#damn sir she’d already left

[lawyer-of-louis-de-lioncourt]

He could not prevent it because he was set in his decision.

CLAUDIA AND A SPINELESS CUNT INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022—)

[boredzillenial]

Kat und Maus

A spy has gone slightly rogue on her mission, low and behold her team bites off more than she can chew.

Themes: f!main character, 3rd person perspective, spy fic, flirting, SFW (wait wtf this never happens)

A.N: trying something a bit different with this one. Not feeling super confident in my writing atm so lemme know what y’all think ~

“I’m in the compound” She whispers into the mic hidden in her bracelet.

“Remember, The nephew is the target, agent. It’s too dangerous to go after V directly.” Her boss’s voice clips in her ear.

“But -“

“Too. Dangerous.” The tone in his voice left no room for interpretation.

She rolls her eyes, continuing her quick strides up the mansion stairs. “Waste of my time and yours.” Her words come out in a puff of chilly night air. “Good evening - The party is this way yes?” Her well rehearsed German accent trills up to the sentry waiting by the front door. “I still don’t understand why he insists on his guests parking their own damn cars.” She makes a point to huff and roll her eyes as she tosses her jacket in his face.

In a quick succession of movements she slams her heel on his foot, muffles his scream with the thick fabric, and twists him around till her arm snakes around his neck. “Sleep tight…” She coos as his body goes limp.

She drags him into the nearby bushes and rewraps her coat around her bare shoulders. “Told you the jacket trick works” She whispers a little smugly into the receiver on her wrist.

“That should be the last armed guards outside. V doesn’t like guns flashing around his guests - unless he’s doing the flashing.” She trys not to roll her eyes again, oh the egos of men . “Nephew should be on the balcony. Go straight there, secure him and over the edge. The extraction team’s waiting in the water at the base of the cliffs.”

“What is it with the ridiculously wealthy and putting their homes on cliffs.” She whispers, admiring the ornate paintings and museum worthy pieces along the walls and small tables.

“Agent, stay on task.”

“So impersonal. I know you know my name might as well say it.” Her tone clips short to match his.

“Also, what’s with the pseudonym, his name is -“

“Anselm tell that story again!” A mans voice booms from the open doorway just a few feet ahead. A chorus of affirmative chatter rises along with it.

“Oh please, you are embarrassing me. It’s not that entertaining.” Anselm’s raised, singsong German accent rings out like a siren song.

“Agent - stay on-“ Those are the last words she hears before she slips the the earpiece out and down into her brazier.

She rounds the corner slowly, getting the layout of the room and those within. The booming voiced man is standing, drunken smile across his reddened face along with four more strained faces with ingenue smiles across them.

And there, seated at an imperial looking dark wooden desk is her target, Anselm. Seeing him in person struck something different within her. She’d studied the far lensed slightly blur photographs along with his laundry list of a rap sheet- he’s a crime boss, an international thief, a kidnapper, a murder. But the man before her seems, well not all that scary.

Cheers and claps fill the room until Anselm relents “Fine fine - I was down in South America, meeting with some less than friendly constituents when - Why hello there.” He stops as he eyes her leaning in the doorframe “And who might you be my dear.” He stands, never taking his eyes off her.

“Anselm darling I am offended -“ Her accent mirrors his “Have you forgotten our time in Munich already? I know it was years ago and we were both so intoxicated but -“

“Everyone, please leave.” His tone is light despite the unknown expression on his face. Creaking and squeaking fills the space as he makes his way to her.

“But sir -“ The large man begins and quickly halts when Anselm looks his way.

The slight squint of his eyes is all it took, sending everyone else in the room scattering. “Now - yours is a face I would not forget.” He sat slowly on the leather couch, adjusting and patting the empty space beside him. “What is your name madam.”

She rolls her alias with ease “- Do you remember now?” She walks slowly, lengthening her steps to sway her hips. His eyes land perfectly on the motion. “Or perhaps you’d remember, other things about me.” She lowers her voice as she sits beside him.

“I don’t believe -“ The beginning of his question is cut short with the sharp ringing from an old style telephone on his desk “Apologies my dear, duty calls” Once again his voice is light but the slightest moment of concern crossed his features before he stiffly stands.

“No need, I need to powder my nose. Be right back.” She coos over her shoulder. Though she keeps her steps slow with purpose her nerves are alight. She really thought he would be so much more imposing or terrifying given his reputation. But he’s just a man, and the look in his eyes makes something she didn’t care to admit stir low in her belly.

She clicks a little quicker down the back hall and onto the patio, where only silence awaits her. While she glances cautiously around for her original target she digs into her dress.

Already she can hear the soft buzzing of a scream as she retrieves the ear piece from her cleavage and puts it back into place. “-AVE YOU GONE MAD! THERE’S A TEAM HEADED YOUR WAY IN LESS THAN 5 YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THERE!” He screams.

“I made contact with V, I can take him. The nephew is gone.” She hisses.

“ENOUGH! GET TO THE EXTRACTION POINT - THE SECONDARY TEAM WILL RETRIEVE HIM.”

She sighs, shakes her head and carefully jumps over the railing to shimmy down the lattice. “So not worth it, shit.”

She makes her way down the dark expanse of grass and rocks to the extraction team who also look intensely displeased by her change in plan. “Target acquired, heading to base. Ready by 0600 hours for interrogation.”

“Agent, in light of your insubordination. You will remain awake and interrogate the asset once you return.” His words cut into her bruised ego.

“Sir I haven’t slept since -“

“Does it sound, like I care…” his words struggle past his teeth into her ear.

“No, sir.”

“Then sign off. Stay alert….” She pulls the earpiece out and grips it so tightly she snaps the delicate tool into pieces. As she heads off with the team she readies her mind for interrogating the initial target. Some silver spoon punk who was probably kept around as more of a decoration than an asset. Breaking him should be easy enough, but her thoughts stray back to Anselm, the intensity in his gaze and how sure he carried himself, despite the brace…

0600

She walks groggily down the empty hall, gripping onto a hot cup of coffee. This time dressed in casual civilian clothes of Jeans and a Tee she keeps stashed away for emergencies in her locker.

“Can’t believe he’s making me interview this little punk first thing.” She yawns.

“Alright kid - we can do this the easy way or -“ her words cut short in her throat. The slumped form of Anselm tied to the chair in the center of the room.

“Sir,” She clips into her new ear piece “I think you need to see this…”

The minutes pass like lifetimes until finally her boss rounds the corner. “You’ve got to be fucking -“ he growls, whipping the door open, taking a good look, and closing it softly “kidding me…” his final words come out in an exasperated sigh as he rubs his temples. “And this wasn’t you?” He asks without looking up at her.

“Absolutely not sir, I got outta there before the team hit… Did you want me to still do the interrogation?” Her tone shifts to something softer, not wanting to piss her boss off more than he already is.

He whirls on her, “I’ll take you at your word this wasn’t you… But it’s still on you for not containing the original target when you had the chance. When the higher-ups come down on our asses for catching this fucking shark instead of his stupid little nephew, I’m pointing them in your direction unless you get something usable out of him. Understood?”

She nods once “Any limitations?”

“Keep ‘m alive.” He growls before stalking off, a heavy invisible weight on his shoulders.

She steps calmly back into the interrogation room, closing the door a little harder than necessary. Anselm jolts in his chair, eyes squinting as they settle on her. “You again, dangerous little Maus, where have you whisked me to.” He tisks while taking in his surroundings.

“Sorry to disappoint, we don’t have any better accommodations at present.” She sighs and sits a couple feet away in the singular opposing chair. “So tell me Anselm, you feeling okay?” She puts on a saccharine smile.

“Oh my dear you know the ropes aren’t very comfortable.” He wiggles a bit to test them. Looks like the team had decided on simple restraints on his ankles, torso and wrists. “And you’re american? Such a pity.” He tuts.

She crosses her legs and takes a long sip of her coffee.

Anselm eyes the cup, licking his lips for a moment then meeting her gaze again. “Uncomfortable chair, no refreshments, not even a table to negotiate.”

“Oh well see that’s where you’ve not quite caught up. We aren’t negotiating, this is more of well, let’s call it a knowledge seeking interview.”

“Darling, I think I know what an interrogation room looks like. But why bring me here hmm?” He quirks up a brow “I do say you would’ve gotten whatever you wanted in that slick little number you were wearing in earlier. But, you Americans do love your Blue Jeans…”

“I don’t think my clothes will prevent me from learning what I wanna know.” She takes another long sip, enjoying that little lip lick of his again. “Thirsty?”

Anselm chuckles softly, “Very, would you mind?”

“Oh not at all,” She stands slowly “You help me, I’ll help you. How’s that sound. Little quid pro quo.”

“What do you want to know my dear.” He eyes her as she makes her way to him. That dark gaze grazes over her.

“Well for starters, that mansion of yours.” She queries casually “Why along a cliff?”

“This is what the American Goverment wishes to know?”The lilt in his voice coaxes the faintest smirk to her lips.

“This is what I wish to know. Consider this the quid” she encourages.

“Well, for the view of course.” He shrugs.

“Huh… how boring.” She sighs “but fair is fair.” She takes her coffee cup and brings it to his lips “I’m sure you don’t mind sharing.” In reality, this was a test, just how far she could get away with him. If he would share a drink with her, there may be some trust. Trust leads to answers.

“Not at all,” He murmurs as she tilts the cup, he drinks deep for a moment before she pulls it away. “Thank you my darling, in fact I prefer it. You know how it is after people try to poison you. After the first few you only eat or drink after others have, ahaha.” There it is again, that strange little giggle.

“Can’t say I do, but good to keep in mind.” She shakes her head a moment, setting the coffee cup on the floor beside his chair and getting comfortable in her own. “Now, I’ve got a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Anything my dear.”

“Tell me about the weapons trade, how’s everything going hmm? I hear the Russians have really been giving you a hard time.” She eyes him while crossing her legs, foot bouncing casually.

“Okay, almost anything.” He coughs, “You understand I cannot discuss such matters with you my dear. Despite your beauty and statuesque figure.”

Is he still flirting? Is he serious? She decides to test it. “Aww Anselm, you’ve disappointed me.” She tuts as she stands, walking past him to a nearby table laid with all sorts of instruments to help loosen one’s tongue. “I thought you’d make this easy for both of us.”

“My darling, nothing with me is easy. You’ll come to enjoy that I hope.” He try’s to turn, unable to get her into his peripheral.

“I’m not one for puzzles, or games,” she comes around to face him, twirling a set of pliers in her hand “And to be brutally honest I’m not the best when it comes to patience.”

He eyes the instrument in her hand for a moment before his gaze roams over her body again. “Now that is truly a use for me. Teaching you patience, it is one of life’s greatest pleasures.” His tone shifts low, sultry.

She decides to lean in, a hand on either arm and her face just inches from his, “Do you think you’re in much of a position to teach me anything right now?” Her tone drops low to meet his.

“My dear, things can change so quickly you know.” His eyes flicker down to her lips, “It would make things so much easier for you to play nice.”

She leans back and barks out a laugh. “You can’t be serious right now. You are in a hidden bunker in for all you know the damn ocean. I pull out pliers and you don’t so much as bat an eye?”

“Don’t let my own handsomeness fool you, you must not know who you are dealing with to think such a simple tool would frighten me.” Anselm is deadly calm as he speaks. Somehow, despite him being the one tied to a chair authority radiates from him. “I do urge you, untie me now and save yourself some trouble later feisty maus.”

She’s about to put her tool to work when the door behind her bursts open. In an instant someone is on her, choking her from behind and lifting her high enough her feet no longer touch the ground. She claws and kicks to no avail as two more men sweep in and quickly release Anselm from his bindings.

“Don’t kill her, I like this one.” His words cut through her choking gasps and for a moment the grip around her throat loosens. “A little lower.”

The arms around her lower till they are face to face again. She’s clinging onto consciousness by a thread, her ears ringing and limbs going limp.

Anselm drags his thumb over her lower, “beautiful feisty maus, rest up. When you wake it will be your turn to help me.” He gives a quick nod and that grip tightens again. The last thing she hears is indistinguishable words in his short tone. The final sensation is the gentle brush of fingers across her cheek as her world fades into darkness.

———————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie4art @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m

[sentientgolfball]

sooo @rainyhoursinhell got me on a Sir Rain fix but then I thought too long about genderfluid Rain and the lunar cycle so now I give you Ma'am Rain..also go read their stuff!! They are THE Raintom person

18+ MDNI

Word Count: 2570

Pairing: Rain/Phantom

Tags: she/her Rain used, collar and leash, Phantom tries very hard to be good, mean Rain, pet play/pup used as a nickname, slight mention of daddy kink

Summary: It was a super full moon tonight and Rain had to get rid of the pent-up energy somehow

It was a full moon. 

A full super moon. 

Rain had been feeling the pull of the celestial body for the past few days, which wasn’t anything unexpected for a water ghoul. She was used to the push and pull of the moon's power. She knew how to handle herself in the presence of its light. 

Something Rain never could seem to get the handle on though was those few moments in the year where the cycle got interrupted. Eclipses, blue moons, super moons, those always caught her by surprise even if she had the date marked and highlighted in every calendar in the Ministry. She was still caught by surprise when she woke up dick painfully erect like she went into heat overnight. She could already feel that high that comes with the full moon and the sun literally just rose. She figured she needed to take care of herself before she got too high off the surge of magick and adrenaline. She ran straight to the shower and made quick work of herself, shooting onto the tile wall nearly piercing her hand with the effort of keeping quiet. 

When she left the bathroom with a puff of steam and saw her half-opened closet a grin slowly spread on her face. She knew exactly what to wear for the occasion. 

Short satin dress. Spaghetti strap. Black. Matching elbow-length gloves and choker. Opal stud earrings. 

She figured the effort it would take to keep her fins glamoured all day would be worth the looks she knew she’d get. Maybe if she were lucky Cirrus or Mountain would throw her over their shoulder to go rip the dress right off. Or maybe Dew would tease her all day until she decided enough was enough and bent him over the nearest surface. Oh or what about Swiss falling to his knees begging for permission to touch and taste? Rain had to bite back a moan at the thought as she looked herself over in the mirror, making sure each part of the outfit was sitting correctly on her figure. 

When she finally deemed herself the picture of perfection, she made her way to the kitchenette hoping to ruffle some feathers before slipping away to join the other water ghouls until she returned to the den when the moon was at its peak. She must have taken longer to get ready than she originally thought because the entire pack was out, spread between the common area and the kitchen. She tried her damnedest to keep a neutral expression when any conversation halted the moment she stepped into view. She could already smell the arousal on the whole damn pack. 

It was a super moon after all. It was the one lunar event that didn’t affect just water ghouls. Sure it messed with them the most, but still every ghoul of every element would be feeling the pull tonight. She knew this and she used it to her advantage. Every single time. 

She ran a hand over Mountain’s waist when she slipped past him at the stove. She made sure to reach for the glass on the highest shelf so Swiss could get a perfect view of her dress from where he was sitting at the table. She made sure to brush his arm and lean over Cumulus while she set the table. Her tail flicked when she heard a low growl from the common area. 

“Isn’t it a little early to start this Rainy?” 

Her eyes flick up to meet Dew’s glowing ones. 

“What? Am I not allowed to look nice?” 

He huffs “Not when the new kid is five seconds away from creaming his pants.” 

Rain can hear a small squeak followed by Cirrus 

“Sorry Ant but it’s kinda obvious, I can smell you from here.” 

Rain raises an eyebrow at Dew who returns the gesture with the slightest flick of his head. 

Looks like Rain found who she’d be celebrating the supermoon with. 

Rain had to admit, she was a little nervous at the idea of taking Phantom since this was only his second moon experience, but fuck the sweet smell of his arousal wafting over the others made her head spin and it still wasn’t anywhere close to sunset. 

She decided she’d play the long game with him when he couldn’t keep his eyes off her the entirety of breakfast. She’d glance at him and he’d look away with a deep blush and oh did she long to see how far she could push him. It got even worse when she realized his chores seemed to suspiciously line up with every spot the water ghouls decided to gather at to lazily make out or to expel the pent-up magick before the real show started. 

Enough was enough, though when Phantom ran straight into Rain after slinking away when he saw Rain was nowhere to be seen with the other water ghouls. 

“You’ve been watching me all day haven’t you sweet thing?” 

His Lichtenberg figure scars glow slightly as a small wave of quintessence ripples through his body. 

“I uh I don’t know what you’re talking about Rain. I was just you know…working.” 

She tsks “Who taught you to lie? Good boys don’t lie Phantom. I thought you were good?” 

His eyes go wide when Rain turns and begins walking away. 

“Wait! Wait Rainy where are you—?” 

“Back to the den. If you can’t be good I’ll just find someone who can.” 

She turns and meets Phantom’s eyes with a bored look when she feels him grab her wrist. 

“Come on Rain please let me be good for you. I promise I’ll be good. Gimme a chance, I’ll do whatever you say.” 

She raised an eyebrow “Whatever I say? Really?” 

He nods so fast it makes Rain’s neck hurt. 

“Hm,” she hums “Guess we’ll find out if you’re still lying to me.” 

The second they’re back in the ghoul den Rain quickly wraps a hand around his horns and pulls him down the hallway to her room. 

“Good luck Bug you’re gonna need it!” Swiss calls from where he’s pinned between Cirrus and Aurora on the couch. 

“Be nice.” Aurora hisses. 

That’s the last thing Phantom hears before he’s shoved into Rain’s dark room. The lock clicks and he doesn’t even have time for his eyes to adjust before he feels Rain grab and shove him against the door. She pressed her whole body into him, stealing what little breath he had with a kiss. She teases his bottom lip with her tongue, huffing a laugh when he immediately opens for her. 

Rain slips her tongue into his mouth, making an attempt to shove it down his throat before pulling back. 

“Stoplight system, okay pup?” 

He nods with a little squeak. Rain growls and places a little pressure at the base of his neck. 

“What was that? You know how to speak don’t you or are you a dumb little puppy?” 

Phantom whines and nods his head “Yes.” 

“To which?” 

“All of the above.” 

Rain smiles, flashing her fangs before leaning in to suck a deep bruise onto his neck. 

“Good boy. But I still think you need a little training since you decided to lie earlier.” 

Rain pulls away for a moment. She fishes something out from her nightstand that Phantom can’t quite see. She throws open the blinds in her room to let the full moonlight fill the space. Phantom’s cock kicks in his pants at the sight. Rain’s skin practically glows when it hits her. The black satin is a gorgeous contrast to her pale skin and oh the darkness in her eyes was too much for Phantom. She crosses the space to stand in front of him, only this time she keeps a bit of distance. 

“Eyes on me pet.” 

Phantom's mismatched gaze immediately snaps to meet her. She smiles and takes the thing from the nightstand from behind her back, clipping it around his neck before he can even process it. He instinctively reaches up to feel the material. He’s a bit shocked when he feels the leather, whatever was against his neck felt soft and fuzzy. 

“Color?” 

“Green.” 

“Good.” 

Rain yanks on the leash he didn’t even realize was attached and he nearly falls on his ass. She pulls him over to the vanity letting him take a good long look at the two of them. Only Phantom isn’t looking at them. His eyes immediately fell to the collar. It was pink with a matching heart keychain on the leash clip. He squinted to read the words in the low light and nearly fainted when he realized what was written. 

Daddy’s girl. 

He felt another yank his leash. 

“What did I say? Eyes on me.” 

“I’m sorry!” His eyes immediately snap to look at Rain in the reflection. 

“I’m sorry…?” 

“I’m sorry ma’am” he whines. 

Rain steps back to sit on the edge of the bed pulling Phantom with her. He immediately moves to straddle her but Rain hisses, looping the leash around her wrist and yanking. 

“Nuh-uh, you haven’t earned that yet. You still need to be taught a lesson for lying. On your knees pup.” 

Phantom drops without a second thought landing hard. He’s going to have bruises for days after this is over. He looks up at Rain with those big eyes making her cock twitch. She shifts her weight just enough to lift the hem of the dress to expose her lacy underwear. 

“Sit on your hands pup. Since you wanted to use your mouth so badly that’s what you’re going to do.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy. Now get to work.” 

Phantom leans forward till he’s slotted perfectly between Rain’s legs. He grabs the waistband of the panties between his teeth, careful not to nick her skin with his fangs. He slides them down just enough to free her cock. She’s already hard with a bead of pre pooling at the tip. He licks his lips and glances up at Rain, holding eye contact as he licks a long fat stripe from root to tip. Rain tightens his grip on the leash, letting his claws bite into his palm to keep still. 

Phantom laps at the tip before parting his lips and swallowing her down. Rain laces her fingers through his hair, gasping when her cock hits the back of his throat. He slowly pulls off, letting the flat of his tongue drag along the underside. He keeps his lips around the tip and holds for just a moment letting the anticipation build. He breathes deep through his nose before sliding down in one quick motion, burying his nose in the hair at the base. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head. Rain moans and throws his head back. 

“Good boy. Good fucking boy pup. Do something good with that mouth.” 

Phantom’s tail snakes around to stroke and play with her balls. Rain hisses a curse and rips Phantom off her dick by his leash. He stares at her with wide eyes trying to babble out an excuse. 

“What part of mouth is so hard to understand stupid little puppy?” 

“Rain I’m sorry—“ 

“What did you say?”

“Ma’am! I’m sorry ma’am please” 

“Strip and get on the bed. Ass up.” 

Phantom jumps up and rips his shirt off sending buttons flying across the room. He almost falls on his face trying to get his pants off and onto the bed at the same time. Rain slips his panties the rest of the way off. She fishes out a half-empty bottle of lube, settling behind Phantom on her knees. She pulls one of her gloves off to pour a generous amount onto her hand. She pulls her dress up to sit above his hips. She jacks herself a few times to spread the lube and spit around. She lines herself up with Phantom’s waiting hole and slaps his ass. 

“Wait wait wait you’re not gonna prep first?” He yelps. 

“Color?” 

“Green.” 

Rain sneers “Do you really think you deserve it pup?”

She pushes the head in. 

“You spent all day stalking me.” 

She pushes in a little more. 

“You lie to my face.” 

She pulls all the way out. 

“And then you break two rules. So tell me pup do you really think you deserve it?” 

Phantom whines and writhes under her “No ma’am. You’re right I don't, I'm sorry.” 

Rain slams into him bottoming out in one thrust. Phantom howls at the stretch. Rain wasn’t big enough to really hurt him, but it still burned without any prep. He’d definitely feel her long after this was over. 

She gives him no time to adjust, immediately setting a brutal pace, one hand gripping his hip and the other keeping a tight hold on the leash. She yanks on it in time with her thrusts pulling strangled little moans from Phantom. 

“Ma’am please please. I’m good, I'm good, I promise.” 

He tries to grind his hips back on Rain’s cock, trying to get her deeper. 

“Are you?” 

“Please I am I am I’m good.”

“Then fucking take it.” 

She shifts her hips and the next thrust hits his prostate dead on. He keens and clenches hard around her. She groans and throws her head back. 

“Come on pup be a good boy. Be a good fucking boy.” She punctuates each word with a thrust, grinding her hips against his ass. 

She pulls hard on the leash until Phantom is pulled up and pressed tight against Rain’s chest. She licks and kisses over his shoulders before dragging her tongue up the column of his throat to his ear. She pants heavy and low in his ear and nips at the lobe. 

“You take it so well, slutty little puppy.” 

She pinches and twists his nipples. He whines high and feminine. Rain drags her hand down his body and grabs his dick. She jacks him as she grinds into him. It only takes a few more strokes and Phantom is spilling hot and heavy into her hand.

“Thank you ma’am thank you thank you thank you.” He pants and whines as Rain milks every drop out of him. She brings her hand to his face.

“Clean your mess puppy.” 

Phantom drops his mouth and wraps his tongue around her fingers when she shoves them into his mouth. He sucks until he feels her bite into his shoulder shooting into him thrusting her spend as deep as she can manage into him. 

She takes a moment to catch her breath before lapping at the wound to close it. She drops them onto the bed, kissing Phantom sweetly between the horns. She unclips the collar and kisses around the red marks left on his neck. 

“You were such a good boy for me pup. Come on let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Phantom whines and shakes his head burying his nose into her chest. 

“Wanna stay here?” 

He nods and tilts his head up to kiss the underside of her chin making her laugh. 

“You know we have to clean you up love bug.” 

“Aren’t you like a super water ghoul right now? Just” he gestures vaguely “magic it away.” 

“No bug, I can't magic it away, it has to go somewhere.” 

“Fiiiine” he groans. 

Rain just laughs and hauls him up, pulling him to the shower. She holds him close, swaying slightly to a silent rhythm. 

[moodymelanist]

But If She's A Ghost (Then I Can Be A Phantom)

happy last day of @cassianappreciationweek everyone! it’s been so amazing seeing everyone celebrate our favorite bar boy!!

this is part 2 to I Depend On Me from Nesta Week 2023, so if you haven’t already read that one you might be a little confused lol.

hope you all enjoy ❤️‍🔥 the final part of this series will be coming during @nessianweek hehehe

Summary: Cassian, Azriel, and Mor follow the Valkyries to try and finish their mission.

It doesn't quite go according to plan.

Word Count: 2,280

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Cassian 

Cassian had been hoping that Nesta and her friends would show up tonight, but getting to dance with her was practically the cherry on top. He could hardly believe his luck when she’d let him approach her, let alone wrap his arms around her and hold her close, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. 

The longer they traded innuendos and flirted back and forth, the more Cassian knew this was meant to be a distraction. But damn if he wasn’t having fun twirling Nesta around and holding her close. 

“I hate to dance and dash, but…” Nesta said once she’d finished her spin and faced Cassian again. “I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome.”

“And what if I want you to wear me out instead?” Cassian fired back without missing a beat. He knew she wouldn’t take him up on it, but he really did like this little game they had going. 

“Then I suppose you’ll have to keep holding your breath,” she replied, deftly stepping out of his hold once the song ended. “Have a good night, sir. It was lovely dancing with you.”

Cassian could only gape as Nesta bent over slightly and smoothed out the wrinkles on her dress, unable to tear his eyes away from the frankly ridiculous way her breasts were almost spilling out of her dress, before straightening up to walk away. Between her calling him sir and giving him a show like that, Cassian’s jaw had gone a little slack, and the little smirk she threw his way as she sashayed her way out of the gala only made the growing situation in pants even more pressing. 

“You two are disgusting,” Mor said as she slid into the empty spot Nesta had left behind. She dropped her voice into a mockery of Cassian’s as she repeated his comment to Nesta. “‘And what if I want you to wear me out instead?’ Gross.”

Cassian raised his arms and started dancing with Mor automatically, not wanting to piss off anyone else in the vicinity tonight. “Thanks for the support. Really, you’re so kind.”

“The only thing getting worn out is my patience,” Azriel muttered over the comms. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian replied, rolling his eyes even though he knew Azriel couldn’t see him. “Laugh it up.”

“The other Valkyrie took the chipped card, so at least we have that going for us,” Azriel informed them. While Cassian had been working the floor, Mor had been the one to pick their target’s pocket and stick a near-undetectable tracking device on the back of his room key. “I need you two back at the rendezvous in the next ten minutes so we can follow them.”

“I love it when you talk technical to me,” Cassian responded, winking at Mor since he couldn’t wink at Azriel. 

Mor chuckled at Azriel’s loud sigh before fixing Cassian with an unimpressed look. “I think that’s enough flirting from you tonight, lover boy. Keep your head in the game.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cassian told her. He fired off a crisp salute before turning to follow her out of the gala. 

No one paid them much attention as they cut a path for the entrance, Cassian trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It was a little difficult when he was all big and tall as he was, but hopefully the most anyone would remember — if they remembered him at all — was wishing that they could’ve been the ones to leave with him instead of Mor.  

Once they made it back to the van Azriel was running this part of the mission from, they didn’t waste any time. Azriel pulled away from the curb and started driving, Mor immediately started stripping out of her red ball gown and into her familiar tactical suit, and Cassian swapped out his tuxedo jacket for a bulletproof vest. “Sitrep?”

“All we have to do is leave with the drive before the Valkyries do,” Azriel said as he continued to drive. “We can let them do all the hard work of getting into the room and cracking this guy’s safe for us.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Mor said back, only slightly out of breath as she yanked a thigh holster on and slid a gun into it. 

“Only if they don’t know we’re coming after them,” Cassian chimed in. He tightened the straps on his vest before changing out his shoes to something more practical. “They don’t fuck around.”

“They definitely know we’re coming now,” Mor grumbled. “ Someone just couldn’t help himself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian responded, rolling his eyes. He’d known he was supposed to stay far away from Nesta and her friends, but he just hadn’t been able to help himself when he’d seen her in that goddamned dress. “I’m but a man, Mor.”

“You’re just lucky I was able to put that tracker on the card,” Mor told him. “Devlon would’ve had your ass if we fucked up the mission otherwise.”

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t have loved watching that,” Cassian sniped back good-naturedly. Devlon was their commanding officer and every time he yelled at Cassian, it was like Christmas came early for Mor. 

“Less bickering, more arming yourselves,” Azriel cut in with the air of someone tired of keeping them in line but long resigned to doing it anyway.

“Yes, Dad,” Cassian and Mor responded in perfect unison before they looked at each other, snickering. 

The three of them had been working together professionally for years, and had known each other personally for far longer than that. Cassian and Azriel had grown up together, the two of them both deciding to enlist, but they’d gone their separate ways when Cassian had joined the Marines and Azriel had gone Air Force. They hadn’t met Mor on account of her being Navy until they’d all worked their way through the ranks and gotten transferred to the same CIA unit. The higher-ups had noticed how well the three of them worked together, and the rest was history. Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been assigned to work a mission without the two of them, and quite frankly he didn’t want to. They were more than his fellow soldiers; they were family, and one of the few people he trusted to watch his back as well as he’d watch theirs. 

“Alright, we’re approaching the location now,” Azriel said after a few minutes of silence. “The tracker hasn’t moved for the last few minutes, so we’ll go in and see where the rabbit hole leads us.”

“Are you actually coming inside with us?” Cassian asked, peering at Azriel curiously from the back seat. Azriel tended to prefer sitting back and planning their operations these days, only coming out into the field proper with them on rare occasions. “I feel like a proud parent right now.”

“Someone has to keep you idiots in line,” Azriel replied dryly. He pulled the van into an empty spot, making sure to double check that they didn’t need to feed the meter before the three of them headed toward their mission. 

Cassian had to laugh quietly at the mundanity of the thought that even highly-trained spies needed to make sure their getaway vans wouldn’t get towed. They all made sure their weapons were in working order before heading around the back of the hotel. 

The hotel had a service entrance that they took full advantage of, avoiding all the fanfare that entering through the front would’ve put them through. While they were waiting for the service elevator, Cassian sighed and turned to Azriel and Mor. 

“Let me try and talk to her first,” Cassian said. He wasn’t so delusional as to think Nesta would be swayed from her getting paid by him batting his eyelashes at her, but maybe they could work something out without it ending in a fight. “Before we go in guns blazing.”

Mor rolled her eyes so hard at him it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of her head. “She’s not falling for your lover boy act.”

“It’s definitely not an act,” Azriel muttered, pulling a little laugh out of Mor. 

“Just— let me see what I can do?” Cassian tried again as they got onto the elevator. 

“Fine. Thirty seconds,” Mor acquiesced. “But after that I’m shooting something.”

Azriel used a spoofed hotel key to get them to the fifteenth floor, and once they got off the elevator the three of them slowly crept their way down the floor until they made it to room 1536. They didn’t encounter a single soul on their way, and the hall was eerily silent even for a hotel as high class as this one. 

The Valkyries had been at the hotel for at least ten minutes — more than enough time for them to have broken into the room and started trying to crack whatever security Hale had around this drive. They didn’t have time to keep being subtle, so Cassian caught Mor and Azriel’s eyes before he counted to three and used their spoofed key to enter the room. 

“Well, well, well,” Cassian called out as he entered the suite. The key had made a little whirring noise once he’d used it, so there was no point in trying to sneak around; any operative worth their badge would’ve heard the noise. “What do we have here?”

Cassian got a quick glance at the other two Valkyries fiddling with a safe before Nesta filled his vision. She’d ditched the dark blue dress in favor of a suit that was remarkably similar to Mor’s, the material stretchy enough to show off her sweeping curves while also thick enough to protect her from a host of nasty injuries. She was pointing a gun directly at Cassian’s chest, bulletproof vest aside, and boy did she not look happy to see him. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Nesta said dryly. At Cassian’s smirk, her expression turned distinctly unimpressed. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Mhmmm, I love it when you threaten me,” Cassian told her, still smirking. He loved nothing more than a dangerous woman, and Nesta was one of the most dangerous women he’d ever met. “Really gets me going.”

Just as expected, Nesta’s features morphed into an outraged glare. “Do you not possess any home training?”

“You know I can’t help it when it comes to you,” Cassian responded, his smirk turning into a more earnest smile as he looked at her. “Twice in one night. How could I be so lucky?”

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” Mor replied from behind him. At the sound of someone else’s voice joining the conversation, Nesta’s expression shut down completely, her eyes flitting around over Cassian’s shoulder as she cataloged the latest threat. “Maybe creative stalking.”

Damn. He supposed his thirty seconds had gone over much faster than he’d thought. The moment Mor stepped over the threshold, one of the other Valkyries — Emerie, he thought — appeared out of nowhere, darted around Nesta and Cassian, and aimed a roundhouse kick at Mor’s head. 

Mor ducked out of the way, and it was all the signal Cassian needed. He tried to take the gun out of Nesta’s hands but she’d clearly anticipated the movement and flung herself backwards out of his reach. Cassian rushed forward to create more space in the crowded entryway, allowing Azriel to dart around all of them to try and get to the last remaining Valkyrie who was still working on the safe. Azriel would be able to handle himself, and Mor could hold her own, too; Cassian didn’t have time to even think about worrying. Jokes and flirting aside, he had to devote all his energy to staying sharp while grappling with Nesta. 

It was absolutely exhilarating fighting Nesta. Cassian couldn’t stop smiling every time they connected, from him blocking her jabs to the way she’d use his force against him to dodge and weave around his punches. He’d almost forgotten how fast she was, how well-trained she was, and though his heart broke a little every time he thought of all the things she’d probably had to go through to get this good, a much larger part of him was so thankful that it had resulted in the two of them being here at the same time. 

As they fought around the room, Cassian and Nesta ended up closer to the large sliding doors that let out onto the suite’s balcony. Azriel and the redheaded Valkyrie from the gala had moved their fight to another part of the suite, leaving the two of them to duke it out near the enormous, floor to ceiling windows. If he hadn’t been so focused on his objective, Cassian would’ve loved to admire all the glittering lights of the city spread out below him. 

Unfortunately, those glittering lights also spelled out danger. Too quick for Cassian to react to, there was the sound of shattering glass, and something struck Cassian perfectly in the neck. The sharp sting of pain distracted him just enough for Nesta to swipe his legs out from under him and he hit the ground hard, disoriented between the sudden pain in his neck and the way he’d fallen like a sack of bricks. 

“Oh, fuck,” Cassian said, pulling what looked like a tranquilizer dart out of his neck. Whatever he’d been dosed with was strong; he could already feel his vision getting a little hazy around the edges. God, he couldn’t believe he was getting knocked out like this in front of her of all people; he’d never live this down. “Son of a—”

The last thing Cassian saw before he passed out was Nesta’s lips forming his name. 

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard | @thatsowlmazing

[digitalbath1988]

Save A Horse, Ride Soldier Boy/Chapter 3

TW: Dubious Consent, Blackmail, Manipulation, Period Typical Sexism, Humiliation, Dom Soldier Boy/F Original Character

Other chapters will be linked in comments!

April 1954

Soldier Boy had shown up at the office again a few weeks later. He seemed more- determined this time.

“When are you going to let me take you out?”

Esther laughed, thankful that everyone else had left the conference room. “I guess the time for that was a while ago. Before-“

“It’s not too late.” His smile made her want to forget how they’d met. The only question that kept her mind from melting away like an M&M was why.

“You really hurt me.”

Esther was surprised to see his eyes widen in surprise at that comment. Then narrow in derision. “I was just giving you what you secretly wanted, I saw the way you looked at me..”

She wanted to stomp her foot, but she kept a cool head. Escalating tensions with him seemed unwise. Especially given what he’d already done to her.

“I was content to let it be a fantasy. You forced me to bring it to life. Now.. I don’t even want..” anyone else, but she didn’t say that part. Dating seemed pointless after being married to the love of her life, his death, and now having Solider Boy fuck her, against her will, in the way she’d always secretly desired. She felt destroyed and like nothing else could ever seem less than absolutely mundane.

She pursed her lips and stopped talking. He had to stop her at the door.

“Give me a second chance.”

—-

She hadn’t meant to give him another chance, but before she knew it, she’d left the kids with her neighbor and was on his arm, dancing at some Vought gala she’d never normally be invited to.

It felt magical, the more she spun the stranger she felt, and he dipped her and kissed her. Was it the alcohol or him? She didn’t know. Everything seemed so perfect now in the bright lights, like he was the only one in focus.

“Fuck, Esther,” he said as he tore off the nice dress she’d bought for the occasion, something she’d justified only because she’d keep the nice piece forever. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d done, and he ripped her strapless bustier off too, tossing it next to the remains of the dress. She tried not to focus on that. “You’re not running around with other guys, right?”

“No, sir.” Hypocrite.

The rest of her clothes came next. “You’re all mine tonight.”

“I’ve only got a babysitter til ten.”

“Damn. Ok, you’re all mine for thirty minutes.”

She let things take their course, she let him lead her over to the bed and make love to her. Could it be called making love if you’re not in love? He certainly acted like he cared about her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear like he wasn’t trying to fuck all sense out of her body. She was merely a vessel for his pleasure and feelings, and worst of all? She enjoyed it. Enjoyed every toe curling stroke, the way he looked at her when he was inside, how he kissed her as if he was her lover. How he brutally and tenderly held her all at once.

There was more than one bouquet this time. The secretary looked vaguely horrified when she came to collect them. Giving Esther an up and down look that made her feel all too visible.

“Mrs. Smith,” commented her manager with a gaping mouth as she placed the red roses in the corner of the room, before resuming typing as if nothing had happened.

The card said “three bouquets for a third chance? See you next month.”

May 1954

“Sir, respectfully, I’m not doing it.”

The man from HR looked at Esther, cigarette still burning in his hand. He crumpled it into the ashtray. Used and insignificant.

Just like how she felt.

“It’s Mrs. Smith, right?” He held the Mrs. out with a bit of a sneer, as if taunting her with some sort of imagined slight towards her virtue. Esther closed her eyes and counted to ten backwards.

“I’m a good woman.”

The creep put his hand on her shoulder as he walked from the other side of the desk. “Of course you are Mrs. Smith. However, I’m afraid you misunderstand this situation.”

A photo was procured of her with Soldier Boy against the glass wall of the conference room. “Would be a shame if this was distributed to your church. I mean, synagogue.” He clucked.

Esther’s blood ran cold. But she pulled herself together. “I can get another job.”

The man chuckled lightly. “Not after this gets around, I mean, unless you are considering the oldest profession in the world. Which at that point, why pretend you’re too good to be his secretary?”

Once she’d realized she was caught in Vought’s trap, she was surprised by the condolences offered. Her salary was increased, her apartment rent would be paid by Vought while she was traveling, and her kids would be looked after by a nanny. It pained her to leave them for so long, but she had no choice. They couldn’t afford a move elsewhere.

Tearful goodbyes were exchanged with her children, promises to write and call all the time, and of course her Mother In Law was so proud of her for securing such a good promotion. It hurt so much to know how disappointed she’d be if she knew. Esther set off early, trying to get that nagging feeling and their sad faces out of her mind.

Why does Vought want me to do this? Nagged in the back of her mind as she set up at her destination, some nothing town where they were filming a movie about Soldier Boy. The Vought HR representative hadn’t been forthcoming.

She knocked at his trailer. He was supposed to be on set now, but she didn’t feel quite right about barging in.

After a minute, she opened the door. The reason for why Vought had asked her to be his personal secretary was immediately obvious. The floor had a few empty prescription pill bottles and liquor bottles littering it. Also, a pair of purple satin panties that could have only come off a stripper or sex worker. Esther frowned as she started putting the trailer to rights.

Still, anyone could do this. Why me?

The dirty laundry piled up on the couch MOVED. Esther stood perfectly still. Soldier Boy sat up and grinned widely at her. His voice was heavily slurred.

Also, he was only wearing some sort of… exotic robe.

“Esther- I’m so glad you came, sweetheart.” He stood up, and she had no idea how he was even capable considering his state.

“You’re supposed to be on set.”

“And you’re not supposed to be here yet.” He pulled her forward and kissed her lips. That smell was boozy but still pleasant, she couldn’t help but smile to herself as she leaned against his strong chest. NO. You shouldn’t be feeling this way!

“Let’s get you cleaned up and over to set..”

“No.” He had the nerve to pour himself another drink, and on second thought poured her one too. “You need to loosen up, missy.”

“Don’t they have schedules, budgets..” Esther had seen some notes from these things and been shocked by the amount it cost per day to make a movie. It disgusted her a bit to see someone be so cavalier about wasting resources. Not when she had a family to feed in a tenement in the slums.

“Trust me, they’ll just shoot something else. Background or something. They’re fine. I just didn’t feel like it today.”

Well, not like I can force you to go. She wondered how much Vought expected her to do with this, should she nag and yell at him? They weren’t close enough for that. She settled for a bit of a judgemental look.

He handed her the drink with an expectant look in return.

Esther choked it down. Her body recoiled as her lips touched the alcohol and she spit a bit on reflex. It was practically just hard liquor with a tiny bit of some sort of mixer.

Her face turned crimson. “Sorry, that’s just really strong.”

“I’ll keep it in mind that you’re a lightweight. See that less and less in women these days. Keep drinking that.” He bodily picked her up and placed her on the counter. Esther had to repress a not very ladylike screech of shock.

“Sorry, pretty limited in terms of seating area in here at the moment.” She was short enough that her legs dangled from the counter.

If it was even possible, he was getting even more drunk, but he seemed to have enough of a tolerance not to throw up or feel very ill. “I know you don’t want to be here. But it means so much to me that you came.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at the same time she desperately hoped it was true. God, it had been a long time since someone had cared about her in that way. God, he was beautiful. But she remembered all the things he’d done to her when they’d met, threats and blackmail and sex that she’d very reluctantly agreed to, and she wanted to cry.

He pressed in closer to her, cradling her jaw in his hand. “They think I’m a train wreck. That you’ll help clean me up and get me out to sets on time. Less uh, hungover.” He smirked at her quietly. “I don’t know if anyone can do that.”

He doesn’t even think about everything I’ve sacrificed to get here. How I probably don’t even want to. He just thinks about himself. Esther held in that sigh and pressed herself against his hand, looking up. Use him. Use him to get what you need. That’s how you win. She put her arms around his shoulders. “Why not send- anyone else? Your folks? A girlfriend?”

“Nah, family and I had a falling out. Dad’s a real piece of work. Girlfriends- I don’t think you could call any of the girls I’ve been with ‘girlfriends’. One night friends.”

Her throat tightened, imagining how lonely his life must be despite the swarms of ardent admirers. No family or friends. No wonder he acted out and drank too much. No. He’s using this to manipulate you. Don’t let him. In fact, manipulate him before he can something else over on you.

“I will do my best. Sir.” She brought him closer, eased by his current state of intoxication, their hips now almost touching. Her bare hand wrapped inside of his robe, gripping vascular thigh. He almost faltered.

“I don’t know why they sent you either- I’m never going to show up to set with you looking this good.” He pushed her skirt up and pulled her panties to the side, thumb touching her expertly as he watched her face for a reaction. She wanted to stay, she wanted to run to the car and drive back home. She wanted his lips on her cunt more than anything.

Soldier Boy obliged, boozy warm tongue feeling like it might melt her. He held her legs firmly to the table, eliminating any possibility of escape, and made out with her pussy like it was a mouth. She shook the table despite herself as he licked her clit, humping his beautiful face against her. Under the influence of the drink she’d managed to finish, Esther closed her eyes and allowed pure bliss to rule, driving her to a peak that resulted in an embarrassing conclusion. He didn’t seem very surprised. On the contrary. He seemed almost smug, and like he’d expected this result.

He righted her outfit by smoothing her panties back over her mound with the flat of his hand. She wanted more than that. She put her hands under the robe again, now touching his ass and brushing lightly against a cock that didn’t seem to have any issues with whiskey dick.

He panted slightly as she wetted her palm and jerked him off gently, looking in his pretty green eyes with every stroke. “Take me to bed.”

They made up for time and distance with their intimacy now, under the makeshift covers, scented with hard liquor seeping through their pores.

—

[1up-girl]

Tacet (2023) Ch. 1

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda Pairing: Link/Zelda Current Word Count: 3.3k Rating: E for sexual content

Summary: In their shared silence, she craves his voice. The distinction of hearing it is more than she's bargained for.

Faron welcomes its newest guests with all of the oppression that Zelda expects it to. The first sight of the Floria River comes into view as the sun crawls along to its zenith in the midst of an azure sky, and it isn’t long before the damp air is pressing up against Zelda’s skin, incessant and irritating, quickly gathering at her underarms and at the crooks of her elbows. Strands of cornflower are slowly adhering themselves to her temple as the stallion she’s been gifted for the expedition trots along the unevenly marked path. Relief seems unattainable. 

The Princess had set off for the Spring of Courage without a lance in tow, and when she passed through the galvanized apathy of the castle gates, there had only been one, quiet soldier following in her wake; through a persistence that’s garnered more luck than her usual efforts, Zelda managed to convince her father that a smaller expedition would likely yield much more positive results. His initial recommendation of fifty men had felt far too overwhelming when he announced it— Zelda recalls the way anxiety jumbled in her stomach and twisted every which way so that she was nearly tossing up her feeble breakfast before the throne; but the thin tiara atop her head reminded her of its presence, and she struck the idea down in a fuller voice than her father had come to recognize. This should be done quietly. It hadn't been long before she’d wheedled the number so far down that the King was rubbing at his temple with exasperation, soon deciding, perhaps only out of spite, that it’s Sir Link and Sir Link only that shall aid her. 

Zelda can accept that—after all, Sir Link’s daily routine already consists of an overwhelming dose of disappointment in her. 

The sprawling canopies of the jungle soon echo with the strident call of birdsong and the prattle of a rushing stream. The copse begins to grow thicker, and for the first time all afternoon, uncertainty is gripping at the Princess’ throat as tightly as her fingers around the stallion’s reins. A flurry of cries tears through the veil of radiant green, perhaps drawn from a lone hog caught between some bloodthirsty predator’s ravenous incisors. She inhales sharply and sits taller, the taste of the jungle’s air sitting thickly on her tongue. 

“Are you faring well enough back there?” She calls backwards in an attempt to shed her nerves. Faring, Faron, ha. She tosses the laziest of glances back at her knight attendant, catching just enough of him to find that humidity hasn’t left him entirely unscathed, either. He nods politely before his sharp attention is pulled down to where a vine crackles beneath his mare’s heavy step. 

Zelda, for the most part, has grown warmer towards Link in the last few weeks. It’s hard to stay cross with the man who once darted across the dunes to save her from what ought to have been a horrible death at the hands of those who'd sought the blood of the Goddess, meant to spill it across the desert's sandy swells.  The hero seems almost indifferent to his efforts, as if he’d only prepared her a prompt afternoon tea; perhaps it’s his indifference that’s driving her a bit wild. Only a month ago, she’d hardly been able to look at him, each sight of his piercing stare and his long lashes and the damned sword on his back a blistering reminder of her own failures—but she’s far more embarrassed now, critical of herself for reasons that have more to do with the huffed tantrums of days passed. Perhaps her knight, given his nonchalance towards much more pressing matters, might also turn an eye to the juvenile behavior she’d once reserved for him.

Zelda draws her stallion to a halt to assess their location and drags a finger, gloved and sticky, across the map, running along a trail of blue dye as she traces the river southwards. “How would you feel about a quick rest soon?” she asks, her voice competing against the thrumming swell of the jungle’s mysterious strains. He has no objections, though she’s sure he’d never voice them even if they were to float across his mind. 

As she expects, a small clearing just south of the ancient ruins opens up to them, and Zelda is sliding off of her horse’s stark white frame before Link has a moment to offer his assistance. She wiggles aching fingers and stretches her limbs, bends to feel the grass beneath her and raises her arms skywards with a sigh that her handmaidens might concern themselves with. For all of its uncertainties and in spite of everything that lurks behind the verdant curtain of foliage, the jungle is liberating. Hyrule Castle is far more oppressive than this. 

Zelda’s thighs quiver as she sinks into a shady spot. Link ties their horses to a neighboring tree and is immediately on the hunt, eyes flickering from one dense branch to another before they lock onto the spiked husks that dangle from them. He launches himself up into one of the trees with ease, leather boots digging into the bark and thrusting him upwards. The fruit hits the ground beneath him with a soft thud that pulls Zelda from her thoughts, and she squints to make out what he’s gathering for them. 

“Durians. I’ve never tasted one before.” 

He turns and disarms her with the gentlest of smiles, but he’s quickly scaling another bole for more. When Link is satisfied with the pounds of durians he’s tugged from their perch, he shovels them into a bag and rests them neatly among their belongings. More weight for his mare, but they don’t have too much further to go—hardly an inconvenience for an animal as determined as the regal sorrel that gives Zelda’s own dignified thoroughbred a run for his money. Epona, she’s called, and she wonders if Link’s given her such a strong name all on his own or not—before her near death experience, she wouldn’t have thought considered asking purely out of spite: she’s a little too embarrassed to do so now, doesn’t want to feel her face grow hot when he wiggles his way out of a response with a shrug. 

The reprieve ends far too quickly and they’re soon descending into the heart of the jungle, equine footsteps surprisingly gentle as they maneuver through tendrils of vine and root running along the small palisades that line the Dracozu River. Zelda peeks over the cliff to find the body of water rushing by—wonders what it might be like to pitch herself into it for the quickest, most peculiar of moments. She finds herself wondering if Link would jump headfirst after her, scold her afterwards— and what would that be like? To find herself embroiled in his admonishment?  She ponders such a curious thing, temptation flickering in her eyes before she’s shaking the ridiculous thought away. 

The river winds and bends, and just as the massive stone monument comes into view, one of the region’s hallmark showers quickly rolls in and sends rain clattering off of the trees, blotting the sun out with pale gray. The horses skid across wet stone as they draw nearer to the Spring. Zelda’s never seen it in person, and the sight of the structure stitches a soft gasp tightly to her larynx—it’s large, ancient stone cut to resemble a serpent’s unhinged jaw. When both sets of leather boots are firmly planted on the slickened ground, Link racks up the horses as Zelda glides through the two, protruding fangs that hang from the structure's mouth. 

While Zelda ogles the craftsmanship, Link tends to the housekeeping duties that come with an expedition, and their campsite is fully set up by the time she’s done inspecting the architecture—he’s pitched the small tent that will house her that evening, a safe distance from where the he’s arranged for the campfire to be, and just beyond that, his own bedroll sits unfurled. She wishes he’d let himself stretch out upon it, settle in for a cat nap while she attends to her duties—she knows he won’t; he’ll stand for hours instead, his hands resting on the hilt of the Master Sword while his focus drives hard into whatever looms before him. Sometimes, when she hesitates between beseeching thoughts, she wonders if he ever bends his knees or shakes sleepy limbs out or rolls his neck. Wonders what crosses his mind in the silence—wonders if he ever lets the thoughts grow curious in the ways any normal man might. Heat quickly colors Zelda’s cheeks; what a foolish thought—of course he doesn’t. Link is as much of a statue as the figure set deeply against the spring. 

For all of the communication issues between the Princess and her knight attendant, they move fluidly together. Link pulls neatly folded fabric from her pack, her prayer dress nothing but a small patch of cream with gold jewelry perched upon it when he hands it off to her. It’s hardly out of his grasp before he’s wheeling around, offering her as much privacy as he can afford. She doesn’t have to worry, really—she knows he won’t dare to sneak a glance, and yet meadow green eyes affix themselves to his back, run along the slope of his shoulders to see if she can catch a flicker of movement as she trades leather for silk, gloves for golden bracelets. When she’s ready, the Royal Crest up against her throat and inflexible around her wrists, she sets her belongings aside and draws nearer to the water’s edge.

“Well…” she starts with a sigh, her voice reverberating off the stone. “Let’s begin.”

******

Dusk stains the jungle with jagged shadows as the sun dips below the horizon, and Zelda is still waist deep in the tepid waters of the Spring when she hears the first scrape of steel against flint. It only takes a few clicks before a small flame is licking up from a patch of firewood, and she opens her eyes to find space doused in soft saffron, the Goddess statue’s wistful smile now far more sinister beneath the quavering bloom of the campfire. 

The last two hours have been lost to the divine thoughts that percolate her mind, but the Goddess ignores every one that Zelda has prepared for her– those same, echoed thoughts that bore no results during the hours already spent in the Temple of Time. Zelda will not admit, not even to Impa once she returns home, that the last few traces of prayer have dissolved into nothing but a series of silent pleas: the Princess of Hyrule ends her session begging for a guidance that’s she expected to have secured long ago, as though it ought to have already been marked in a blueprint of her soul when she first came barreling into the world as nothing but a screaming infant.  Perhaps it’s foolish to admit such a thing, but she’s expected this to…well, she’s expected this to work . And yet here she stands, exhausted, her limbs soggy and her dress equally so, with a grumbling stomach that demands attention. She exhales heavily and returns to Link’s side, and he watches her approach with raised eyebrows. 

“Nothing,” she says. “Not a single word. It’s peculiar…don’t you think? I truly believed praying here might have helped.” She watches his eyes consider the words and for a moment, she thinks he might actually give voice to a response, but his lips twist in thought and he only shakes his head and shrugs. 

“You have full permission to speak to me, you know,” she reminds him, her voice gentle yet firm. 

He ducks his head and nods. 

Link prepares a dish of mushrooms and simmered fruit that tastes inexplicably sweet and savory and peculiar. The cooking process, however, is less than ideal—the odor leaves a bewildered Zelda pinching her nose as she tries to place some distance between herself and the cooking pot, but the stone mouth of the dragon traps her in the pungent aroma. She politely rejects the dish he tries to hand off to her, but he tries, again and again, and when she declares that she doesn’t mind favoring sleep instead of a meal, he grows persistent. 

“It tastes far better than it smells,” Link explains, his soft voice like a crack of thunder and the blue of his eye suddenly as torrential as the shower that splatters against the roof of their lodgings.  Pinned beneath his watch, Zelda considers that maybe he really is as handsome as the ladies of the castle claim him to be—no, it must be his kindness that has the tips of her ears burning. 

He throws himself before blades and claws to keep her safe–he certainly won’t lie to her about this.

“Alright, then.” 

It turns out that he’s right, and for once, she’s relieved to be wrong.

They eat in silence, as anticipated, save for an exclamation that durian tastes much more enjoyable than she’s expected it to. Zelda is far too exhausted to try and coax any genuine conversation from him; she finds herself turning over her pleas to the Goddess again and again, wondering if she misspoke. Wondering if she had done something to cross her long ago, long before the endless evenings of prayer ever came to light, long before that wretched fortune teller bound her to such a devastating prophecy.  She wonders what her knight attendant must think of this attempt; her stomach churns when she imagines her father’s expectant face crumbling into distress as she stands before the throne and delivers such news.  All lingering traces of hunger drain from her body at the thought. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Zelda begins, her voice hardly audible over the small crackle of the campfire. “I appreciate it.” 

She thinks Link will choose silence again, but a quick glance at his low lit expression tells her she’s caught him off guard. His lips are parted slightly and his forehead creases. He clears his throat.

“You’re very welcome, Princess.” 

A small victory—but it sends drips of warmth down her spine all the same. 

“Good night, Sir Link,” she offers politely. She doesn’t wait for a response–she knows she’s unlikely to get one–and if he speaks further, it’s drowned out beyond the flap of canvas that waves in her wake as she disappears into her tent.

*****

The stress of travel weighs so heavily on Zelda’s bones that she cedes to the night’s sleepy call without much protest. Her dream carries her closer to home, across the patch of wetlands, along the peculiar Pillars of Levia, over the settlement of Hateno further east. She finds herself summiting the Dueling Peaks, surveying the land, leaping from the southernmost of the twins and landing neatly in the plains below. Her feet have hardly touched the ground before the world is exploding around her, and when the blurs of blistering heat finally pass and the red skies melt away, there’s nothing but scorched earth left, the steely scent of blood and ash and the ache of shell-shocked limbs as they struggle to shake off hints of paralysis.

She wakes with a sharp gasp, forehead damp from more than just a humid night. Zelda presses a hand to her chest and breathes into her palm. Deep breaths, it’s just a dream.  She settles back upon her bedroll and seeks sleep out once more, but the soft rumble of something unfamiliar beyond the tent tugs her up. 

Zelda clutches the edge of the bedroll as she cranes startled ears forwards.

It happens again—a low murmur among the jungle’s sleepy trills. Nocturnal voices chitter and hum, but above them all something grumbles: a moan, a sigh. A whine. 

Is that…? 

It withers away, dissipates into nothing before it’s replaced by the unmistakable rattle of sleep lodged in a throat, a small crackle fraying the edges of his voice before a heavy sigh shoots out from his nostrils. And then, another hum, and the rustle of his bedroll as he moves atop it before another sound breaks free from his drowsy lips. It’s a rather high pitch, Zelda thinks. She's never known her knight’s voice to be stentorian or grandiose in any way, but she doesn’t know what to make of these sounds. She hardly realizes that the corners of her mouth are turning up with glee.

“—oh,” he breathes.

An oh ! Hardly a word, but it will be enough ammunition to tease him with once morning dawns. Perhaps she might convince him to open up with this newfound knowledge. Just a word, she’ll tease before she tries to make him guess just exactly what it is that he whispers into the night. She’s already giddy at the prospect. 

Zelda can’t help herself—she wants a visual to help with her recollection in the morning. She pokes her head through the tent’s opening and finds his supine form exactly where she expects him to be, half illuminated upon his bedroll by moonlight streaming in through the slotted stone above. She squints and makes out his fingers twitching gently atop the bedding, his chest rising in a short shudder as his head lolls to the side with a non-committal hum. He inhales sharply through parted lips. A small grunt. And then another word, jagged and delivered as a harsh whisper:

“ F…fuck .” 

Zelda nearly chokes on an abrupt gasp before she's clapping a hand across her mouth in shock. It’s spoken so clearly that she’s suddenly panicked that he’s speaking to her directly through the tent. And then she’s panicking for other reasons: first, because the sound of an expletive of all things in her stalwart knight’s tone is more than enough to send distress signals rippling through her body, and second, because it thrills her in a way that her instincts deem as far too unseemly for the Princess of Hyrule. It’s as though he’s taken that scandalous word, traced her lips with it and forced it into her mouth, dangled it on her tongue before pushing it so far down that it anchors itself in the pit of her stomach. She replays the sound in her mind, again and again, and with each repetition the aftershock grows more and more daunting

It’s all over so quickly. The jungle draws to a hush—the creatures of the night must catch wind of her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage. Zelda doesn’t know how long she sits at the tent’s opening, on her knees, waiting for more, and soon his soft breathing—the sleepy inhalations that she actually does recognize— are floating across to her. She can only draw one assumption: her knight has had a rather… indecent dream. Vulgar and whining, crass and needy. Oh Goddess, he is just a man after all, isn’t he? A man with simple needs, primal needs, like any other man. She’s made the mistake of craving his voice and the Goddess has punished her with more than she's bargained for. 

Something quickly swells in her, and when it settles, she's left with an unfamiliar thought peering over the edge of her mind, blinking up at her, waiting for her approval before it spills over entirely. Zelda shakes the thought from her head and darts back across the bedroll, but even weighted with sleep something in her body burns, her blood singing her veins and an impending storm rumbling to life inside of her. 

No, she will most definitely not be mentioning this in the morning. 

[jjungkooksthighs]

“That’s right,” his nod is but a small incline of chin upward, but his irises are infernos as they burn deep through her being. “You’ve lied to me about those stupid fucking toys for three months,” his hot breath fans furiously at her throat, “You’ve defied me in the presence of every alpha in this damned pack,” his teeth are rough when he closes them around the soft flesh along her jugular, “You’ve pleasured yourself without my permission both in my presence and out,” he bites hard enough to draw blood as he fulminates, “And if all of that wasn’t enough, you fucking disobey me more than you listen.” He easily pushes her front down when she tries and fails to squirm as if doing so will help her. His irises splinter when he says, “Tell me, omega, how I am to be the highest rank and hold the position of Pack Alpha and demand obedience from all when not even my mate displays it?”

She attempts to pull her elbows toward her face, but it is useless.

She won’t-can’t- hope to overpower him in physicality.

Her momentary silence brings with it an agitated huff as he leans more of his weight down where he pins both her hands and chest. “Answer me, you fucking whore. I know that mouth of yours works well when you want it to.”

Her mouth goes dry at that, her knees-in a panic- hitting his abdomen with what meager strength she has left.

“I… don’t know, alpha. I wasn’t thinking-“

Suddenly his expression turns cold, his fine features setting into place as if frozen there. Even she shivers when he icily taunts, “You didn’t know, huh? Because it looked to me like you knew exactly what you were doing when you fucked yourself with your fingers in the forest.” His teeth clench down harder on the skin of her throat he has trapped between them and she whines as he goes on, “You knew exactly what you were doing when you declined me in front of all of my alphas. Yet, just to fuck with me, you did it anyway.” He’s had enough of her kicking already, so he forces her legs apart with one of his and, in one quick motion, pushes his knee into her lower belly so that he’s got one leg between each of hers.

The position is one he’d been in with her countless times before their romps when he positioned her on her back to make her feel good before putting his knot into her.

She’d always liked rubbing her cunt against his knee when he had her tits in his mouth.

He lets her see the image of her, her hair spread wildly about her bare body while her head was thrown back, her lashes fluttering as she looked down with glazed eyes at him and pled his name like a fucking erotic song. Over and over again.

He waits for her cunt to shed evidence of arousal at that, and the second that concoction hits his nose, he rips the image away from her.

With a laugh not even the darkness could fathom, he mocks, “Lie to me again, and you’ll find I can be very merciless.”

"N-NO!" She can't help how her voice squeaks in slight fear, the yelp that leaves her sounding desperate. N-no.. she knows better than to ever lie again. It wasn't easy for her to do so when she was hiding the toys either. She always knew she'd get caught, and yet, she dared to try. She wasn't very good at masking it. The way she'd get unnecessarily jumpy when he'd move closer to the closet, the way she'd been more nervous while kissing him when he'd leave for work.. it all comes rushing back to her. She was such a fool! Just how long did she think she could hide this? Sure, she didn't mean to hide it.. she was just too shy.. but fuck! She bought them! Without his knowledge! Only a fool would think it would all be fine. Before he can grow any angrier, she replies, adding on an explanation for her blatant refusal. "S-sir.. i.. i'm not lying.. I am sorry. Please.. i'll listen." She begs, cowering, her chest rising and falling harder when his knee grinds against her pussy for a split second, the cruel smirk on his face telling her all that she needs to know. He enjoyed how helpless, and how powerless he could make her feel. "P-please.. sir.. Y-you asked me to crawl over to the window.. But, I can't do it without minimum support. I can't.. can't stand, sir.."

“And whose fault is it that you cannot stand, hm?” He goads, his knee dragging down against her sex. As he does, her brows knit together, her mouth parting just the slightest bit in pleasure when he inches his canines deeper into the two faded pink marks he’d left on her neck from the first time he’d mated with her. “You tell me you’re sorry, but you do not show it. You ask me to tell you how, and when I do, there’s always some excuse.”

His name leaves her lips in a wanton sound that he’s only heard in times like these.

In times she was enjoying herself.

Of course she fucking liked this. The little heathen. He really had sucked out all of her innocence to leave only decadence behind.

That was, no doubt, why she had thought to purchase those insipid contractions that she’d tried and failed to use to pleasure herself.

Only one thing could make her come undone.

Him.

And though he knew that, it had still had filled him with immense jealousy that he’d been denied the heavenliness of her songs and body.

Even more so when he’d wanted to make a show of his love for her for all to see and she had rejected his advances then, too.

It had crossed his mind that he could always use Alpha’s Bidding on her, but his baser being was too prideful to resort to such a practice.

His mate would come to him, would be honest with him not because she was forced to, but because she wanted to. To allow oneself to submit, to give control of themselves over to another… it was the truest form of trust, loyalty, and devotion.

And he wanted that from her.

Perhaps that was why it had made his heart burn with the might of a thousand volcanoes when she had refused him with all of his alphas watching.

Perhaps that was why it had made his knuckles go white as he’d watched her finish on her own fingers.

Perhaps that was why every time he’d let himself become lost in her lips upon his return to their den to her, he kept wishing that worry in her eyes would simply disappear if only those lips were loosed enough to confess to him what she had done.

When he draws the first large mouthful of her life’s essence between his teeth, her arms and legs begin to feel heavier.

“Alpha…”

He doesn’t let her finish. His words are there, in her mind, as he sucks another mouthful of her blood.

Enough. You clearly need to be put in time out for a little while. You have had more than enough time to convince me of your remorse. You are enjoying this little game, and I do not wish to play when you disregard so many of the rules. You will either abide by them by choice or I will choose to stop participating.

He impels his knee, slowly, up into her sex. Just along the bundle of nerves crowning it. Just where he knows she likes to rut her hips into when he’s fingering, kissing, playing with her.

The moan is out before she even realizes she’s made it, and then he’s gulping down another swill of her blood. Now her vision begins to grow fuzzy, a dull ache forming in her temples as he mutters, “Such a shame, omega. Such a shame. I really did want to fuck you on the floor like this.”

With that, his fangs extricate from her and he stands, keeping her hands interlocked in one of his as he pulls them up and over his head so that her arms are locked around his. The hand he’d had on her chest roughly grabs at her ass, and then-

“You will wrap your legs around me, she-wolf. Fail to comply, and I will turn around, walk us both to our chambers, and then take blood from you until you become a slave to sleep.” He licks at the stray droplets of her crimson tears falling down her neck, and she is helpless to the way that makes something in her lower belly flutter. “And if that happens, omega, I will not lay with you. No matter how you may try to seduce me, I will not touch you, and I will not leave my trace on your body until you’ve earned that right back. Understand?”

[brekkersnerd]

Between the Lines of Fear and Blame

Harry Crosby x Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne

A/N: Hi ya'll! I'm back to writing! And I'm writing for MOTA. I've decided I'm gonna try to make a small series of one shots based on the song How To Save A Life by The Fray...I was gonna make an edit then decided, nah. Let's write. So...here we are. Now, these are based on upon the song, but nothing is like directly copied. Hope you enjoy! (And yes, I sobbed writing this at 1 am.)

Warnings: swearing and lots of angst and grief (and probably lots of inaccuracies)

+

Chick moves his way towards Crosby, already seeing a small crack in his defense. Of course he would, they’d lost a lot of men that day, but he knew it was especially hard for him. Joseph ’Bubbles’ Payne would always haunt that man, not that he’d have wanted that.

“Captain,” he starts. Harry looks up before he nods, “Sir.”

The colonel sit down across from him with a small but heavy sigh. “I’m sorry son.”

Harry subconsciously tears up ever so slightly at that. He swallows hard before speaking, “That’s war, sir…” his voice breaks. It may have been war but that was his best friend he’d lost that day. “Can-can I pack his belongings?”

Chick isn’t sure if that’d be the best course of action but he nods anyway. If this brought him closure, then so be it. “Of course, Crosby. I won’t take away that right.”

“Thank you, sir.”

It’s quiet a moment before Chick tries to offer a small, comforting smile. They’d both lost something that day, that was on a whole different level of understanding. But they’d carry on, they had to. They were soldiers.

Harry just stares blankly, though he knew that fact as well as anyone else here. Chick sighs before standing up. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. There was nothing you could do.” Neither are sure who he’s really talking to, but those were the words they both needed to hear. Not that they’d believe them. That weight would always rest on them.

Chick leaves him alone, but not before looking over at him over his shoulder.

Harry sits in that interrogation room well after it emptied. He watched everyone leave to the left, could see out the window to his right, but all he could see was Bubbles, the only thing he could hear was the constant buzzing in his ears.

He finally left to go back to the barracks to pack up his friend’s belongings. Before that, a few tears fell, no one would blame him for that. That was crack two. Crack one was hearing the news that Bubbles wouldn’t be coming back.

+

So he sits on the bed, packing his belongings slowly, trying to drag this out. This was all that was left of his best friend. As much as it hurt, it was a comfort too. Then, he found that letter that Bubbles wrote to Jean but never sent. That was crack three.

And crack three finally broke him. He sat and cried a few moments, mourning his friend, hurting from the loss, feeling vulnerable from reading that letter. He wouldn’t tell Jean, he couldn’t. She’d never truly understand, even if she did, she’d mourn the same. No, this was something he’d keep to himself, at least for now.

Why had this happened? Why hadn’t it been him? It should have been him. But no, he was stuck behind at a desk, doing paperwork as the group navigator, planning that very same route that killed him. Now, his friend was dead, possibly because of him. He knew that wasn’t really true, but he needed to point the blame somewhere. And that was at himself. But what if it had been him? Caught between two evils…

Damn the Germans for starting this stupid war, damn whoever decided he was stuck with planning the routes behind a desk, damn them for keeping him back.

Harry briefly wondered why he enlisted for the war now. He knew there’d be a cost but this felt different. It felt personal. And it was personal. Why was he here now? He didn’t know…not after this. At least that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach had been right about something being wrong.

He sniffles quietly before packing the belongings again. It needed to be done and this was not helping if he stayed in his grief right there. He could grieve later.

+

Cros couldn’t sleep that night, at all. He was too plagued by memories to even begin to sleep.

He climbs out of his bunk quietly, trying not to stir anyone else, even if a good part of the barracks were empty.

He walks outside in the cool night air, trying to calm his mind. If Bubbles were here, he’d have his head. He’d tell him to sleep, to march his ass back into those barracks and sleep, tell him he looked like shit.

Unfortunately, Bubbles was not here. Not anymore. So, he wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t take his ass back to those barracks, and he wouldn’t tell himself he looked like shit, not till morning at least.

He ran into Rosenthal on his walk, and he nodded as a silent greeting and a silent invitation to join him. “What are you doing out so late?”

Rosie sighed before replying, “Couldn’t sleep. Too much in my head. What are you doing?”

Harry grimaced slightly. “Same as you actually. Couldn’t sleep, too much going on in here.” He points up at his head as Rosie nods in acknowledgment.

“We’re in the same boat then?”

“Yeah, the exact same boat.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they walk down the drive, Rosie thinking deeply about the mission as a whole and all those men, Harry thinking deeply about Bubbles, a few other men in his brain’s peripheral.

A memory hits him. The first time Bubbles and him had gone to a movie together after the war started.

It was some stupid cheesy romance flick, but they’d both chickened out at the horror film. It was the first time they’d gotten leave after joining the war effort. They decided it’d be a good break.

They’d gotten a good laugh, the popcorn wasn’t bad, and they’d been happy, carefree. Now one of them was dead and the other grieving. Crosby now understood why Bubbles had written that letter for Jean.

They’d promised themselves on that day, coming out of the theatre doors, that they’d be there for each other, no matter what. That this war wouldn’t tear them apart. They’d been wrong. And that left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth.

Rosie nudges him slightly. “You okay, Crosby? You look like you saw a ghost while simultaneously looking like you’re thinking hard. Is it-“ he pauses, taking a breath. “Was it Bubbles?” He finally asks softly.

Harry nods, “Just a memory is all.” He shakes his head, trying to shake it off.

There’s silence once more before Harry’s bitter laugh breaks it. “He’d be so upset with me right now.” Rosie looks at him, a corner of his mouth quirked, “Would he?”

“Oh yes,” he laughs again. “He’d usher me back to bed. He was a lot like a mother hen, that one. He’d tell me to sit my ass back down and sleep.” He’s sighs, “That’d it be better in the morning. But he’s not here…why isn’t he here, Rosie?”

Rosie wishes he could give him an answer, unfortunately he doesn’t have one. So, he shrugs. “Same reason a lot of them aren’t here…it’s not fair.”

Harry nods, trying to keep his sadness and anger at bay. “I wish it were me…” he mutters softly.

Rosie gives him a stern look. “It’s not. And he wouldn’t have wanted it to be you. It was almost you from what I heard a few days ago. You’ve got a wife waiting for you, he doesn’t. You’ve got a reason to keep going, he did too but not that reason. He’s gone to a better place, Cros. Believe that.”

He can’t help it, the dam breaks open again. Rosie pulls him into a tight hug, both of them needing it.

“What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t it me on that mission?”

“Things happen for a reason. I know it hurts, but there was a reason he was in that plane, and you weren’t.” He sniffles, calming down. Though Rosie doesn’t let go from the hug and neither does he.

+

They eventually drift back to their respective barracks and try to sleep. At least what little they could.

Harry Crosby had lost his best friend, and he’d forever be bitter over that, forever hurt. But perhaps, he’d gained another. Another who he could share those long nights with. Those long nights where neither Bubbles nor him got sleep, they just stayed close, offering comfort and protection. Perhaps him and Rosie would share those nights now.

But he would always miss Bubbles, that part of him was gone with his death. And he really wished he’d known how to save his life. His life that had meaning, that was his rock, but perhaps Rosie was right. There was no way to save that life. Not today.

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

Change and Acceptance

Between the most volatile of emotions, between the highs and the lows, between elation and despair there laid a middle ground that was almost void of almost all emotion. A space  where one looked at their reality and did not rage and lash out or beg and plead for things to be different. They simply recognized that things were as they were.

A space that allowed for acceptance.

Osric had found that space in regards to his arrangement with Vahalia Cress from the very beginning. ‘Eyes wide open’ he’d said, and he’d meant it. He had no misconception of the role he was to play. 

It seemed as though everything was ready to move forward…excluding his sister. The one piece that had yet to fall into place.

His return to the Slater estate was a bit later than he had intended, having spent a majority of the evening answering what questions of Valeria’s he could and then taking an extended walk on his return trip home to clear his head. 

To clear his head and to try to prepare for the discussion he knew he needed to have. Sooner rather than later.

Wyland, as usual, was the first to greet him as he entered the main hall, falling in step as Osric moved through the darkened hallways towards the study. 

“Is Edalene here?”

“No sir. She left shortly after you did.”

“And when is she expected to return?”

“Within the hour, sir. Should I direct her to you?”

It was late, but there was no need to delay the inevitable. Osric exhaled slowly, rolling up his sleeves before moving to a nearby trolley - well stocked with various alcohols and glassware - and pouring himself a generous amount of bourbon, neat, and then moving to take a seat at the piano situated nearby. 

“Yes. I’ve something I need to discuss with her and it can’t wait until the morning. I also need you to dismiss the rest of the staff for the remainder of the evening.”

Wyland paused, gaze cutting to the younger man as Osric took a long sip of his drink.

“You expect this conversation isn’t going to go well then…”

“I expect that Edalene has been given free reign for far too long and when I try to bring her back in she isn’t going to appreciate the restrictions. Do as I’ve asked, Wyland. I will not ask again.” 

“As you say, sir.” The older man gave a low bow before exiting the study without another word. Osric watched him leave, slowly swirling the contents of his glass before taking another haul, letting the alcohol burn for a moment before he swallowed. He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes closing for a moment before he set his glass to the side, fingers moving the keys before him and he slowly began to play. 

How long fingers danced across ivory keys, he couldn’t say. It was easy to lose track of time when he allowed himself the moment to sit down and indulge - an indulgence that was interrupted by the clearing of a throat from the doorway. 

“You never play anymore.”

He blinked several times, pulling himself from his reverie to meet the gaze of his sister who was already moving to the trolley to pour herself a drink. “I rarely have the opportunity to. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy playing when I do…”

Edalene shrugged easily. “My point still stands. Anyway, Wyland said you needed to see me. He looked none too happy about it too.”

Dressed in a long dark blue, silk dress, Edalene looked as though she’d come from a party of some kind. She glanced over her shoulder, finished pouring her drink and found a seat before easing down into it, carefully crossing one leg over the other and turning her glass against the edge of the arm rest. “So, out with it. What’s so damn important that I’m here talking to you instead of going upstairs and soaking away the evening the way I wanted to?” 

“Your job.” Osric stood, grabbing his glass and downing what remained of his bourbon before returning to the trolley for another refill. 

“What about my job, Osric?”

“Your employment may have been appropriate when I didn’t know about it…when we were younger and we had limited options. It may have been appropriate when I was in the military. It may have been appropriate when you were head of this house…”

Edalene took a long sip of her drink, her dark eyes narrowing at her brother over the edge of her glass as her nails of her other hand drummed against the armrest of the chair she was seated in, the foot resting on the floor bouncing - clearly agitated. She took a moment, swallowed her drink and lowered her glass, motioning her hand for Osric to continue, not interjecting…yet.

“...But we move closer to the merger with House Cress and your position is no longer appropriate and no longer necessary. You put yourself in unnecessary danger and for what? A few bits of information that we can pay plenty of other people for. I say this as your brother who loves you and is tired of you going out and risking your life for a nation that we both know has never valued it, but I’m ordering this as the head of your house - you will tender your resignation effective immediately.” 

“So I can be a good little pawn like you?”

It was Osric’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Excuse you?”

“Oh fuck you, Osric, you heard me. Sure, let's ignore the number of times I’ve found information for you. Let’s just completely overlook the fact that I enjoy what I do. But I’ve got to give that up so I can be nice and pristine and ready to spread my legs and play the pretty little housewife, of course - not in that order -  for some little Ishgardian noble at some point in the future and I can’t do that if I’m out working or out running amok.” She stood up, downing what remained in her glass before setting down the empty container a bit harder than necessary and stalking over to her brother, shoving him hard in the chest with both hands. “Tell me I’m wrong, Osric.”

His jaw clenched as he steadied himself, setting his glass aside, managing not to spill his drink before setting it down. “If you’re going to be part of this family moving forward then there are certain rules by which you have to abide, Edalene - things aren’t going to be as they were and we both knew that going into it.” 

“Did she - is this what that - “

“She is to be my wife, what she wants is what I want, there is no dispute here, Edalene. I will not argue the matter.” 

“And I’m your sister!” Edalene paused, glancing up at her brother for a long moment. “...You’re lost already, aren’t you?”

“She’s…important to me, yes. As is keeping you in this family and having things progress smoothly.”

She shoved him in the chest again, once more using both hands. “You’re such a stupid bastard, Osric. Don’t try to make this a ‘nice’ thing. I’m still fucking furious with you and before you open your godsdamn mouth again - I have every right to be.”��

Edalene turned, a flourish of dark silk, grabbed her empty glass and then moved over to the trolley to grab one of the bottles - bourbon, unopened, before roughly shoving past her brother.

“Wha- where are you going? We're not done.”

“Oh, oh yes we are. I'm going upstairs to my room. If I continue talking to you right now there’s a good chance this bottle is going to get thrown at your head. Your only saving grace right now is the thought that any resulting children from your marriage may have a chance to not end up like us. So try not to fuck things up too badly, hm?” She didn’t bother looking back, shooting him a rather crude hand gesture as she exited, leaving him with only the piano, his drink and his thoughts for company.

The next morning he found Edalene’s resignation letter on his desk, held in place by one of the daggers his sister favored.

He was also informed by Wyland that Edalene had requested not to be disturbed.

He accepted her anger…her frustration, even her hate - if that’s what it took to keep her in his life.

Things were changing, and as the merger happened they would continue to change. 

His scar hummed as he turned over the small resin-encased piece of ore in his hand.

Some people fought change with all they had…but sometimes change is what they needed. 

Even if acceptance felt like the hardest thing in the world to do.

[prairiesongserial]

22.5

The night sky was beginning to lighten, though it wasn’t quite three in the morning. The color was a deep, cloudless blue. Friday blinked the cold wind from her eyes and caught her breath. 

Officer Liang was the last out of the tunnels. She walked a few feet away, out of easy range, before she also stopped to catch her breath. On Friday’s other side, Cody was smiling. He couldn’t hold still, pacing in circles and tapping his fingers. Friday had already nudged him twice–they should have been pretending to mourn their dead friends. It would make things less complicated until Val and John decided it was safe to show up again.

“Well, I’ll be arresting you both now,” Officer Liang said. Friday’s gaze snapped to her as she took a hesitant step closer. Officer Liang stopped in her tracks. “I’m going to be in a lot of trouble for this,” she protested. “I wasn’t even supposed to be on duty, and they’ll have my badge for abetting if I just let you walk away.”

“We’re not going with you,” Cody laughed. “Friday, where to?”

That was a tough question. Friday didn’t want to go back to the palace; now that the palace guard had figured out she’d stolen a set of keys, the next time she wanted to break out was going to be more of a challenge. The Queen might even have them moved to a cell.

But Friday didn’t know where else to go. Val’s message had let her know he was alive and that he expected some kind of response or action from her–but she still didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She put her hands in her pockets, letting herself touch the ring Val had left on the tracks. That was part of the message, too. Somehow.

“Let me think,” Friday said. “Don’t let Officer Liang go anywhere.”

Cody smiled at Officer Liang. Officer Liang looked uneasy. Distantly, there was the tinny sound of a siren. A few moments later, Officer Liang’s portable phone buzzed like a giant, angry fly. Friday yelped and dug it out of her pocket.

She carefully answered the call, holding the phone up to Officer Liang.

“Liang, where the hell are you? We have intel that the French spies are moving to the border with the princes tonight.”

Friday raised her eyebrows at Officer Liang.

“O-oh, really?” Officer Liang said. “I’m just…I wasn’t supposed to be on duty tonight, sir, so I went out for a pint.”

“You didn’t sign out of the barracks–what the hell, I don’t have time for this. Report for assignment.”

Cody moved in close to Officer Liang. He made a vaguely threatening figure, with his holstered gun on clear display.

“Um, sir,” Officer Liang said, swallowing. “Where are the spies headed?”

Friday raised a hand to her forehead.

“What the hell are you playing at, Liang?” the commanding officer sighed.

“It’s just–I’m already in the city. So I could try to rendezvous–”

“Long damn way to go for a pint,” the officer growled. “Alright, I’ll brief you now. We lost position on Lecter and Graves after the tunnel collapse this morning–according to our intelligence, those two will be moving for the French border with the princes a little before dawn. Ours escaped at approximately midnight tonight–we don’t know what they’re planning. They might try to clear a path, they might be arranging transport.”

“You think they blew up the tunnel on purpose?” Officer Liang asked. “They could have been killed–I mean, weren’t they killed?” She looked to Friday and Cody, who’d just been crying over John’s boot an hour ago.

“Liang, as much as I would enjoy prolonging this phone conversation over tea and–if I’m being honest–a fry-up, there is the small matter of two kidnapped heads of state I’m meant to be addressing. You meet up with PGU 22 at the Blackfriars crossing and do whatever Lieutenant Wooley tells you.”

The commanding officer disconnected the call. Officer Liang looked between Friday and Cody.

“If John and Val are going back to France…” Cody began, pacing. “What does that mean? Where should we meet them? Do you think they actually have the princes, or is that bullshit?”

“I think it’s probably not ‘bullshit,’” muttered Officer Liang, not making eye contact with either of them.

Friday clasped the portable phone tightly in hand. France did make sense. Sacha knew them and was friendly enough, if only on his terms–Friday had to concede that it was probably their safest option. But why bring a couple of princes along? Friday didn’t think Val or John would work with kidnappers unless they were backed into a corner–no, not even then. Herself and Cody, they would do what needed doing in order to get out of a tight spot, but Val and John? They were working in the kids’ best interest. That, or this whole thing was a fabrication. Friday didn’t like the mention of Hemisphere she’d seen in the tunnel graffiti. She didn’t like not knowing how they fit into the picture.

“Might be bullshit,” Friday said. “But…probably not.” She turned the ring over in her pocket as she considered what to do next. She could hear the words Val had written on the wall in song, the following lines in the chant filling in as she remembered them. The chant repeated over in her head.

“Then…we should meet them in France. Let’s go?” Cody was giving her an odd look. He turned to Officer Liang. “Sorry, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

More sirens joined the first. Soon Friday couldn’t differentiate the direction any of them were coming from. They were all around, closing Friday in.

“Just…wait a second,” she said.

Cody shifted from foot to foot. Finally, he came in close, pulling Friday away from Officer Liang.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“I think I missed something,” she said. “Val’s message wouldn’t lead us to France. We’d have no idea where he and John are going unless someone leaked it to the palace.”

“Okay,” Cody said. “So they leaked it on purpose?”

“Maybe.” Friday pulled the ring out of her pocket and showed it to Cody. From his expression, he didn’t know what it was. She put it back in her pocket. “It’s just…part of the Good Friday service, in Latin, demanding an answer for the betrayal of Christ–that’s what he chose to leave me to let me know he was alive. And this.” She patted her pocket. “That’s not how you say ‘meet me in France.’ If anything, that’s how you say ‘the plan to abandon all hope of finding Johannes alive is still on, meet me at the Vatican.’” 

Cody raised his eyebrows at her. 

“We might have discussed ditching you two for a pilgrimage,” Friday said. “Seems like weeks ago, but it was just on the train across the English channel that we talked about it. Fuck, that’s it, isn’t it? There was a reason, besides Val being Val, to make everything so damn Catholic. He and John aren’t going to France with the princes–that’s a distraction, and a good one, since the Queen wants those princes so bad.”

Cody’s eyes moved to something behind Friday. She turned in time to catch sight of Officer Liang sprinting in the opposite direction.

“Shit,” Friday said, and followed her.

22.4 || 22.6

[whirligig-girl]

Isabel Guz! In the 22nd-And-A-Half Century!

Image ID: Digital drawing of a Eaurp Guz and Hoshi Sato in the NX-01 starship Enterprise mess hall. Guz is a green slimegirl, Hoshi Sato is a japanese human woman. They are both wearing navy-blue united earth starfleet jumpsuits. Hoshi's uniform has blue lining and Guz's uniform has red lining. They both have ensign's pips. Guz looks a little flustered and melty, while Hoshi just looks happy. Guz is eating soup. Hoshi has a sandwich and some beans. There is a purple and blue nebula visible out the window.  End ID.

pre-ent-season-1 Introduction to Isabel Guz under the cut:

Ensign Guz was in the 602 club, enjoying a fruity beverage and talking to Ensign Reed about Titan V missiles. Guz was in uniform--her navy-blue jumpsuit with red stripes, but Reed was wearing a polo shirt and shorts. Reed spotted his crewmates from across the room and waived them over to the booth.

"Uh, Isabel, this is, ahem, Lieutenant Tucker and Commander Archer, from Project Enterprise."

"Please, call me Trip."

Guz's eyes went wide. "Wow! Howdy, I'm, uh, Ensign Isabel Guz, nice to meetchy'all."

Trip cocked his head to the side. "Ensign, where you from?"

"No clue sir, but I was raised in Greensboro."

"Ah, one of them reclaimation project towns?" Trip said.

Guz nodded. "There weren't much uh the city left after the 2nd civil war, but that meant it wasn't one of the targets during world war three."

Commander Archer chuckled to himself, then cleared his throat. "I think you and Trip have a lot in common. He was raised in Panama City."

"A real life Florida man...," Guz marvelled.

"In the flesh," Trip said.

"Have you ever made it out to Cape Canaveral? I know it's mostly a crater reclaimed by swamp at this point but I've heard the historical society opened the ruins of the VAB to visitors! I've always wanted to go, but I never found the time, and--"

"Calm down Ensign. I've done better than that. I've seen the preserved Saturn Five booster in Huntsville, Alabama."

"No... way..." Guz said.

"Forgive me for prying but, what's with the, uhh..." Archer said, gesturing vaguely at Guz's whole deal.

“The slime? The Vulcan scientists said I came to them as a cylinder of biomimetic compound salvaged from a Zaldan Empire ship. They didn't get any records, so I dunno what planet I'm from. Ain't like it matters; as far as I'm concerned, I'm from North Carolina."

"Zaldans?" Archer said

"They're at a similar level of development to Earth, but with much wider infrastructure. That's all the Vulcans told me about them.”

“So are you like, some kinda shapeshifter?” Trip said.

“If you want to learn all about me, feel free to read the Vulcan paper, Development and Maturation of a Biomimetic Mold Organism. If you can read Vulcan, that is. You’ll learn all about my shapeshifting abilities, or lackthereof; my fluidity, material structure, sentience profile… pain response.”

The table went silent. Guz looked down awkwardly, more upset that she’d made things awkward than about what the Vulcans did to her all those years ago.

“Hey, ma’am, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Guz feigned cheering up. “It’s ok. We all know how Vulcans can be!”

The waitress came up to the table. “The usuals, gentlemen?”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Archer said.

“How ‘bout Isabel?” Trip said.

“You’ve already guessed that one,” Ruby said.

“Damn,” Trip said, snapping his fingers.

“Wh-what was that about?” Guz said.

“Ruby said she’ll marry the first guy who guesses what she wants to name her kids.”

Guz muttered under her breath, “or maybe the first slimegirl…”

Archer furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, a little surprised.

Ruby came back with some drinks, and Archer continued in his small talk. “So, Ensign, where are you assigned?”

“I’m on Captain Jeffries’ engineering team.”

“Oh, damn, is he overworking you?” Trip said.

“I can handle the workload,” Guz said. “But I’m hoping to actually get… you know, out there some day. I’m hoping to get on one of those Freedoms, or maybe an Intrepid--”

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

🔮 + kit or/and sia? :3c

A snippet from Chapter 14 of American Beasts for you:

“There’s someone out there pretending to be a soldier. They are killing our brothers and sisters and putting this project in jeopardy. I want this coward to know that they have my attention. My hunters are coming for you, there’s nowhere you can run.”

His lip twitched into a smirk as his eyes scanned over the countless manila files, maps and documents that littered his desk. Putting down his hand radio, he closed one in particular that he’d spent the last hour flipping through as he watched the security footage of his lumber mill being taken over by one woman. 

Watching her taking out his men, the members of his army, with stone-faced dedication left him frustrated. His jaw still aching from the time it had spent clenched, a cigarette between his lips. He’d been warned about her, reading the reports returned to him after so many of the Chosen he’d lent to John and Faith were sent back to him in body bags. She was a threat, one deemed serious enough to need the Chosen in the first place, and still she’d bested them. This woman wasn’t just another hunter turned resistance member, no, she was well trained, focused, every move she made was based on instinct and skill. He already knew the place for her, Joseph had told him of the dreams he’d had of her, the lion who would be their downfall if she wasn’t brought to heel. One thing he was excellent at was keeping things in order, controlled. Just like the Judges, wild beasts he’d managed to leash to his own whims, he’d make her a weapon to be used at the exact moment of his choosing and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it, or anyone else for that matter.

She was going to be his, only his. 

He rested his fists against the wooden top of the desk, cigarette smoke still trailing up from the ashtray beside him. Now he had to wait, he knew what he said would catch her attention. Calling her a fraud, a pretender, even after everything she’d already done. It would become an itch she’d need to scratch, a bug crawling in the dirt at the back of her mind, she wouldn’t be able to let it go. 

His radio chirped, his pale eyes falling to it, waiting to hear which voice would come through. Was she really so easily broken? 

“Sir, we’re coming up to the Cook’s last known coordinates.”

He drummed his thumb against the table, giving one last scan over the old chess pieces that sat on the maps spread across the surface before him and then grabbed his radio. 

“Good, let me know when you’ve caught her. I’ll meet you at the Grand View.”

“Yes, sir.”

Putting the radio back down, Jacob looked to the corner of the room and the still standing, silent statue that was once a Sheriff’s deputy. Staci stood there frozen with fear, his head bowed in subservience like a beaten dog, his face still bruised from his last failure. He’d been taken as bait to attract her but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t earn his keep and his failures would not go unpunished. Judge duty was an honor, a right, and he’d forgotten where the food was kept one too many times. 

“Peaches, you ready to go for a ride?”

Staci nodded, his eyes kept firmly on the worn toes of his boots, afraid to make any sort of contact with the Herald who kept him prisoner. 

“Been a while since you’ve seen the Grand View, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Staci’s voice shook. 

“You think your friend will benefit from it?” 

Narrowed eyes focused on the young man, waiting to hear his thoughts, for once. It was one of the things Pratt had to be broken free of first, a mouth that didn’t know when to stop. Loose lips sink ships, the sign of a weak will, and Jacob couldn’t afford a chink in the chain for the Project. 

Brown eyes looked up at him, the light in them had faded weeks back, instead there was only desperation and terror. He squirmed, unsure if he was truly free to voice his opinion. “She’s strong.”

Heavy brows lifted at the word. Muscular arms draped in camouflage crossed over his chest, his dog tags chiming against the rabbit's foot he wore around his neck. “Is she? Hasn’t proven that to me yet. Though you managed to pass the trials, complete your sacrifice. So I guess anything’s possible.”

Staci’s eyes dropped once more, a broken man, conditioned to be a pet. Trained to be a slave, not a soldier like the others. 

“We best start makin’ our way there, don’t want to be late to greet her.”

Heavy boots pounded towards the door, Staci flinching at the sound but not failing to keep up with his master, scurrying up to march behind Jacob, cast in shadow by the presence of Joseph’s General. 

The truck ride there was quiet, not even the Project songs would fill the void as tree lined roads passed by them. Jacob didn’t have time for Peggie drivers, he’d rather do it himself. He knew these roads like the back of his hand, knew the short cuts, and the silence, that feeling of being alone did wonders for his head space, or so he told himself. Too many hours spent in that cramped office, with only a balcony to remind him of the outside, the smell of pine drifting in with a strong breeze. Going for a drive was one step closer to being out in the wild, and as much as he hated the concrete that ripped its way through nature, it had its merits when he needed the escape. 

Staci wasn’t much for company either, he barely existed as far as Jacob was concerned. A means to an end. A waste of food, water, and oxygen during any other time. But he had his purpose, the weak always did. He’d serve it perfectly, he already had, finally drawing her out and bringing her to him. He’d had to listen to all of John’s calls, goading her, begging her to notice him like the showboat he was, but now that he’d had his radio time revoked, that was no longer a problem. Jacob could finally see how she really worked, and it was clear she was someone to keep his eye on considering the very clear wound she had left in Faith’s region. It was impressive, if not maddening seeing how she liked to work. But every mission she completed gave him that much more tactical knowledge of how to deal with her, to make short work of her, to finally slip the collar and leash around her neck. 

Crunching through the gravel of the front lot, the off-white van pulled in. Men hopping out, they pulled the back doors open and inside laying dazed on her back was Kit, her arms and legs splayed out around her, red braid coiled around her like a python. 

“We’ve got the prisoner, sir.”

“She’s a recruit.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“She’s not a prisoner, she’s a recruit.” Jacob paused, staring at her. Seeing her in color was different from the black and white of a closed circuit camera, she was real, not some bit of folklore told to spook people from going off into the woods alone. She could be caught and caged. 

“She will join our army.” He was sure of it. He dragged his eyes from her and looked over at his shadow who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her.

“Well, what’re you waiting for, Peaches?”

“Wh-what?”

“Pick her up. We haven’t got all day.” 

Staci stepped forward and reached into the van, grabbing her ankles and pulling her towards him. She moaned out, barely awake, as he turned her to get a better grip on her, one arm sliding under her head, the other slipping under her knees, lifting her to his chest. 

A smug superiority overcame Jacob as he watched Staci try to lift her with barely the strength to hold her, she was almost as tall as him, and was made of rock hard muscle, but Jacob knew Staci would do it if only to be sure he didn't have to spend another night in the cages. 

As Staci held her close he whispered to her, “Sorry about this, Red.”

Jacob scoffed at how gentle he was being. So damn weak.  How many times would Pratt have to go through the trials until he finally manned up, before all that empathy would be pulled from him. Someone like the Deputy didn't need softness, not after the things she’d done, the state she’d left so many bodies in. 

Walking through the halls the moans and wailing cries of recruits sang like a funerary song, a procession of death down towards the basement. A place of real horror, where only those deemed assets were sent. Instead of a recording of their master's voice, they received him in person. His words were able to dig in that much deeper, straight to the core of them. They couldn’t hide their faces, turn their eyes away, he was always right there. There was no escape.

[quobber]

‘tis the damn season

(part 1/3)

yk what? im not really sure what this is. came along as i wrote it.

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x Peter Parker

Contents: cheating, eventual smut but not this part, friends to lovers (?), angst !!

Words: 3k

Gwen Stacy thinks she threw her life away. Stuck with an emotionally distant husband and uneventful life, she’s under the impression that she’ll never amount to anything. Then she meets Peter Parker, and she begins to realise that she isn’t as damned as she thought.

Gwen didn’t know when she fell out of love with Flash Thompson. It was sweet for a while, innocent, a puppy love. But they shouldn’t have gotten married so young. They shouldn’t have settled down so quickly. Now they were stuck in a loveless marriage, bound together by nothing more than legality.

Gwen wished she hadn’t given her life away. She had hopes, dreams. She wanted to be something in life. She’d thrown everything away for her high school sweetheart who didn’t even give her the time of day.

Her life was painfully average. She sat at a desk all day, writing pointless articles for a boss that paid her too little, went home to a husband who felt nothing for her, and slept terribly, only to wake the next morning and do it all again.

She sat at her desk, keyboard clicking as she wrote yet another article on the mystery that was Spider-Man, although she would have preferred to write literally anything else. She couldn’t care less about the vigilante, but his name sold papers, so she wrote what she had to.

“Stacy. My office.” Jameson’s voice boomed from the phone on Gwen’s desk. She closed her eyes and sighed slowly, getting up. She walked towards her boss’s office, preparing herself for another lecture on her writing.

She stopped once she walked through the door. Someone was already there. He sat across from Jameson. His hair was dark and messy, and he was tall. He turned to face her and for just a moment Gwen swore she couldn’t breathe.

“Stacy, this is Percy Parker. He’s a photographer.”

“It’s Peter, sir.”

“Whatever.”

Gwen blinked at the two of them for a moment, then held her arm out and shook Peter’s hand, giving him a friendly smile. “I’m Gwen Stacy.”

Peter held her hand for just a second longer than he should have, just long enough for them to remember one another’s touch, for it to be tattooed into their skin.

“Nice to meet you.” Peter smiled.

Gwen sat in the chair next to Peter, crossing her legs, and looked at Jameson. He lit a cigar and placed it between his lips, sitting back in his chair.

“Parker’s a new employee. Moving up from freelance. I need you to show him how we do things around here. His desk is next to yours.”

“That’s Betty Brant’s desk.” Gwen furrowed her brows.

“That was Betty Brant’s desk. Why do you think I needed to hire someone new?” Jameson scoffed, “Keep up, Stacy. It isn’t that hard to figure out.”

Gwen shrunk back into her chair and her face turned a light shade of pink. She was used to her boss embarrassing her, but now there was an audience.

“Uh, sir?” Peter spoke up. “Not to be disrespectful or anything, but, did ya really have to do that?”

Both Gwen and Jameson slowly turned to look at Peter, each of them equally surprised. No one stood up to him.

Jameson took a slow drag of his cigar and exhaled, staring Peter down. “You’re on thin ice, Parker. Thin ice. Get out of my office. Both of you.”

Gwen didn’t need to be told twice. She got up and quickly left the room, Peter trailing behind her. Gwen kept her eyes down as she walked back to her desk, still embarrassed over the whole situation. She reached her desk and sat down, gesturing to the desk next to hers.

“That’s yours, I guess.” She mumbled, turning her laptop on.

Peter watched her carefully for several seconds. Gwen felt his eyes on her but she pretended not to notice, opening an unfinished document.

“You really let him talk to you like that?” Peter sat slowly, his eyes glued onto her. Like he couldn’t look away.

“What choice do I have?” Gwen shrugged. “He’ll fire me in a second if I stood up to him.”

“He didn’t fire me.” Peter offered.

“Because you get good pictures. I’m just another writer. I’m replaceable.” Gwen looked up to meet his eyes.

She’d seen his name in the paper before, in the corner of Spider-Man pictures that often went along with her articles. Photographed by Peter Parker. No one got pictures like him. They were, frankly, incredible. Jameson wouldn’t fire him.

“Don’t say that.” Peter shook his head.

Gwen blinked at him for a second longer before she looked back at her screen, going back to writing. Peter didn’t take his eyes off of her.

“You’ve been staring at me for a while.” Gwen finally spoke up, feeling incredibly nervous. Peter was attractive, she wouldn’t deny that, but she wasn’t attracted to him. His gaze just made her heart beat a little bit faster.

“I’m sorry he said that to you. And I’m sorry about your friend.” Peter spoke.

Gwen stopped typing and sighed, “Betty wasn’t my friend. And I don’t care about what he said.”

Gwen wasn’t sure why Peter cared so much. It was an odd feeling, it was almost nice. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about her.

“Okay.” Peter nodded, finally looking away. “I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

Gwen lifted her eyes just slightly to study him once he pulled his eyes away from her. She wanted to ask why he’d spoken up for her, but she decided not to. It was best to just drop the subject.

But that didn’t stop the moment from replaying in her mind over and over and over.

-

Peter had settled in nicely, or as nicely as one can settle into The Daily Bugle. And as much as Gwen hated to admit it, work wasn’t completely unbearable anymore. Peter was nice, he was funny, and he made her feel almost normal. She finally had someone to talk to at work. It had been about two months since Peter was hired, and it was the happiest Gwen felt in a long time.

“How come you never talk about him?” Peter spoke up one morning.

Gwen looked across her desk and at Peter, tilting her head.

“Your husband.” He pointed to her wedding ring.

Gwen’s stomach dropped and she looked down at her hand, shaking her head. “Not much to talk about.”

“Why not?”

One thing about Peter was that he was curious. He constantly asked her questions, seeming to not even care if they were awkward. He constantly wanted to know more about her. And for some reason, Gwen always found herself answering.

“I mean, he barely even talks to me. I wouldn’t know what to say about him.” She gave a short, forced laugh.

Peter frowned and looked down. “Sorry- I didn’t know.”

Silence filled the air and Gwen went back to work, pushing the thought out of her mind.

“Why are you with him then?” Peter sat up straighter. “I mean, I’m sorry if that’s rude, but I think you deserve better.”

“I really don’t need any relationship advice.”

“I’m not tryin’ to give you any advice. I’m telling you that you deserve better.”

Gwen took a deep breath. “Look, Peter, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Really. You shouldn’t be worrying about my marriage.”

Peter locked eyes with her but said nothing. He wanted to argue further, but it wasn’t his place, and he knew that. So he changed the subject. “What’cha doing after work?”

Gwen eyed him slowly. “Why?”

“I wanna take ya out for coffee.”

She blinked at him.

“Not like- uh, not like a date, obviously.” He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously. “Just like.. hanging out. As friends.”

Gwen bit the inside of her cheek. It probably wasn’t a good idea. No matter what Peter said, getting coffee together was pretty date-esque.

But she nodded after a moment. What was the harm? “Sure. Hanging out as friends.”

-

The day dragged by slower than usual. But eventually, somehow, it was 4 p.m. and Gwen was free. She closed her laptop and placed it in her bag, putting her jacket on.

“It’s only a few blocks from here. But it’s the best cafe in the whole city.” Peter walked out of the building with her.

“Really? The whole city?” Gwen smiled.

“The whole city.” Peter nodded, leading the way. “My uncle brought me here for the first time when I was a kid. I swear, it’s incredible.”

Gwen followed close behind him, a slight bounce in her step. She thought walking next to him was too intimate. You walk next to a date, someone you’re close with. Your arms could brush against each other. Your hands could touch. So she walked behind him, to be safe.

They got to the cafe about 5 minutes later. Peter held the door for her and Gwen felt her stomach flutter. She kicked herself internally as she thanked Peter and walked through the door. Those types of things weren’t supposed to make her excited.

The cafe was cute on the inside and Gwen smiled, going up to a display shelf where there were dozens of pastries.

“Best in the whole city.” Peter smiled behind Gwen, his arms crossed as he watched her.

It took a while but Gwen eventually decided what she wanted, ordering a croissant and a cup of tea. She reached for her purse when the cashier rang her up, but Peter put cash down before she could.

“Peter, no-”

“You’re too late, I already did.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

Gwen huffed and took her order, shaking her head. “I’m going to pay you back.”

“You’re paying me by being here.” Peter grinned, then walked outside of the cafe. There were three tables outside and Peter sat at one, gesturing to the spot across from him.

Hanging out. As friends.

Gwen sat across from him and took her croissant out of the brown paper bag, shaking her head.

“What?” Peter questioned.

“You said this wasn’t a date.”

“It's not.” Peter grinned. “Does it feel like one?”

“Please let me pay you back.” Gwen huffed, taking a bite of her croissant. “...Oh my god.”

“It’s good, right?” Peter raised his eyebrows.

“It’s really good. You were r-” She looked over Peter’s shoulder.

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

This wasn’t happening.

Flash walked down the street in their direction, not noticing the two of them. Gwen kept her head down.

“..what happened? Are you okay?” Peter had a confused look on his face.

“Shh.” Gwen hissed, trying to hide her face with her hand. But it wasn’t any use as Flash got closer.

Flash did a double take, looking at Gwen then Peter and back to Gwen. He walked up to the table, jaw clenched.

“Flash-” Gwen felt sick suddenly, dizzy and nauseous and head pounding. “I didn’t know you came this way.”

“Obviously.” Flash spat, glaring at Peter. “Who’s this?”

Gwen opened her mouth to speak but Peter stood, his hands up in surrender. “Listen, man, it’s not what ya think. I just took her to get some coffee.”

Beat.

“God knows you don’t.”

The colour drained from Gwen’s face.

“What?” Flash stepped closer to Peter, standing to his full height. Gwen grabbed his arm but he shrugged her off. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

Peter kept his hands in the air. “Because it’s so hard to just be a decent fucking husband, right? You must have it so difficult. I’m so sorry.”

“Peter!” Gwen stood finally, pulling Flash away, looking into his eyes. “Let’s just go, okay? I don’t- I don’t know why he’s being like this. I swear, nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen.”

She shot a glare at Peter as she said the last part, grabbing her purse. She threw some money on the table and shook her head. Her hand was on Flash’s arm as they walked away, trying to calm him down.

-

Peter didn’t show up to work the next two days. Gwen didn’t want to speak to him anyway, but a small part of her wondered what had happened. Was he really giving up his paycheck to avoid her?

Jameson stood by Gwen’s desk, smelling of cigars and cheap cologne.

“Stacy.”

“Good morning.” Gwen sighed, looking up.

“You had two articles due yesterday.”

“Peter hasn’t been here. He has the pictures for the articles.”

Jameson slowly looked at Peter’s desk, as if he hadn’t noticed his absence before. “Well, where is he?!”

Gwen blinked slowly, “I don’t know.”

“Find him! I need those articles by tonight, or you’re fired.” Jameson gruffed, storming back into his office.

Gwen sat back defeatedly in her chair. Jameson threatened her job multiple times a week, so she was pretty much desensitised to it at this point, but a looming fear hung over her this time. Having an article without pictures published would definitely take a chunk out of her paycheck, one that Gwen couldn’t afford to lose with the holidays coming up.

She took her phone out of her purse and dialled Peter’s number. She’d memorised it, because adding his name into her phone felt too personal. They weren’t that close.

“Hey, this is Peter Parker, leave a message.”

Gwen huffed at the fact that she’d been sent straight to voicemail and waited for the tone.

“Peter, hey, I need those pictures. You can go back to avoiding me as soon as I get them. Thanks.”

She paused for a few moments.

“This is Gwen, by the way. Gwen Stacy.”

She hung up and put her phone back into her purse. She opened a document on her laptop and started to edit her latest report. Spider-Man had apparently gotten hurt a few days ago trying to stop a robbery. A part of her, almost unnoticeable, felt sorry for him.

-

Gwen was about to start packing up her things later that day when her phone rang. She looked at it, recognising the number. She accepted the call and held her phone to her ear, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Hi.”

“Hey Gwen,” Peter mumbled from the other line. He sounded tired. “I’m sorry about the pictures. I can swing by- er- yeah- I can drop them off in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Gwen nodded, suddenly overcome with worry. Peter was usually very perky, always in a good mood. Something was off. She was still upset with him, but that could wait.

“...Are you alright?”

There was no answer.

“Peter?”

“Sorry. I’m okay. See you soon.”

He hung up. Gwen sat with her phone still at her ear, mind racing with possibilities of what could be wrong. Was it because of what happened with Flash? Did he feel guilty? Was it nothing and Gwen was just overthinking?

She looked at her laptop, eyes scanning a few lines of her work.

Masked vigilante known as Spider-Man injured while trying to stop a robbery, according to several witnesses.

Gwen’s mouth went dry.

The pictures. The “long lens camera.” The sporadic absences. The constant defence of Spider-Man to Jameson. Spider-Man had gotten hurt, and since then Peter was nowhere to be seen.

She slammed her laptop shut and stood up, throwing her coat on and purse over her shoulder, rushing out of the building. She tried to think of any evidence against her coworker being an anonymous superhero, but the more her mind worked the more it made sense. She walked faster.

“Woah- Gwen- I said I’d come to you.”

Gwen looked up and saw Peter walking towards her. She didn’t know what to do, she wasn’t ready to deal with this new information. She tried to swerve around him.

Peter placed a gentle hand on her arm, looking into her eyes with concern. “Are you okay? You look pale. Don’t ya need these?” He held up a few pictures.

“Give them right to Jameson.” Gwen avoided his eyes.

“Hey, listen,” Peter eyed her carefully. “I’m so sorry about what I said to him. It wasn’t my place, and I- I really should’ve kept my mouth shut, and if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you please let me know.”

Gwen looked at him finally, a dark bruise on his cheek that furthermore confirming what she already knew.

“But Gwen, I meant what I said. I shouldn’t have said it, but I meant it. Why are you even with him? Why did you marry that guy? Do you know how much better you deserve?”

Gwen pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head.

“..He wasn’t always like that. He used to take me out to dinner, tell me I looked pretty. He used to be a good husband. But, I don’t know, people change.”

She smiled sadly at the memories she usually avoided. It wasn’t that they were unpleasant, but if she thought about them for too long she got sad. She missed loving, and being loved.

“Then why do you stay?” Peter’s hand was still on her arm, eyes still staring deeply into hers.

“I stay because I have to. I have bills, Peter, a mortgage, student loans, I couldn’t do all that by myself.”

Peter sighed sadly and let go of her arm.

Gwen studied him. Peter was just a normal guy. A kind, attractive, normal guy. She couldn’t believe he spent his free time in a costume fighting crime.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she spoke, “I know that’s kind of your whole thing, but please give it a rest. Stick to saving kittens from trees, bug boy. Maybe you won't get hurt that way.” Gwen whispered. Peter kept a poker face for the most part, but Gwen could see a flicker of worry darken his eyes.

“See you tomorrow.” Gwen took a deep breath and started walking again.

***

part 2

part 3

[vipers-hat]

'' permission to lean in? '' '' permission granted. ''/'' i'm not a delicate flower. kiss me like you mean it. '' for Chris x Price too!!

John Price x Christine Argent

Come Back to Me

Christine glanced up from the cake she was decorating when the shop entry bell jingled. “I’ll get it,”  She set the piping bag down and quickly dust off most of the mess that had found its way onto her clothes as she headed out of the back. “Morning, welcome to Cornflower -” she stopped short at the sight of the customer. She was expecting on of her regulars, Nancy. Not the guy she had met a few months ago when she was on a trip in London, who she’d exchanged numbers with, and then had basically been a penpal up until now.  “John!” she gaped at him for a moment, then snapped out of it. “This is a surprise!” 

She heard at least a couple of her coworkers suddenly stop what they were doing. 

HIs answering smile was warm. “Hi. Sorry. Work… thing. Ended up stateside for… reasons. Realized I wasn’t too far from the address you mentioned. Here I am.” 

“Oh, very vague, very mysterious,” she teased. 

He had simplified his career to ‘being in the military’ during the first hours of knowing each other, and in the time since he had apologetically explained it further as 'Very Secret Stuff, Unfortunately.' He was grateful she accepted the vagueness as enough of an answer, and there was no heat behind her reaction to him dodging the question.

“You remembered this place, huh?” she leaned over the counter.

John shrugged and smiled. “I do recall saying I’d stop by if I ever had a chance. Kept the address handy.”

If that didn’t make her feel all sorts of special. She ducked her head to hide the resulting blush.

“Hey Christine, you gonna let your handsome gentleman friend order something already?!” her coworker Libby called.

Christine grimaced, hissed Libby’s name towards the back, then turned back, grateful John just offered another smile. “Well, you are welcome to anything. It’s on the house.” 

John gave a momentary glance at the display case, then shrugged. “Surprise me. Can I get it to go?” 

“Oooh, you stop by but you’re in too much of a rush to stay?” She asked, still teasing. She understood. Having Kate as a sister made it easy to accept the mad dashes military people had to do. It stung a bit, but she understood. He was often apologizing for being ‘too damn busy.’ 

He shrugged, seeming to contemplate something, then straightened out. “Wanted to see if you could step out for a bit, actually.” 

Oh? Oh. She tried not to stare again. Was that a date or a friendly chat? Hell, had their second hangout in London count as a date? Was this their first or second, if it was? What was she, a freshman in high school? “I think we’re a bit busy at the moment-” 

“No we’re not!” Libby called from the back again. “She’ll be happy to step out, Sir.” 

Christine flinched again, then sighed. “Then I’ll get us something. Hold on.” She stepped over to the display case, sidestepping all the frilly desserts. Didn’t seem to be the type. She glanced at him and squinted, and she tried not to feel too giddy when he squinted back, apparently catching onto the theatrics of humoring his request to surprise him. 

“Any allergies or diets I should know about?” 

“None at all. Clear across the board.” 

Christine looked at the clock over his shoulder. Just past noon. “Lunchy…” she decided, then settled for a cheese and prosciutto pinwheel. One of their new creations. And she loved her some prosciutto, she had half a mind to joke that it would’ve been a dealbreaker if he didn’t like it. She dropped a couple in a bag, then handed them over. “Give me a sec, I’ll be right out.” 

He nodded and left.

She took a moment and then took her apron off before Libby promptly snuck up behind her and practically shoved her towards the door, muttering something about ‘doing it for all of us.’ She shot her assistant a warning look, but went all the same. She stepped out, and John fell easily into step with her as she started walking, explaining there was a spot with a few tables around the corner that she often suggested to regulars. Once they reached it, she sat down, hardly surprised when he moved his own chair so he was directly across from her but was also facing where he could see most of the traffic- both foot and car coming from both directions. She watched him watching everybody around them in turn. “Looking for escape routes or scoping everybody out?”

John offered a false wounded look. “Second one. Maybe first, depending how this goes.” 

It was her turn to act offended, then grinned and leaned back. Her smile faded slightly as she watched his eyes flick back and forth from passersby, back to her, and back again. “Does that Soldier Brain of yours ever turn off? Do you ever let yourself relax?”

“Not when I’m awake. Eh, not even then.” 

“John,” Christine chided. 

His answering smile was gentle. He appreciated the tone and what it meant. She had proven over the last few months that she had a begrudging respect for his career and all of the quirks that came with it. She wasn’t judging, she was concerned. It would’ve been endearing, had some part of him not been convinced he didn’t deserve it. “Part of the job,” he responded. To fill the answering silence, he took the pinwheel out of the bag, setting it back on the table.

Christine made a show of planting her elbows on the table and practically shoving her chin into her hands to watch the verdict.

He took a bite,  chewed carefully, and then watched her watching him. 

After a few seconds of dead silence, Christine was the one to crack. “Talk, you jerk!”

“It’s actually very good.”

“ ‘Actually’?” When he smirked in response, she jabbed a finger at him. “You’re meaner than I remember.” She went to take the bag off the table and grinned when he grabbed it before he could. 

“Back off. You handed these over fair n’ square. This might be the only trace of absolutely wonderful food I might have for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s more like it.” 

The conversation shifted into general catch-up after that. What she had been doing. Recalling what a couple of demanding customers had asked of her the previous week. He had relayed a story about some of Soap’s latest antics. They had gotten up to walk after a while, continuing the chat as they made their way around the block a couple of times. John found the whole thing… nice. The town was quaint and reminded him of home a fair bit.  It was calming in a strange way, most like Christine’s presence in general. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at one point he was suddenly aware that her arm was hooked around his elbow and she was leaning into him as she pointed out a handful of the shops, telling him about little quirks of the workers or whose family she had made baked goods for. Another testament to how strangely right this all felt- the domesticity of it all. He tried to listen as best he could as the possibilities swam in his head. There was… something here between them. Deeper than a friendship. And he was… cautious, not blind. He found her attractive. The selfless part of him insisted that if he pursued it, there was a chance it could end badly- for both of them, but namely her. Hell, he had done it to others, what was to stop an enemy from finding her and using her as leverage? A far more selfish part of him reminded him that she had acknowledged knowing some of the dangers. She had come from a multi-generational military family. She had rolled with all his dismissals and still kept up contact. Them talking so easily, her being there with him felt right. 

Still, the Universe had a strange sense of humor, because he heard a car approaching from behind, slowing down the closer they got. Out of instinct, he stopped, slanting himself in front of her and nudging her thigh so she would turn into him, more shielded. He glanced back, making it as natural as possible- only to make eye contact with Kyle, behind the wheel of the truck. 

“Hey Cap!” Kyle greeted, then looked at Christine. “Cap’s… friend,” he added. 

“Gaz,” Price nodded, flinching a bit when Christine waved and offered a bright, cheerful “Hi!” of her own. Sure, there was no threat but now the boys would know about whatever this was in a matter of hours. 

“They need us back at base in a bit. Came to fetch you. Also, American roads are shit.” 

“Right. Give us a minute. I’ll meet you around.” 

Kyle nodded, then grinned, looking a little too pleased with himself: “Just one?” 

“Garrick.” 

“Yeah,” Kyle rolled the car window back up after a moment of struggling, then drove off. 

John sighed. “Sorry about him. Not properly house trained.” 

“Aw, he seemed nice enough.” 

“He is the most well-behaved of my bunch.” He sighed and shifted a bit, unsure of exactly how to proceed. 

Thankfully, Christine took over: “Duty calls?” 

“Duty calls.” 

Christine grimaced sympathetically, then reached up to fix something on his collar. “Whatever it is, be careful, alright? Stay safe. And I want to do this more, so you better come back to me, you hear me?” she looked up at him, but then her smile turned teasing again and she poked him in the chest. “That’s an order. See, I get to do that, I’m a civilian.” 

John stepped closer to her. “Is that right?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Fuck it.  John took another step closer and took hold of her hip, emboldened when she leaned into the touch and glanced at his mouth before looking back at his eyes. “Permission to lean in, then?”

“Granted.”

He did so, tilted her chin up with his free hand and kissed her once, twice, a third time- quick chaste little things with some heat behind them- he didn’t dare pursue it when they were pressed for time. That same selfish part of him that had encouraged this earlier took satisfaction in the fact that she chased his mouth for a moment when he pulled back. He pressed his forehead against hers, still unwilling to part quite yet. He supposed that had solved his struggle from it before. 

Christine was the first to lean out of the embrace, then fixed his collar again. “I mean it. Stay safe.” 

“I’ll try my very best.” He couldn’t help the morbid honesty, but he didn’t dare lie to her and make a promise he knew he couldn’t exactly keep, so he settled for that one.

She smiled, though there was a sadness to it, and then he let her pull him into another kiss, firmer than the others, sealing the promise. She pulled back again and started to walk backward, offering a gentle wave before she turned back fully and headed back around the corner. He turned back towards the road and exhaled sharply. They had kissed. That changed things. And now he… basically had someone to come home to. Now that was a thought he never thought he’d entertain a matter of months ago. He was surprised once again that the thought didn’t put a knot of dread in his stomach. He spotted Kyle driving up, and once the younger man had pulled up, he got in the car, very aware of Kyle staring at him. 

“So,” Kyle finally spoke after a minute of loaded silence, sounding once again far too pleased with himself:  Was that your Chris friend?” 

“Not a word, Gaz. Not a bloody word.” 

[fuchsiamae]

🦃

🦃 a big, meaty quote

okok I'll give ya a thousand words from the rough draft of ch5

(link to fic)

Test Shaft 06, Echo Mendel, was no longer an orderly greenhouse. Specimens that once grew in neatly groomed rows, left untended for decades, had done what unsupervised test subjects always did—they revolted. The greenery went feral, overgrown into a lush, untamed jungle. Ruined, rusted-out testing spheres lay like split seed pods, bursting with chaotic life.

The light pumps, still functional, drew down sunlight for the plants to devour. Almost none reached the bottom of the shaft, leaving them in a verdant twilight. Trees gnarled into fantastic shapes, striving for the light, their thick roots breaking through walls like weeds through cracked pavement. The plants here had even grown up the stone sides of the shaft, digging into cracks in the rock and prying them wide.

And those were the more ordinary plants. Twined among them were glowing flowers, moving vines, thorned maws that snapped as they passed by. One nearly snagged his elbow—pushing him clear just in time, she fed it the android’s forearm instead, blunting a few serrated teeth.

Before he could thank her, or scold her for shoving him, another plant caught his eye. “Hey, have a look at these.” He stooped towards a clump of small purple flowers. “Look.” Reaching down, he brushed the blooms with a fingertip, and the petals closed as if blossoming in reverse. Stroking a leaf made it curl up away from his touch. “Shrinking violets!”

There were bushes heavy-stemmed with bulbous flowers, which she also couldn’t smell, but he said they’d bred for perfumes. The blooms were supposed to spritz fragrance when squeezed. They did, but he remembered just in time that the stuff had been caustic. Then his face lit up—“Hah!”—and he pushed off the android, beelining for a shrub with broad green leaves. The darker leaves curled in around themselves, forming tight rolls. He plucked one. “Cigarette tree! Grows ready-to-smoke.”

“You just got those nice new lungs, and you already want to ruin them.”

He was already shoving fistfuls of leaves into his pants pockets. “Got a light?”

“No, sir.” She watched skeptically as he tried to hold one like a cigarette—the single leaf pinched sadly out of shape between his fingers. She had to ask. “Are those… any good?”

“Terrible. But I’d smoke a chicken bone right about now.” He tapped it against his lips—then, before she could stop him, popped it all the way into his mouth, and chewed. Grimaced, and spat it out. “Ugh. Yeah, they never got that right.”

“Please don’t eat the specimens, sir.”

“I think there’s fruit around here somewhere. Come on.”

She let him steer her ahead, though she made him step cautiously on the rusted catwalks. They pushed through curtains of hanging vines and ducked under branches. This much untamed green made her uneasy—she didn’t need to be reminded what tenacious organic matter could do to stone and steel. It looked too much like the ruins of herself she’d awoken to after being murdered. She’d beaten back the decay, but here it was again, festering in her foundations. Looking up, she imagined those trees erupting into the Enrichment Center above, slowly but inexorably tearing her apart.

Not that it was even possible. This shaft was half a mile away from the Enrichment Center; if anything burst out, it’d emerge into an empty field somewhere. She was fine. The fact didn’t comfort her. The one elevator that still functioned took them up into the canopy. On an upper terrace, he found the fruit trees he’d been looking for, still adorned in shreds of caution tape. Triangular signs around the orchard warned, DANGER: HAZARDOUS MATERIALS.

As he picked a ripe cherry, she repeated, “Please don’t eat the specimens.”

He sniffed it first, but then tossed it off the side of the terrace. “Damn.”

Bang.

He stumbled back from the ledge as a gunshot shook the shaft. The android reacted too slowly to catch him, but it reached to help him up when he hit the dirt. Together they peered over at the hole in the foliage below.

She understood. “Cherry bombs.” He laughed, and she looked over to see that wild grin on his face. To Blue and Orange, she said, “Meet us in Echo Mendel. Bring a sack.”

And they spent the next few hours back in the Enrichment Center, rating the firepower of Aperture Science Organically-Grown Fructose Explosives. The lemon ‘nades packed a bigger wallop than the cherries; the first orange looked like a dud when it didn’t ignite, until they realized that the jellied substance it splattered into was napalm.

Holding another orange, Cave eyed it hungrily.

“No.”

“It’s gotta be better than paste, right?”

“Sir.”

He grinned at the android, daring it to do something—and held the orange out of reach when she grabbed for it. “A man’s gotta eat!” Behind him, a claw folded out of the floor to snatch the fruit from his hand. “Hey!”

“Don’t make me pump your stomach.”

“I’m kidding. You’re gonna pop that thing, be careful.” He tried to snatch it back, but the claw dropped it off the observation platform, where it burst in a sticky mess on the panels far, far below.

It’d be a shame not to test its combustible potential. An Aperture Science High Energy Pellet Launcher bloomed from the ceiling. “Still want that light?” Not waiting for an answer, she fired a pellet of pure energy at the goop.

Fwoosh.

The explosion sent a billow of hot air all the way back up the chamber, so powerful it ruffled his remaining hair. He inhaled deeply; she imagined the mingled scents of citrus and gasoline. “I love the smell of science in the morning.”

So that trip was fruitful, in more than just the literal sense. The Fructose Explosives had potential as testing hazards, and some of the friskier plants might test more enthusiastically than that lazy ficus. Strolling through the light-dappled undergrowth with him on her arm made for a day productively spent.

[friendlylemonade]

Damn, well, I didn’t expect this… but, I am a woman of my word, so I’ll post the first drafts for each episode when I finish them, here’s the first one

Chapter 1 Prologue

 

Syrian held her head high as she stood among her siblings. Of course she’d succeed but…. Still, it was a terrifying thing to think about… She knew that it’d come, she’d been preparing for this practically her entire life and bore her heart and soul into training but just the thought of fighting her own family was enough to send shivers down her spine. She didn’t hear anything yet, so she decided that it was safe to discreetly peek at her sisters and brothers from her peripheral.

 

On her immediate right, she saw Parrot. He was the second hatched and one of the stronger kids, he wanted this just as much as she did, trying his best to be, Well… the best. He was a tough, determined boy and she loved him dearly. Yes, his tri-coloured feathers were strange, but weren’t they all? On her immediate left, Raven stood beside her. Raven was a harsh contrast to Parrot, being the youngest of their hatching. An excitable, charming girl was what she was, and Syrian couldn’t have hoped for anything more (don’t get her wrong) it was just…. She knew that Raven wouldn’t win this, she was never the best fighter and any dragon who had met her would tell you the same. It was okay though, because though Raven knew she wasn’t good at fighting, she was okay with it, she-

 

The click clack of talons echoed through the cave, and Syrian subconsciously straightened her tail, her large ears twisting and turning at the sudden sound after so many minutes in silence. Soon, a grey-yellow dragon came into view, his heavily scarred body not unlike a hatchling’s first painting. Syrian resisted the urge to throw herself into the nearest hole, this was war, intimidating dragons were everywhere.

 

“You all know why I’ve come, you’ve known for years, but if you’ve somehow erased it from your shrunken brains, let me explain,” the dragon snarked, flaring his wings slightly as he talked, “Only one of you can fight in the war, so we need the best of you to do it, you will fight, and I will pick the best of you to come into my army. It’s usually easy to tell who’s winning, and I don’t think this time will be any different,” remarked the general, glaring pointedly at Raven’s small form as he finished. Syrian felt a small ember of anger begin to glow as she tried to keep a straight face.

 

“On my mark, you will start, and when one of you is chosen, you will stop at my call, understood?” Asked the yellow dragon.

 

“Sir, yes, sir!” The dragons chorused back, some subtly glancing at the others. The general nodded and flew to a high ledge, where Kiwi and Goose, her parents, were sitting already. Syrian looked to Goose, she had large scars covering her left leg, crawling all the way up her wing. As a fledgling, Syrian would trace the scars and wonder how Goose got them, imagining fantasies of her mother fighting off an unreasonable amount of flame dragons. Goose had long since retired from her position as a soldier due to her wounds, and even though she had been offered to have her mane cut to shoe her bravery, Goose denied, something about not wanting to have choppers in the cave when she was planning for younglings. Syrian didn’t really remember, and even now, she had her doubts about how much of that story was true. Syrian shook the thought out of her head and stood taller.

 

“Fight!” The general yelled suddenly, and Syrian didn’t have a chance to think before a red blur slammed into her right side. Syrian shouted in surprise as she was tackled to the ground, Parrot fanning his wings as he lifted a fluffy paw. Baring her teeth, Syrian scratched his underside, discombobulating him and giving her enough time to roll over and slam her brother into the ground, effectively pinning his limbs down with her own. Syrian craned her neck for a bite when a heavy weight settled onto her back. Kicking her back legs, whatever was on her back flew into the cave wall in front of her. Sighing, Syrian looked down, but whatever had happened worked, because Parrot was gone from underneath her. Syrian looked around wildly, trying to locate her red sibling before she saw Raven charging for her straight on. Rearing on her hind legs, Syrian caught her sister’s face with her sharp claws and scraped them along her face.

 

Syrian hesitated for a moment, did she really want to do this? These types of wounds would scar, and she loved her siblings, would she sacrifice that just to become a soldier and possibly die? In her moment of pause, Raven bit her paw hardly, a growl coming from her sister’s throat. Syrian hissed in pain. So much for mercy. Syrian slashed her talons along her sister's bloody face and then immediately slammed her closed paws into Raven’s elbows, making the smaller dragon fall to the stone ground. Hissing slightly, Syrian clawed at her sister’s exposed side, all the while Raven batted her wings in a feeble attempt at warding off the larger dragon.

 

“Stop!” The general yelled, and just a quickly, Syrian stepped back from Raven. The large yellow dragon flew down to meet the combatants just as Syrian stepped into line. The scarred dragon walked along the row of dragons and stopped as he reached Syrian.

 

“That one will do,” the general said, pointing to Syrian as he looked to Kiwi and Goose. Syrian’s eyes widened; she didn’t think she did that well. Goose smiled as Syrian saw some of her siblings glare in envy from the corner of her eye.

 

“Grab your items,” proposed the general as he nodded to the cave exit. Syrian beamed as she skipped over to her sleeping cave to grab her items. This was amazing! She’d really be a soldier! She could fight in the war! This was-

 

“Syrian,” Parrot croaked, and Syrian whipped her head around to see him looking at something in the corner. Following his gaze, Syrian saw….. Raven, laying on the cold cave floor, unmoving.