the wooden planks beneath him, keeping him from stepping forward to get a better look at the yellow-eyed Nephilim.

“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?” The Nephilim queried in a plangent, jagged voice, his hardened gaze, which resembled that of an owl’s, boring into Sam.

“No, I’m not here to kill you. My name is Sam Winchester, and I’m not going to kill you,” he spoke up after a moment of hesitation, not quite certain he believed his own words. How was he to respond to a question like that? How could he be sure he wasn’t lying to himself and the Nephilim? Would it really be worth putting him to death after they’d gone to such lengths – even lost two of their own – to protect him? Would the world really be better off without this human-angel hybrid bending it to form a biblical paradise? Perhaps it would, but perhaps there was some good that could come from the trouble he’d caused since the knowledge of his very existence had been made public, like the eye of the hurricane. Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to keep this abomination alive, but what was he to do? Mercilessly put a bullet in the Nephilim’s brain without having gathered information from him first? All these questions ran rampant through Sam’s head.

“A Winchester, huh? Did Castiel die to protect you, again?”

This question took Sam by surprise, his pragmatic demeanor deteriorating rapidly. Exactly how much did the Nephilim know already? Was it possible that the son of Lucifer – prophesied to be the very downfall of humanity – knew things that Sam did not? Things that even Dean and Cas had been oblivious to? Sam tilted his head to one side, mirroring one of his fallen angel friend’s many trademark poses. “What do you know about us Winchesters?” He asked instead, dodging the young man’s inquiry.

“Enough,” came the vague reply. It was exactly the information Sam had expected to get out of him, less than nothing. However, Sam had time on his hands that he’d be more than happy to spend gathering every last drop of information from the man in front of him. He was willing to use every weapon – from the secret arsenal in Baby’s trunk – necessary to gather what he wanted. No, what he needed.

“Tell me, what do you know?” Sam asked, his teeth clenching together so hard that they squeaked. His eyes scanned the room’s walls, landing on a decoratively painted depiction of a rainbow, adorned with the name Jack. Of all the names in the world, Kelly had named the Devil’s child Jack?

“And what makes you think I’ll tell you anything?” Jack retorted snidely. In return, Sam simply gave him a glare that said it all.

“I have my ways,” Sam assured him, his words weighed down by a hidden threat. He pushed up his sleeves and crossed his arms, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “And I don’t care how long it takes. One way or another, I’ll get you to crack.”

“Hmm, good luck with that, Sam. I’d love to see you try,” Jack said with a mocking smirk and a flash of those horrendous yellow eyes. The derision in his voice made something inside Sam snap, like a coil springing loose after being suddenly relieved of an immense pressure. He could feel his insides boiling with loathing for this pitiful excuse of a man – well, half a man – that lurked before him. However, there was no need to contain this anger – this desire to kill – when he was around Jack. Sam could do what he wanted, cure himself of the painfully bitter resentment festering within him. The younger Winchester wasn’t sure why he even felt this way, but that didn’t matter now.

One thing was for certain. By the time Sam had his way with Jack, the poor Nephilim would be begging for mercy, a second chance to redeem himself and help the Winchesters.

As the tall hunter approached the corner, Jack sprang to his feet, and Sam’s body connected with the hybrid’s bare form. However, it barely seemed to phase him as he lifted Jack, holding him up against the wall with one hand wrapped around the Nephilim’s pale throat.

“You will tell me, you bastard.”

Dean hadn’t once moved from his place beside his fallen angel friend’s limp form, glaring at the night black angel wings that had surfaced from invisibility as if that would bring him back. His knees were beginning to ache as they rested against the pebbles and packed soil beneath him, supporting his full weight. This was something he couldn’t fix, couldn’t undo. That fateful moment in which Lucifer had plunged an angel blade into his own brethren could not be done over; there was no escaping the truth, the result of their last moment with Cas while he was alive.

It didn't take long for the sorrow within Dean to be reduced to a simple dull ache. Sure, every little thing seemed to set Dean off, but who could blame him? All the emotions he'd locked up for a while had finally resurfaced and were now crowding his head.

What hurt worse than Cas being dead was how he didn’t get to say goodbye to the angel. Instead, it had been a rather pitiful affair. As Dean replayed the events over in his mind, one thing became apparent. He and Sam were back to square one, the dreaded but equally expected result of their predicament. Well, that wasn’t quite true. At least they still had Lucifer’s son in their possession. Dean trusted his brother to beat some answers out of the Nephilim.

“Can you open the seam?” Sam demanded, his long, slim fingers curling around the handle of his knife, which rested familiarly in his large, calloused hand. When Jack didn’t respond, Sam backhanded him, feeling no remorse whatsoever for his actions. “Answer me!”

“I-I don’t know!” Jack shouted, his cheek flushed and stinging where the hunter had slapped him countless times already. It was clear that Sam was enjoying himself all the while, and he was just getting started. He had yet to use a weapon, but Jack knew that part would come soon enough. If only Jack could answer, but something deep within him told him two things. The first was plain as day; don’t let the Winchesters go alive. The second was getting harder for him to abide by with each time Sam’s firm hand collided with his cheek; don’t tell the brothers anything, even at the cost of him being tortured, even at the cost of his own life.

“Jesus, you don’t break easily, do you?” Sam remarked with a subtle chuckle.

It took a moment for Jack to think of a clever comeback to spit back, but he couldn’t think of one, instead going with an unsatisfactory silence.

“I don’t care how long you rot in that chair,” Sam warned. “Trust me, you are going to give me answers, then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

At that, the young man struggled against the restraints holding his wrists to the arms of the chair in which he was sat, eyes blazing in anger. “I’m not telling you anything, you pretentious dick.”

There was an air of new-found confidence in those words as Jack spewed them, somewhat to the amusement of Sam. He seemed to think he’d get away from all of this if he resisted, but the hunter had other plans. Nothing about what he was going to do seemed evil or something to be ashamed of.

“No, maybe not now, but soon you will be,” he smirked maniacally as he drew forward and plunged his blade swiftly into Jack’s left shoulder, eliciting a shriek from his victim’s chapped lips.

“Stop, please, stop this!” Jack pleaded, the pain he was in pooling in his eyes the way his blood was pooling into the shirt Sam had given him. The pleading was genuine, driven by the Nephilim’s suffering.

“No,” Sam repeated bluntly, eyes dark, a vicious smile playing on his lips. “In fact, you’re coming with me.”

Jack struggled in his seat again, inching away as far as he could when Sam began to untie the restraints at his wrists. His heart was beating a mile a minute. What did Sam have in store for him? Did he plan to bring Dean into the situation?

The sound of the small cabin’s back door slamming shut jerked Dean out of his thoughts. He whipped around in time to see Sam throw Kelly’s pale, spindly son to the dirt.

“Dean, he knows about us… And Cas,” Sam announced, letting out an exasperated huff of breath as he stepped away from the man writhing on the ground.

“What all does he know? Does he know about Lucifer? Mary? Crowley?”

“I don’t know. The bastard still wouldn’t speak up even after I threatened to beat the shit out of him.”

Both brothers stood in a gloomy but comfortable silence before either of them spoke up.

“So, do you trust him at all?” Dean prompted, apple green eyes narrowed as he studied Jack from a distance, his weary gaze traveling over the Nephilim’s figure. He was something else; thin and very easily breakable by the looks of him.

“No, Dean,” Sam defended. “As a matter of fact, I figured he’d be a valuable piece to have on our side of the board.”

At this, Dean snorted. “So, Cas is dead, Mom’s gone, and you want to play a game of chess? Sounds fun, but, if you haven’t already noticed, we don’t have all our pieces together, Sammy.”

The brothers’ conversation came to a halt as Jack cautiously approached Castiel’s limp form. He was slow in his actions, as if afraid to break the fallen angel. There he was; before him was the angel he had chosen, and who had chosen him as well. Without a second thought, he placed a shaking hand to Cas’s forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, channeling all his focus and energy towards the man – no, angel – that was supposed to be there for him, supposed to protect him.

“Hey!” Dean shouted angrily. “Get your damn hands away from him.”

Jack froze instantly, like an animal of prey caught in the headlights of a hunter’s truck. Dean stormed away from Sam, bracing himself to fight the Nephilim. His balled fist collided harshly with Jack’s jaw when he was close enough, and the younger man fell heavily to the ground once again, groaning in utter pain.

“Dean,” Sam warned. He knew what would come next. He’d seen it happen several times himself. When his older brother was angry, he certainly got angry, and there was nothing that could be done to fix his desire to beat the shit out of someone without actually doing so.

The anger boiling deep within Dean was unleashed in an explosive manner, resulting in his knuckles colliding many, many more times with Jack’s fragile body before the young man even bothered to fight back. Jack threw a punch up and managed to deck Dean’s cheekbone. The two men tumbled about, locked together and focused solely on one another. They continued to land hard blows on each other for a while. However, Sam didn’t bother to stop the fighting; he knew how much Dean needed a way to blow off his steam without taking it out on his younger brother. It was a need for Dean, much like that of needing to eat, drink, sleep.

Only when they grew close to the edge of the water did Sam attempt to intervene, but to no avail. Jack got the upper hand and pushed Dean down to the ground, holding him down and squeezing his throat. As the minutes ticked by, Jack’s grip loosened, and he resorted to a different tactic. He shoved Dean over the water’s edge and jumped in after him, making sure the entire time to hold Dean’s head below the surface.

The air in Dean’s lungs was depleting rapidly. His heart was beating more quickly than a jackhammer. His lungs were screaming for air. The blood running through his veins was as cold as ice, like the water all around him.

By now, he couldn’t tell which way was up. He was flailing too much, and it was hard to make sense of anything as he struggled to focus on steadying his heart rate. A sudden sharp intake of the ice-cold water had him choking, but there was nothing he could do…

Nothing…

Nothing at all…

He tumbled down to the bottom of the lake, passing foreboding depths.

He couldn’t breathe.

His mind flashed with images of the one he was holding on so weakly for.

Sammy...

Tags: @sprinkleofhappinessuniverse

[unrequitedmime]

His kisses devour me, and I fight to hold in my moans. His lips, cool and warm at the same time, trail delicately down my neck and ravish the sensitive skin across my collarbones. My fingers glide through the long locks of his black hair as I hold him closer to my body.  "Callus," I finally moan, pulling his face up to mine and drowning in the feel of his lips against mine.  He smiles against me, breaking me apart with his wandering hands.  "Mmm?" He asks innocently as he nibbles on my earlobe, "What is it, Saia?"  "You're a devil," I huff, pulling away from his torturous mouth to flop back on my bed. He laughs and leans forward again to find me, but my hand rests softly against his cheek instead. He stops, slowly opening his eyes.  Such lovely eyes.  "Okay?" He asks softly, almost whispers.  I nod and give him a small smile, my gaze wandering to the stone ceiling above me. After a few moments, he settles himself on his back beside me and stares up too.  Comfortable silence settles.  "You really think they're going to come back?" I ask quietly. I hate that I sound like a little child.  His hand finds mine and our fingers intertwine. He nods before releasing a breath, "I do. Did you see the fear in Lorin's eyes when we mentioned the Deadwalkers?"  "I don't know if it was fear-"  "It was, Saia. He knows they're real, but he refuses to believe it. The Kiditri people have always been known for their defiance just as Loppona's are known for their tempers. His instinct is to say no."  "And how do we know he'll ignore that instinct?"  "He didn't," Callus points out honestly, "But Lorin seems..."  "Like an asshole?"  Callus chuckles softly, squeezing my hand, "Actually, you both sort of provoked each other in that argument."  I sit up fast, raven hair flying, "I did NOT!"  He sits up slower, knowing my temper and not flinching from it. He simply stares at me for a long time, calm and blank.  I finally look away, "Maybe a little bit," I admit with a whisper.  He laughs softly before nodding, his chin resting against the bare skin of my shoulder. He kisses it as he thinks to himself.  "He'll come back. Trust me."  ---------------------------------------------------- I find her training in the temple.  The sounds of her dagger slicing the air into a million pieces, her grunts, the slide of her feet against the smooth floor, is music to my ears.  One of the most familiar sounds in the world.  I rest against a pillar and wait, silent, for her to finish. You cannot interrupt Etta's training. I learnt that the hard way as children.  After almost 20 minutes, she speaks.  "You scolded me like a child," She huffs, focused on her movements and her blade as she fights an invisible enemy. Most likely me.  "You acted like one," I calmly call back, voice echoing in the empty space.  She throws her knife at me as hard as she can, knowing I am fast enough to dodge it. I sidestep it, ignoring the clatter of it hitting the wall behind me, and stride to her. The candlelight flickers across her features, casting her smooth and tan skin in a strange glow. She stops and stares at me, chest heaving and sweat dripping.  "I was defending you-"  "Which is weird," I quip darkly, "Considering we both know I don't need to be defended."  Her face flushes with anger, "You didn't even try to defend-"  "I didn't need to," I snap, "The boy called me pretty, and that girl only wanted us to listen. They were not the dangerous ones of the Loppona present. If anything, they were the most harmless."  "But-"  "Don't try to argue with me, Etta," I interrupt, blank and cold, "You know I'm right."  "Then why are you here?" She snaps back.  "To tell you that I'm not mad, so you shouldn't be either. We have a meeting tonight, and as my weapons master I expect you to be there."  She stares at me for a long time, "Who are you?" She breathes finally, "Because right now, you are not the boy I grew up with."  I take a slow step back, eyes not leaving hers as I prepare to go, "I'm the leader of the Kiditri People."  "You can be both-"  "No, I can't."  I leave her alone in the candlelight.  -------------------------------------------- I watch her skin the apple with her dagger for a few minutes before she finally glances over at me. I sigh and shake my head from my position on the floor.  "Can't you ever just be normal?"  Her grin is giant.  "Did Lorin just ask someone to be normal?" Nate calls as he jumps up the last stairs to the outdoor villa. He brushes past the thin red curtains and strides his way in. "The hypocrisy is booming. I can hear the thuds." I roll my eyes and stretch out my legs, running a hand through my hair.  "That's why it's so spiky," Lita scolds, pointing her dagger at my hair from where she lounges on her velvet chaise lounge. She refused to join my entourage unless I brought her that damned couch.  "Is Etta coming?" Nate asks, settling himself down at his piano.  There was never any doubt that Nate was going to be my second in command, so I didn't need to bribe him with beautiful gifts. But he has been my best friend since we were six. That piano was a way I could show just a sliver of my gratitude. He plays it every day.  Lita shrugs, big chocolate eyes focused on the movement of her dagger across the skin of that fruit. She wears a coral summer dress tonight, her black curls cascading down her chest. Despite the cold of the Forests, Lita has only ever worn what she wanted to wear.  Nate flicks accusing eyes over to me, his fingers aimlessly dancing across the piano keys as if he is not making beautiful music."Did you talk to her?"  I nod, grabbing a bunch of grapes from the platter on the coffee table. I have never understood why our meeting villa has needed to be so extravagant, but Lita insisted. She claimed she would kill herself if she had to spend one night a week in an old shed like our ancestors did.  "Fuck secrecy," She had shrugged that first day, "I'd rather use my own magic to ward it then sit amongst the snakes and rats."  "If she's not here already, then she's not coming," I shrug carelessly, "Etta is always the first to arrive."  "She's mad at you," is all Lita says. She does not hide the disdain in her voice. Her and Etta have been in more arguments than I can even count. I still have scars on the insides of my wrists from Lita's nails when I tried to break up one of their fist fights.  "I don't care."  Nate sighs, his hands finally slowing on the keys, "Oh well. Let's get started."  Lita sits up carefully, "I have something to say," She announces smoothly, "That Loppona man with the black hair and the green eyes is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."  Nate rolls his eyes.  "That Loppona man's heart also belongs to the Queen of the Blacks."  Lita sighs in disappointment and thinks for a moment before nodding, "I can actually see why he'd be in love with that girl. What is her name, again?"  "Assaia Kundu."  "Ah," Lita nods, "Yes. The seventeen year old tribal leader. Apparently she is the best they have had in centuries. Better than her uncle, even."  Nate watches her carefully, "And where did you get this information?"  Lita lies back down and shrugs, "Loppona men seem to talk a lot when you show them some skin."  Lita is one of the best spies I have ever met.  "What else do you know about her?"  Lita looks to me, "Powerful. A great mind. An even greater entourage, despite them all being young. She's the best fighter they have in Loppona. And... she has a temper."  Nate looks to me with a smirk on his dark lips, "A temper? Sounds like Lorin's type."  "Sounds like an enemy," I counter.  -------------------------------------------------------- "Sai," Kassia huffs with a shake of her head as she closes the steel door behind Rone, "I love you, you know I do. But if you ever talk to the Kiditri leader like that again I will personally kill you."  "I thought it was amazing," Rone shrugs, caramel curls bouncing as he makes his way to his usual seat; on top of the round table, "I couldn't tell whether or not he was mad or turned on."  Callus chokes on his coffee, and I shoot Rone a threatening glare.  'Shut up!' I whisper to his mind.  My best friend shrugs carelessly and sets his eyes on the cupcakes Kassia made, "Kas, did you really make cupcakes?"  "What?" Kassia asks defensively as she takes a seat beside Callus, "They lighten up the mood of this forsaken room."  We all glance around grimly at the thick walls of the round meeting room. The fluorescent light above us flickers once before coming back on.  "This is fucking ridiculous," Rone sighs, sitting back with a cupcake in his hand, "You're the tribal leader, Sai. Surely you can get us a better meeting room."  "This is where the leaders have always held their meetings," I argue defensively, "Sound proof walls, remember?"  Rone scoffs, "We live in an underground network of tunnels!" He argues back, "ALL OF THE WALLS ARE SOUND PROOF!" He screams at the walls for emphasis.  "Do you think he's going to come back?" Kassia blurts suddenly, her nerves getting the better of her.  Silence.  "I think he will," Callus says confidently.  "He's the leader of an enemy tribe," Rone counters, "Don't be so sure." "Yes," Kassia agrees slowly, "But he also believes in the Deadwalkers."  "Bullshit," Rone shakes his head.  "No," I shake my head, "He does. His reaction proved it."  Silence again.  A deep booming on the steel door. Kassia startles before racing to answer it. No one interrupts these meetings. She swings it open, grunting with the effort, and reveals a young message boy. His hair is blonde and spiky, and for a moment I am reminded of Lorin.  "They found another body," He whispers to us.  Everyone turns to me. I stand up slowly.  "Where?"  ------------------------------------------------------- Callus' hand suddenly finds my waist, and startled before glancing up at him in confusion. And then I follow his gaze, focused on the group striding from the edge of the Dark Forests. Their red cloaks shine in the brightness of the dawn. We wait until they reach the border.  "Where is the body?" Lorin asks, voice deep and cold.  The Asian girl is not with them. Callus notices the same time I do, and his hand tightens on my waist in silent question.  "About 50 feet that way," I nod my chin to the right."  "Which side of the border is it on?" A beautiful Latina girl asks, accent light but exotic. "Both," Rone calls back, "Smack bang in the middle. Pow."  The Latina girl studies him for a few moments, eyebrows raised, both intrigued and seemingly impressed by his casual tone. I fight the urge to explain to her that Rone has only ever been serious a few times in his life, and those times were when Kassia or I were in pain.  "Shall we go find it, then?" The dark skinned man asks carefully.  Kassia stares at him for a long time before nodding, jaw clenched.  -------------------------------------- The Latina whispers a prayer under her breath when her eyes fall upon the body. No one says a word. We all just stare. Except for Lorin.  the girl is young. Perhaps 14, with the most beautiful red hair I have ever seen. Curls of pure fire.  "I wonder what colour her eyes were," The Latina whispers, lost in her horror.  "Lita, she is of the Koro village," The dark skinned man breathes to her, so soft that no one hears it but her. And me.  Lita nods, barely perceptible, "I'll go this afternoon, Nate," She almost mouths to him.   Villages. The Dark Forests have villages. I struggle to blend this information with the stories that I have been told my entire life; that the Dark Forests are nothing but enchanted trees and evil magic, with the Kiditri people like wandering savages through the land.  The Dark Forests have villages.  I glance down at the dead body again. The girl is naked, her white skin shining bright in the morning sun. Dirt is streaked across her body, as if she was dragged here across plains of waste, and a hole as wide as my own head has been carved into her chest. Blood still seeps from it.  Her death is fresh. Too fresh.  "We should not be here," Callus rumbles, his thoughts reaching the same conclusion as mine, "They could still be close."  "Daytime, dork," Rone reminds Callus, eyes on the dead girl, "Deadwalker only wander at night."  "We didn't even think they were real," Callus argues, "So we don't know their rules. There is no guarantee they are only nighttime creatures."  "All of the murders have occurred at night, Callus," Kassia turns to her twin brother, "They are nighttime creatures."  "It's the crack of dawn," Nate cuts in, "They could still be out here." "So you admit they're real?" Kassia demands.  "Do you know anything else that could have caused this?" Nate's voice slices.  They continue to talk. Low and quiet bickering voices in the light of the rising sun. I do not say a word. I do not even listen.  I only watch who they do not. Lorin. He stares at the body as if it is a black hole, sucking him up and away into an void. His skin, usually golden and glowing, is as pale as Kassia's. Yesterday I believed his eyes to be blank, but I know that I was wrong. Now they are blank. Really, truly, blank.  Everything about him is silent, still, frozen, trapped. He is almost unreadable. Except I can feel the grief radiating off him in waves. I almost drown in it, and I feel the horror in his mind like a punch to the chest. For a moment, as I stare at his wide eyes and his trembling lip, I cannot breathe.  I do not think before stepping over the border.  Kassia cries my name as I do. I feel Callus leap for me, but I take another step and his fingers barely brush by my skin.   "Assaia!" He yells, the panic and fear and shock clear in his voice.  No Loppona has ever stepped over the Kiditri border.  When you are in Kiditri territory, you are theirs. They could kill me right now, and there would be no consequences.  I cannot bring myself to care. I stride right to Lorin, stopping barely a breath away from his body. He does not even see me, only the memories that the dead body has summoned. Now that I am near him, I can hear his shuddered and choked breaths. I can also feel his grief stronger now, like a wave that keeps knocking me under. I tumble and turn and scream for help in the water, but no one hears.  He is screaming for help, but no one can hear.  Except for me.  I do not know why, but my hand finds his chest, his thumping heart. It gallops under my palm. I hear Lita draw in a sharp breath when I touch him. Nate takes a guarded step closer, hand on his axe as he watches us. Lorin does not even look at me, only stares at the dead girl on the ground. He is drowning.  "Assaia," Callus forces out, voice raw and desperate. He knows that Nate and Lita are going to kill me.  "Shut up," Rone interrupts roughly. I hear him step in front of Callus and push him back, eyes on me and only me.  'What are you doing?' My best friend cautiously asks my mind.  I do not take my eyes off Lorin. His face is slowly shattering, a mask slowly breaking apart to reveal something hurting and vulnerable. The unreadable Kiditri leader is becoming readable.  The Red King is human.  'Looking into a mirror,' My thoughts whisper to Rone.  I should not care that he is hurting. He is my enemy. I have been raised to hate his people, to hate him. The Kiditri people are savages, and they have killed more Loppona than I can even count. I have met this man once, only once, and I know I do not like him.  But there is something. I cannot define it, but there is something in me that wants to rid of the pain, of the darkness within him. Perhaps it is my father coming out. I feel something, a connection that I cannot describe. It is a hook on my belly button. It is a tether that attaches me to my sworn enemy. A tether that pulled me across the border and to his beating chest.  I bend down and pick up a handful of dirt. I grab Lorin's palm and rest my own against it, intwining our fingers so tightly that the dirt rubs roughly against both of our skin. So hard that it almost hurts.  "Dirt," My voice is low and rough and real. So real that somehow, it shakes Lorin out of his trance. He blinks and releases a shuddering breath before looking at me. Before realising that I am standing in his territory, one hand on his beating heart and the other in his grasp. He does not say a word, does not flinch, does not smirk.  Only meets my gaze.  I stare back, "You are here. You are real. Wherever you were in your head, step away. You're not in your yesterday. You are here. You are in today."  --------------------------------- You are in today.  I stare at the girl - Assaia- and she does not flinch from my gaze. She stares back, eyes bright and real and a thousand different shades of green. Her eyes remind me of the Forests.  Her eyes remind me of home.  And just like that, I step away from the memories.  The breath shudders from my chest, and I listen to an identical one rattle in her own. And that's when I feel it.  The tether.  I jolt in shock, swearing as I stumble away from her. She remains frozen, frowning in confusion as she watches me. Nate steps to her, axe suddenly against her throat. Despite her reputation as the best fighter, she does not even flinch. Only watches me fight the urge to throw up. I fall to my knees, burying my clawing hands in the red dirt as I fight the screaming thoughts suddenly blasting away in my mind.  No. No, no, no, no!  There is no way. Not possible. This is physically impossible. I must be feeling it with someone else, someone nearby. Lita, perhaps.  Lita drops to her knees beside me, staring in worry, "Lorin?" She breathes, panicked, "What did she do to you? Did she hurt you?"  Nothing in me responds to the sound of Lita's voice. Nothing peaks it's head up, nothing wakes from it's slumber. Lita's hand touches my shoulder to support me.  I feel nothing.  I still. Freeze, calm, breathe. I stare at the ground, silent. Lita breathes my name again. I hardly hear it over my panic. Over my horror.  Not possible. Not possible. I am imagining it. I am delusional, drowning in my grief, and I am imagining it.  Assaia takes a step towards me, and Nate digs the axe deeper into her neck. He draws blood. I flinch from a phantom pain on my neck.  "Lorin," Assaia calls.  And despite my desperation, my horror, my fear, something in me responds to the sound of Assaia's voice. Something in me peaks it's head up, and something stirs from it's lifelong slumber. The tether in my stomach tugs, sharp and hard and powerful. I gasp, my hand flying to my belly button.  "Lorin," Nate calls, worry in his voice clear. He wants me to get up. He wants me to tell him to execute the enemy leader. He wants me to act alive.  I get up slowly, painfully slowly. Thoughts still race in my mind, but I ignore the screaming words of my ancestors and focus on my own.  How is this possible? She is not of Kiditri blood. She is of Loppona blood.  But it was rumoured that her father was a Kiditri sympathiser.  I walk to the girl, stopping barely a hair's width from her.  "Stand down," I tell Nate, voice raw and rough and quiet.  Nate does not hesitate before stepping away, but he stares at me in shock. He speaks to my mind, 'Lore, you have a chance to kill this woman and gain the Loppona territory. Do it.' I do not respond. Only stare into her green eyes.  "Do you feel the tether?" I whisper to her.  Her eyes flare for one moment, but she nods ever so slightly.  ----------------------------------------------- "You're my Kassinti," Lorin breathes the words so softly that only she hears them.  And Nate and I.  Nate does not breathe, does not move. Just stares. I feel his shock in my own blood stream. I gulp back the gasp that threatens to escape me and instead take a slow step forward.  "What is that?" Assaia whispers back.  "It is the most sacred pairing of the Kiditri people," My voice finds me as I take another step forward. Neither Lorin nor Assaia even look at me, but I feel the keen eyes of the Lappona's watching me on the other side of the border.  Assaia takes a small step back, her gaze still on Lorin, "Lie. I am not of Kiditri blood."  "Lorin," Nate forces out finally, voice raw, "How do you know?"  "The tether. It's there between us."  A shuddered breath escapes me, "But she is Lappona."  "You are lying," Assaia repeats, voice rising in both volume and strength. Something like anger creeps into her tone.  Lorin ignores her and glances over at me, "Her father," Is all he says.  He need not say more. I understand. It was rumoured for years that her father was a Kiditri sympathiser. He was killed for it.  "What ABOUT my father?" Assaia snarls defensively, "He is of Loppona blood!"  Lorin nods, "He is. But your mother isn't."   I do not hesitate. I stride to Assaia, taking advantage of her momentary shock. I grab her wrist and squeeze tight. She punches me in the face as hard as she can, and I go flying into Nate's arms. Pain blooms all throughout my head, and blood dances from my nose, but I ignore it all. I held her wrist for one moment.  But that was all I needed to feel the magic of her blood.  "She is both," I breathe, fighting the darkness at the edge of my vision, "She is mixed."  ------------------------------------------ Lita passes out in the man's arms, and he hoists her higher in his grip.  Kas' hand finds my own, and she squeezes tight.  "They're lying," Callus breathes to himself, "The Kassinti is not real."  "It is," I do not bother sugar coating it, eyes on a shaking Assaia across the border, "I have seen the bond. Kassinti pairings are real, and they are powerful, and they are unbreakable."  Callus punches me in the face as hard as he can.

unrequited