#desperate attempt to crawl out of art block

[vnknowcrow]

What a bunch of goobers, love them all. @dystopiangays @punkiio @fuzzydreamin and @honeyginsen

[akirathedramaqueen]

There's one piece of concept art that made me see the entire Apology Tour disaster in a different light.

So, we've been talking with @warblogs17282 about Stolitz and how their break-up ended up playing out in the 'Apology Tour' episode.

Why ended up? Well, there's a collection of concept art which, to my limited understanding of this craft, is one of the first steps in the production process of animation. This post by @birdy-babe includes a great chunk of it, shared by artists after the episodes aired (like storyboards, but much more stylised, showing how different some original ideas were). Long story short, one of the concept arts from the 'Apology Tour' episode suggests their quarrel was originally meant to be much harsher.

A short summary of the concept art to see what we are dealing with

In the background, you see a lot of apology postcards and silly cutesy stationery, suggesting Blitzø is in the middle of his Apology Tour.

The contact name isn't 'Stols' but 'Bird Dick,' implying their relationship is at an earlier stage, with less respect—at least on Blitzø's part.

There's a photo partially cut by the edge of the messages screen. From the signature gloves and boots, cowboy hat covering Blitzø's private parts, and visible nipples, it appears to be a nude image—replaced in later stages of development with stupid gay affirmation memes (as hard as it is to believe, I couldn't imagine there could be anything worse than the Striker horse gay jokes... well, it could, my dudes, it fucking COULD).

There are three messages, one of which is unsent:

"Stolas, cum awwwwwwn, u no u want it :)"—likely attached to the nude;

"Dude just talk to me"—desperation crawls in; he finally realises the shit has hit the fan;

"Im sowwy :("—an apology, but the text remains unsent, perhaps because it seems pointless, given that the 'Not Delivered' notifications and warning signs indicate Stolas has blocked his number.

Why do I find this fascinating, and why does it fill me with immense hope?

Because they still fucking care so much, and neither has completely closed the door on the other. By comparing the concept art to the final product, you can see how many intentional choices were made in dialogue, visuals, and behaviour to make it clear that these two idiots still want things to continue. Stolitz is meant to fucking live.

Now, if you want to see some comparisons—evidence, really—let's dive into each other's changes, focusing on what we can gather from the concept art.

Blitzø's side

Change 1—thank gods, no nudes. The gay memes are sillier and a bit lighter. Of course, they still showcase utter disrespect, a horrible prejudice against sexuality, and a poor understanding of how deeply Stolas was hurt, but I find them... less bad.

Change 2—no more 'Bird Dick.' Blitzø has actually come up with a real nickname for Stolas! Feelings are boring for you, huh, Blitzø? I can almost hear the song’s lines: "O-oh, hooked, addicted you might say, conflicted in a way…"

Change 3—Blitzø's attempts to apologize now show much more contemplation. Since Stolas hasn’t blocked him, Blitzø knows his words aren’t just being thrown into the void. Although the 'unsent' detail remains, it now carries real weight and impact.

All three changes are seen in these two GIFs.

He knows he did wrong. He knows he wants to salvage it. He might not yet know how to do it healthily, but he tries—he tries so fucking hard!

Look at the range of raw, cutting emotions as he speaks to Stolas and finally delivers his apology—probably the only one he genuinely meant. Well, maybe except for Verosika, a bit later.

It's not that it's hard for Blitzø to say 'sorry'—we've seen him do it a lot lately. He's actually quick to apologise and take responsibility, so Stolas's remark about him not feeling any remorse couldn’t be further from the truth. But the fact that he isn't running away this time—chasing after Stolas and trying his best to mend things—is drastically different from how he treated Verosika back then.

Stolas's side

Here’s the moment that struck me deep. It’s the only change, since the concept art shows Blitzø’s POV, but it’s such a significant one.

Do you think Stolas has moved on? Do you think he’s done with Blitzø? Not convinced, even when he’s literally singing about still wanting Blitzø?

Well, here’s your proof—he didn’t block Blitzø. They scrapped that.

More than that, the entire interaction emphasizes that Stolas isn’t pushing Blitzø away for good.

How do I know this? Stolas is very insistent on using phrases like 'for now,' 'right now,' and 'now' throughout his attempts to tell Blitzø off.

Here are some citations:

"I was hoping my lack of 'ha-ha's' in response to the photos you sent me would be an indicator I didn't want to talk right now."

"Seeing you right now is hard!"

"I'm tired of this! I'm uncomfortable with how you're speaking to me now!"

Why is this so important? Because he isn’t asking Blitzø to leave him forever. All he’s asking for is time.

Even while hurt, Stolas gives Blitzø plenty of chances to explain himself civilly. Look at the hopeful glances each time Blitzø shows any glimpse of genuineness.

Stolas fucking hopes Blitzø will take back all the cruel things said and brash actions done.

You know, Stolas... I've spent the entirety of this morning listening to love ballads, and that was...

For what?! You want me to be like, "Oh sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me and I've let my self-hatred stop me from apologising to anyone I could ever care about!"

You see the furrowed brows and the sad look? Stolas hopes for the best... but gets the worst because Blitzø isn’t there yet.

I’d even go so far as to say Stolas is acutely aware that Blitzø uses his brashness as a shield to protect himself. He literally sang about it in 'Just Look My Way.'

Unless it's me? And no matter what in this world I could give, it's not enough to get through these walls you've conjured up to live.

So, what gives?

Is this the behaviour of people who want to give up on a relationship they still clearly hold dear?

No. Even when they’re angry, aggressive, hurt, or drunk, they still seek understanding and forgiveness. They continue to listen and try.

They might lack the skills and may choose the wrong time, place, or words to express what truly matters...

One person, scared of being rejected so much that he unconsciously conveys this message by saying, "You don’t have to stay here with me," and carrying it throughout the whole conversation...

The other, coming to terms with his feelings, admits them, and his fears, a bit too late—when his romantic interest is too drunk to comprehend anything…

And in both cases—self-loathing, self-hatred, doubts, scars, trauma… and a lack of hope.

But there is hope. No, this is reassurance, my folks.

You know when it's hardest to stay in a relationship? When it’s hardest to come and say, "I am sorry," when it’s hardest to still love the person?

When you’re hurt. When they’ve hurt you.

And, despite that, you still come to them and still want to talk to them.

If this isn’t ironclad evidence that this is more than just a fling or a couple of fun sex dates, I don’t know what is.

And the 'Apology Tour' fucking proves it, rather than ruins it. It only strengthens the point. It’s easy to live in happiness, but it’s so hard to go through it while you’re in pain. When you see them doing that, you realise it means everything to them.

Stolitz is to live.

[fishermanshook]

HELLO :33 could i request some hurt/comfort w norton or edgar?? maybe their so get's badly injured in a match like dying at their feet and stuff and when they come back their partner comforts them?? ;^;

of course annon! enjoy <3

Meet Me Here Again (prospector x gn!reader x painter , separate)

INTRO

You really must've done something to piss Geisha off, as she usually isn't one to put Survivors in situations like this. But none the less, she's left you to bleed out on the ground of Leo's Memory, where the cold has numbed your fingers and turned your lips blue.

But Geisha can't help but secretly writhe in the way your body crawls towards her, leaving a bread crumb trail of your blood as you plead desperately to just be chaired already.

The match leaves your body bloodied and bruised and will definitely haunt your dreams from here on out. But have no fear, your boyfriend is here and will help nurse you back from just one of your many traumatizing matches.

The Prospector

Norton doesn't learn of the events that took place until the next morning, when he's noticed you've skipped breakfast and only finds out now. Last night's match ended horribly, as evident by the cuts and bruises that have decorated themselves across your body. The Prospector almost drops your breakfast as you explain the situation to him with tears streaming down your face. The man swears to stay by your side as he helps you recover. Unfortunately, the world still moves, and he's forced to complete his daily match(es) before he can return to your side.

Norton hates having to see you in pain let only hearing you moan in agony. Norton's already had to change your sheets twice because your cuts kept bleeding through the bandages— and oh god he just hates seeing you like this. The Prospectors pissed that Geisha left you in a state like that, as bleeding out is a serious deal and shouldn't be taken lightly. But at last, Hunters will be Hunters. He can only hope that you heal up quickly as he spoon feeds you a second serving of soup.

The Painter

Edgar finds out earlier than Norton, having gone to your room after he finished his last match. All he wanted to do was cuddle a little with his s/o before falling asleep, but it seemed the manor had other plans for him. After opening the door, he's greeted with sniffling and immediately knows something's wrong. Turning on the light, he rushes over to you and bombards you with questions as to what happened. Gently lifting up the covers answers all his questions, as he's met with countless scars and bruises across your body. He thinks he might cry just seeing you like this. The Painter slowly lowers himself into your bed and wraps his arms around you in an attempt to comfort you.

The Painter brings his painting supplies over to your room, as he's in it almost half the time. He's inside your room even more now that you're hurt. You wonder how Edgar still finds inspiration to paint in your room, he just says you are his inspiration. Wherever you are, his heart can't help but follow. You think it's true, as he seems to paint even more when you're with him. So despite you being bed bound, he'll stay by your side.

note: i didn't think art block would kick me in the a this badly, sorry this is so short :(

(2023)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[cryssyd]

A Love Beyond Hell

Previous: Chapter 12

Final Chapter

It is an adaption to "Always and Forever" by ChaoticDoll (MadamMimic505) at Quotev.com.

Pairings: Alastor x Reader (Julia) Female

Summary: Charlie and Vaggie are concerned about Alastor's disappearances, sometimes for days. What happens when Charlie and Vaggie meet the wife of the Radio Demon.

Warnings: 18+ Content, Established Relationship, Violence, Death, Graphic Details, Pregnancy and Birth, Smut, Minors DNI

Chapter 13

"But Vaggie," Charlie pleaded, desperately attempting to soothe her infuriated girlfriend. "We can't jump to conclusions, maybe he's just promoting the hotel! I know it's hard to believe, but Alastor might care about it. He's not necessarily out there mocking us." Vaggie, however, hissed in frustration, pacing back and forth with her arms tightly crossed. "Hun, I understand your optimism, but let's face it, Alastor is the Radio Demon! What reason do we have to believe he gives a damn about the hotel? He's probably out there, making a mockery of us!" Charlie persisted, trying to reason with her.

"I apologize, Charlie, but he's nothing but an arrogant jerk. He's only here out of sheer boredom! He takes pleasure in our struggles and has no interest in redemption. He mocks everything because he doesn't care! He's just selfish." With a sigh, she embraced the princess of hell, offering solace. "But where else could he possibly be sneaking off to?" Charlie inquired.

"Maybe he's busy making deals or something. Who knows, maybe he's off being a sadistic jerk somewhere, why?" Vaggie responded. "He's been gone for longer than usual. I mean, I know he's an Overlord and all, but it's just strange. And if he's here, that means either Nifty or Husk is missing." Charlie remarked.

Vaggie hummed, her frustration evident. She couldn't help but notice the same thing - the Radio Demon's presence was infuriating, especially when he would taunt them and belittle their cause. Something was off about him. The constant static and piercing interference on the radios all over hell only added to her suspicions. It was clear that something was going on. As an Overlord, it was expected for him to roam around and strike deals with foolish individuals looking for a quick profit. However, his frequent disappearances were becoming increasingly suspicious. There had to be more to it. Charlie, understanding Vaggie's concerns, nodded in agreement. "If he's not acting right, maybe Nifty or Husk might have an idea of where he's been disappearing to," she suggested.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the room, accompanied by soft cooing and laughter, as Julia desperately tried to keep up with her mischievous little bundle of energy. Josie was growing at an alarming rate, surpassing the growth rate of ordinary children, and her powers were developing just as rapidly. "Josephine! Come down from the ceiling!" Julia called out, but the baby was too quick for her. Despite not being able to walk yet, she had mastered the art of crawling on the ceiling! This sight would terrify anyone with a weak heart, but for Julia, it was just another eventful afternoon.

Her daughter was undeniably a chip off the old block when it came to Alastor's sense of humour. Despite being a momma's girl, she had a mischievous streak that delighted in causing her mother a bit of trouble now and then. Once again, she skillfully evaded her mother's grasp, her tiny hands glowing a faint shade of red, seemingly fueling her speed. Julia couldn't help but curse under her breath, blaming her family's unfortunate short genes for her inability to catch her daughter. She desperately needed a nap and wanted to maintain a decent sleep schedule for her little one. "Josephine Altruist! Come down this instant!" she exclaimed, raising her voice in frustration. To her surprise, her daughter's red eyes locked with hers, and her adorable deer-like ears perked up instantly.

“My dearest, do you need a helping hand?" Alastor announced his presence as he entered the living room, flashing his signature grin. He glanced at her weary eyes before shifting his gaze up to the ceiling, where his adorably mischievous daughter was currently crawling. His microphone vanished as he extended his hands with a smile, though his eyes held a hint of seriousness. "Now Josephine, is this how a young lady should behave? Come on, darling." Julia's heart melted at the sight of Josie's pitiful pout, with her ears drooping down as if one might fall off. Josie made her way over to her mother, then to her father before dropping from the ceiling, only to be effortlessly caught by Alastor. "There we go, now apologize to your dear mother right away. You've worn her out, sweetheart." Alastor hummed as he approached Julia, holding their little one in his arms.

Julia gently caressed her daughter's head as she gazed up at her with a sombre expression, her eyes filled with sadness. It was clear that Josie was feeling remorseful. Despite Josie's attempt to playfully tease her mother, Julia could sense that she wasn't in the mood for it. "It's alright, Josie. We can have fun later, but for now, it's time for bed, okay?" Julia said with a smile as she planted a kiss on Josie's forehead. Josie let out a soft coo and waved her tiny hands. Alastor led the way upstairs, with Julia following closely behind. After a day of running around, Julia required a nap herself. Alastor carefully tucked Josie in, humming one of Julia's favourite songs from her pregnancy days. As Josie's eyes grew heavy and she let out a small yawn, he kissed her on the forehead and wrapped a cozy blanket around her. He glanced over at the radio on the nightstand, snapped his fingers, and the same soothing song he was humming began to play softly in the background.

As he gazed at Josie, a surge of pride washed over him. Normally, he was the one who took lives, not brought them into existence. Julia, being an incredible woman, had bestowed upon him this blessing. It was a revelation he hadn't anticipated. He pondered whether the trait of having girls ran in his family, and if not, it must have originated from Julia's lineage. Regardless, he was far from disappointed. He knew that as Josie grew, her abilities and control over her powers would flourish. A sinister smile crept across his face as he envisioned her evolving into a formidable Overlord, just like him. Perhaps, even surpassing him in power.

Unlike most demons who had lost their souls through gambling, Josie still possessed a powerful one. Alastor couldn't help but wonder about the extent of her capabilities. The thought of the impending bloodshed excited him greatly. With Josie by his side, perhaps they could finally bring an end to the reign of the video star. Alastor silently left Josie to rest, ensuring that the door was closed behind him. He had Julia to take care of, as she had a hectic day, and both parents deserved some time alone.

Alastor playfully winked at his shadow, which mimicked the gesture before slipping under the door to watch over Josie as it always did. Upon entering the bedroom, he noticed Julia lying on the bed with her arm covering her eyes. Alastor clicked his tongue disapprovingly, approached her, and sat down beside her, placing his hands gently on her hips. "What's wrong, my love? Did our little one wear you out today?"

She slowly lifted her arm from her face and gazed up at him, wearing a weary smile. "So, what do you think? Josie wanted to stir up some trouble tonight. I'm exhausted, but sleep won't come." She let out a yawn. Alastor leaned in closer and planted a swift kiss on Julia's lips. "Oh, darling, you're completely worn out. Why don't you allow me to pamper you?" Her cheeks turned a rosy shade. "Alastor, you've done so much for me, I..." she spoke affectionately. "Hush now. My love, if I can't spoil my wife, what kind of man would I be? Besides, you've blessed me with a precious angel, so I owe you even more." He shifted and gently kissed her cheek, then whispered in her ear. "And after the day you've had, you truly deserve it." His hand tenderly cupped her cheek as they shared a loving kiss.

"Honestly, I have no clue why you're so interested in this," Husker scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms as he leaned back on the bar. Charlie and Vaggie just wouldn't let up with their questions. It was starting to grate on his nerves. "Why can't you two just accept that I don't know? And why do you even care so much?" Vaggie's frown deepened as she persisted, "But you must have some idea of where he goes. Alastor disappears for hours, sometimes even days. What else could he possibly be up to?" And then Charlie chimed in, "And we've noticed you sneaking off too. Who else is going to cover the front desk if someone wants redemption?"

The Cat Demon let out a long, exaggerated sigh of annoyance. "Ugh, why does it matter where he goes? The ass clown has Overlord meetings and deals to make," Husker replied. "He's obviously up to something! You tell me!" Vaggie chimed in. "He does have his own life, you know. He doesn't have to be up your girlfriend's ass all the time just to help with this place," Husk said, giving Vaggie the side eye. Vaggie did not seem amused by that comment. "I don't think deals take days and days. And what's with the radios?" Charlie questioned.

Husk let out a frustrated groan. "Seriously, can't you two just leave it alone for a few hours? Can't you understand that he wants some privacy? Just drop it already. Alastor isn't doing anything behind your back, he's just busy, okay?" Charlie's curiosity was piqued. "Busy with what?" Charlie inquired. "Damn it, why don't you go ask him yourself? Stop bothering me, my head is pounding and your high-pitched voice is irritating." The Cat Demon grumbled, crossing his arms. Vaggie shot him a menacing glare. "Oh, we would love to ask him, but he's not here, is he? So go and find him."

The Cat Demon grumbled quietly and emerged from his hiding spot behind the bar. As the jukebox next to the bar abruptly started playing static and glitched out, emitting a growling sound, Husk winced and instinctively covered his ears. Charlie and Vaggie stared at the jukebox in disbelief, their eyes widening. "What in the world was that?" Vaggie inquired, as the growling subsided and the jukebox returned to its normal state.

Husk let out an exasperated sigh. "I have no idea, and honestly, I don't even want to know. Fine, I'll go get him, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up getting my butt kicked. If I die again, it's all on you." He entered the living room of the cabin, where the fire was still flickering, albeit slowly fading. Everything appeared normal, and Josie was nowhere to be seen. He decided it was best not to disturb Alastor or Julia, but that stubborn princess and her knight in shining armour just couldn't resist meddling. Alastor was going to be angry, judging by that strange growl, and he knew better than to bother Julia or him.

“Alastor? We've got a situation." Husk shouted, avoiding the effort of climbing the stairs. The smooth jazz music abruptly stopped, just before his ears were assaulted by the high-pitched crying. Oh no. He had woken up the baby. Folding in on himself, he used his wings as a shield and took a few steps back in horror, realizing he was in deep trouble. Upstairs, he could hear the angry tap of hooves approaching. The shadowy figure of Alastor, with his long claws and sinister grin, slithered down the stairs at an alarming speed, faster than Husk's intoxicated mind could process. It circled him, the air thick with rage, repeating the motion until Husk's head began to spin.

Alastor's expression darkened as he shifted closer, a forced smile on his face and a fierce glare in his clock-like eyes. Holding the unhappy baby in his arms, he managed to look both intimidating and irritated at the same time. Husker couldn't help but wonder how someone could appear so menacing while cradling an infant. Alastor paced back and forth; his jaw clenched tightly as he rocked Josie in his arms. "You've got some explaining to do, Husker! What could be so urgent that you had to disturb my baby? I specifically told you to only raise an alarm for fire, murder, or that treacherous picture box-headed traitor!"

Alastor settled onto the couch, gently bouncing Josie on his lap, all the while shooting a menacing glare at the intoxicated feline. The radio on the nearby end table crackled to life, but the swing music playing was barely audible due to the heavy interference. Husk couldn't determine if it was Alastor's fury or Josie's rage that was causing the disruption. Perhaps it was a combination of both? Regardless, the shrillness of the noise made him cringe as if someone had struck a match right inside his ears.

“Hey, Alastor, I swear I didn't intend to disturb her slumber! However, I was completely clueless about your whereabouts and what you and the Mrs. were up to. Charlie just wouldn't give me a break. She kept pestering me, demanding to know where on earth you kept vanishing too, and then her girlfriend threatened me with her spear." Husker's expression turned a bit gloomy. "Hahah! You're even more foolish than you appear if you couldn't even come up with a decent fib!" Alastor hissed. "And besides, it's none of their darn business, right?"

"Alastor? Is Josie alright?" Julia inquired, concern evident in her voice. Josie turned towards her mother’s voice, who stood at the foot of the stairs wearing a red robe, her arms crossed and worry etched on her face. Husk glanced between Julia and Alastor, and upon closer inspection, he noticed the Radio Demon's flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. His eyes widened as he pieced together the situation, realizing he was in trouble. Julia glanced at Husker briefly but quickly joined Alastor's side to comfort their daughter. Her face was filled with a pouty redness, and Josie's small sniffles tugged at her heartstrings. She sat beside Alastor, enveloping him and Josie in her arms, sandwiched between her mother and Alastor. She whispered soothing words to Josie, planting gentle kisses on her forehead and cheek.

“Alastor? What's happening?" She asked, gazing up at him with her innocent doe eyes, the same ones that always melt his heart. "Husker barged in without an invitation! He yelled like a banshee and woke up Josephine! All because my business partner is curious about my whereabouts! Isn't it ridiculous?" Alastor grumbled, maintaining his perpetual smile, yet she could sense his seething anger. The sound of Josie's crying gradually subsided into soft sniffles, and she appeared calmer with both her parents by her side. "Oh, is it related to Hell business?"

“My dear! Let me tell you about this ridiculous hotel I've been involved with. The princess of hell believes she can save lost souls and send them to heaven with her little redemption plan. Utterly foolish, if you ask me! But I must admit, it's quite amusing when they inevitably stumble back into the pit of failure! Hah!" He chuckled. "She truly believes she can redeem sinners, which I find rather admirable. However, isn't their previous life their only shot at redemption?" Julia pondered. "Exactly what I've been saying, my love! But that stubborn demon Belle insists otherwise. I'm just here for the entertainment!" He explained. "Um, shouldn't we be heading back? I mean, she sent me to fetch you and demand an explanation." Husker interjected awkwardly, nervously fidgeting with his claws.

Alastor let out a frustrated sigh. "Husker, I swear on everything sacred; I will strike you down! Fine! If she wants an explanation, we'll give her one! Maybe then she'll finally keep quiet and mind her own business!" A low rumble of static emanated from his chest. "Alastor, what about the rules?" Julia expressed her concern, knowing that Alastor wasn't supposed to be involved with her, let alone reveal Josie's existence. Julia understood that other demons would perceive their connection as a vulnerability for him.

“No need to fret, my dear! Charlie and her adorable friend won't spill the beans to anyone, not even her dad! Charlie is quite different from what you might imagine, she's all about the sweetness of rainbows and puppies! And babies are definitely on her list of cute things!" He planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. She folded her arms. "Alastor, I won't allow you to take our baby to Hell unless I accompany you," Julia stated firmly. "Of course, my love. Now, fetch me the harness and the baby bag. We're embarking on a little adventure!"

Husker appeared bewildered. Was he losing his marbles? This situation was precarious, but everyone understood the consequences of crossing paths with Alastor. However, it was Julia, being human, that concerned him the most. As she hurried upstairs, Alastor entrusted Josie to the Cat Demon. "Could you please hold her for a moment? You did disrupt her nap after all! We won't be long!"

Alastor spun around swiftly and followed Julia as they ascended the staircase. Husker glanced down at Josie, who shot him a disdainful glare with her fiery red eyes as if her gaze could pierce through his soul. Josie hissed menacingly, revealing her razor-sharp teeth. "Well, damn. Uh, sorry about that, kiddo." Josie's eyes flickered with a deep scarlet hue, and a mischievous smile, just like her powerful Overlord father. Out of the corner of his eye, Husker caught sight of a shadow, taking the form of a deer, its mouth opening to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. "Oh, shit."

The shadow lunged forward, its head lowered, and made a beeline for him. Whether it was transparent or not, the pain was excruciating when its teeth sank into his side. Husker couldn't defend himself much, as his arms were occupied. He had no choice but to endure the agony. As he winced, Josie, with her innocent delight, clapped her tiny hands. "I was wondering what all that commotion was! Bravo! You did an amazing job, my little one!" Alastor praised her, his smile beaming. "It's easy for you to say, I'm bleeding!" Husker groaned. "Nobody asked about your problems!" Alastor grinned widely.

Vaggie questioned, "Do you believe he ditched us?" Charlie quickly responded, "I highly doubt it! Well, I hope not?" Vaggie expressed her frustration, "I'm pretty sure he'd avoid our questions at all costs! Ugh, I warned you about letting Alastor in!"

Both of them perked up, their attention drawn to the sound of many footsteps approaching the hotel's entrance. Husker walked in, clutching his side and covering it with a towel. Concern filled Charlie's voice as she asked, "What happened to you?" With a huff, he replied, "I don't want to talk about it," retreating behind the bar counter to pour himself a much-needed drink after a tumultuous night. Meanwhile, Alastor strode into the hotel, exuding pride, with a mysterious cloaked figure on his arm.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to show up! If you want to go on your little killing spree, be my guest! But you can't just abandon your responsibilities whenever you feel like it! We have a hotel to run and..." Julia lowered her hood, leaving Vaggie utterly stunned. She was human?! Alastor had a beautiful woman by his side. "Alastor! What the hell were you thinking? Bringing a human down here?! Do you even realize the trouble we'd be in if..."

“I guess I owe you both an explanation, don't I? Although, what I do in my free time is none of your business! But you've been so persistent!" His eye twitched. "However, if either of you breathe a word to anyone, I'll ensure this place goes down in flames before it even takes off!" Charlie approached Julia with a warm smile. "Hey there, I'm Charlie. Sorry about Vaggie, she can be a little overprotective! Um, I apologize for staring, but are you a human?" Julia nodded. "Yes, I'm Julia, Alastor's wife!" She extended her hand, revealing her wedding band. "Wife?!" Vaggie, Angel, and Charlie exclaimed in astonishment.

Angel confidently approached a smirk playing on his lips. "Is this the reason for your rejection? I didn't realize you already had someone." Alastor's expression darkened. "Watch your tongue, Angel! My wife is a respectable woman and deserves to be treated as such!" Angel simply shrugged, chuckling. "Well then sweetheart? I'm curious to meet the woman who caught the attention of the Radio Demon. I always thought he was just an arrogant jerk, but I guess I was mistaken."

Alastor proudly introduced his wife and soulmate, Julia, to Charlie and Vaggie. His eyes sparkled with love and determination as he declared, "She was my beloved wife when I was alive, and she still is. I refuse to leave her side, no matter what rules I have to break." Julia’s eyes widened in surprise at his bold declaration.

“Oh Vaggie, look at that! I knew he had a heart after all! Welcome to the hotel, Julia. Alastor must have filled you in on my plans, right?" Julia nodded in agreement. "Yes, he did. And I must say, I admire your goals. It's refreshing to see some humanity down here." Charlie smiled proudly. Angel raised an eyebrow. "Hey, not to interrupt, but your cloak is moving?" "Ah, yes! This is just one of the many things keeping me busy. I have my hands full, and I'm not sure why you need my help. It's just you and Angel here, after all!" Alastor explained.

Alastor's heart swelled with pride as he proudly displayed Julia, feeling a sense of joy in finally being able to show her off. It was something he couldn't do on the surface for obvious reasons. Gently lifting the cloak she wore, he revealed little Josie, who had transformed into her more hellish appearance. With red locks similar to Alastor's and red eyes, but adorned with numerous little white spots like fawns. Although Josie typically remained in this form, it seemed to be even more pronounced in the underworld.

Vaggie's eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh, my goodness! Vaggie, look at how adorable she is! It's a girl, right?" Charlie exclaimed with excitement. Alastor nodded proudly. "This is my precious daughter, Josephine! Isn't she as beautiful as I am? Husker and Nifty have been lending a hand in taking care of her. She can be quite a handful!" The Radio Demon chuckled as Julia adjusted her cloak, holding Josie in her arms. Confusion filled Josie's gaze as she looked up at Charlie and Vaggie. "No way?" Vaggie felt a headache coming on, and suddenly everything made sense. Why Alastor would disappear and the strange radio interference? "Oh my gosh! Can I hold her? Please, please, please!" Charlie pleaded; her hands clasped together. Julia smiled and passed Josie to her, and Charlie's face lit up with joy as she carefully cradled the baby in her arms. "I've never seen a real baby before! Well, it's not surprising since there aren't many babies down here. Most sinners can't have children."

Alastor beamed with pride as Charlie excitedly cradled Josie, her face lit up with pure joy. She couldn't contain her excitement, bouncing on her toes and letting out delighted squeals at the sheer adorableness of the baby. Josie responded with a smile and cooed, feeling a sense of trust towards Charlie that even Julia hadn't anticipated. It was as if she had a sixth sense about people. Angel approached Julia and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well, well, looks like he got you too, huh? Who would've thought he had it in him? So, spill the beans, what's he like in bed?" Alastor swiftly swatted away the Spider's hand with his microphone staff, then pulled Julia closer to his side once more. Vaggie let out a soft sigh as she gently stroked Josie between her ears. "Alright, so you're not a heartless jerk, but Alastor, do you realize how risky this is?"

“I couldn't care less," he replied, tilting his head. "I am content with my decisions, thank you! She won't be a problem, I assure you! As long as both of you keep quiet, we won't have any issues!" The Radio Demon leaned in with a menacing look in his eyes. "Do not take her out of the hotel and don't get too comfortable seeing her! I only brought her here to stop you both from bothering me and my minions!" Charlie glanced at Julia. "Is she human or a full demon?" Julia smiled and planted a kiss on her daughter's head. "Mostly demon, her powers would have been too obvious. But she only appears human when we're above ground." Angel folded his arms. "Can I hold her?" Alastor's head whipped around so quickly that Julia thought she heard his neck crack. "No! I have no idea where those dirty hands have been!"

Julia was taken aback by Alastor's unexpected involvement in the redemption hotel project. From what Vaggie had mentioned, it seemed like he didn't fully grasp its potential. Despite knowing Alastor's immense power as a demon, which seemed to have influenced her daughter, she found solace in the fact that he chose to spend most of his time there. It felt like the only haven in Hell. Charlie's kindness reassured her, especially when she entrusted Josie to her care. Watching Vaggie play with little Josie brought a smile to Julia's face, although Nifty was always close by to keep an eye on her. Angel's inappropriate questions made Julia uncomfortable, but Alastor was quick to intervene and steer her away from the flirtatious Spider. There was a noticeable shift in Alastor's demeanour ever since he brought Julia down to Hell.

Despite always wearing his trademark smile, she could easily see through it. Vaggie and Charlie graciously offered Julia a room for the night, but Alastor insisted she stay with him, claiming she was his beloved wife. Angel tried to make light of the situation, only to be silenced by Alastor's menacing shadow. Sitting by the crackling fireplace, Alastor and Julia were close, with him watching Josie intently from the corner of his eye.

Oh, the anticipation of the day when she would grow up and revel in tormenting souls for her pleasure! Would she inherit his knack for making deals too? With Josie's existing power, it wouldn't be long before she became an Overlord herself. The thought of working together with her to dominate for centuries filled him with excitement. He could already envision the chaos, the hellfire, and the cries of the damned. How proud he would be to guide Josie in embracing it all. Julia's gentle touch brought him back to reality, her concerned blue eyes staring up at him.

“What's the matter, my love? Cheer up, sweetheart." He gently placed his hand on her cheek, and she leaned into his touch before reaching up to brush a stray hair away from his face. "Alastor, you look a bit tense." Julia had a way of understanding him like no one else, always so perceptive. Her observation only served to highlight to him how close he was to losing his temper. Alastor leaned in closer to her ear. "Do I need to remind you, my dear? We were interrupted by that pesky cat."

Julia felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She had been so preoccupied with Josie that she had completely forgotten how easily irritated Alastor could get. He hadn't even had the chance to undress her before the shouting began. Josie had been woken up after Julia had spent hours trying to put her to bed. Despite neither of them having a high sex drive, Alastor still had his needs. He may not always express them openly, but he could never resist Julia, and she felt the same way about him. Alastor had admitted numerous times that he couldn't get enough of her, which always left Julia feeling flustered.

Julia couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as she watched Alastor, the powerful Overlord, falter in her presence. The idea of reducing someone as feared as him to such a state was exhilarating. With newfound confidence, she teased him, "Why not unleash the demon within, Alastor?" His ears twitched at her words, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. "Let me see the fearsome Overlord that everyone trembles before." His cheeks turned a shade of red as he hesitated, "My dear, are you certain? My true form is much more monstrous and imposing than you can imagine."

"Alastor, my love for you is unwavering. You're still the dashing man I fell in love with," Julia whispered affectionately, planting a gentle kiss on his nose. Alastor felt a surge of joy ripple through his body, causing his spine to tingle and his heart to flutter. In an instant, he sprang to his feet, faster than Julia could even blink. Charlie, noticing the sudden movement, raised an eyebrow and inquired, "Is everything alright?" Alastor beamed with excitement and replied, "Absolutely, Charlie! Could you do me a favour and put Josephine to bed? Husker rudely woke her up! Oh, and I apologize for my daughter's biting habit. She inherited that from me! Hahah!" Alastor tightly gripped his microphone staff, his voice filled with urgency. "If you need any assistance, just call for Nifty!" As if on cue, Nifty hurried to Charlie's side, eagerly offering to take Josie from her.

Alastor struggled to maintain his composure, his antlers growing slightly larger as he groaned quietly. Julia followed him up the stairs, bidding goodnight to everyone with a smile. As they reached his room, Alastor wasted no time in sweeping Julia off her feet and carrying her bridal style. "You little minx, teasing me in front of everyone," he playfully scolded. Hastening down the hallway, Julia knew exactly how to push his buttons. She grinned and planted a kiss on his forehead. "You deserve to be spoiled too, my dear."

Alastor's chest emitted a soft purr, a deep rumble that resonated through the room. His ears folded back, and a blush of lighter red spread across his face. "Darling, it's been far too long since our last encounter, hasn't it?" he murmured. "But are you certain you're ready to experience the more perilous side of me?" Julia nodded.

With a graceful wave of his hand, the door to his lavish hotel room swung open effortlessly, as if obeying his every command. Alastor wasted no time in kicking it shut, the lock clicking into place behind them. The room exuded opulence; its walls adorned in rich velvet with elegant gold trim. Above the bed, a magnificent chandelier crafted entirely from fallen antlers cast a mesmerizing glow. As Alastor stepped inside, the lights flickered on, almost as if they were extending a warm welcome.

Alastor carefully placed Julia on the bed's edge before stepping back to admire the scene in front of him. His cherished wife, the stunning woman who had given birth to his child, looked as radiant as the first day he saw her. The room exuded the scent of oak and a hint of copper, making Julia feel enveloped by his presence alone. A luxurious oak dresser stood in front of the bed, topped with a radio, while a balcony on the far left led to a radio tower.

Alastor couldn't help but notice the slight bags under Julia's eyes and her slightly dishevelled hair, but it didn't bother him in the slightest. He had fallen head over heels for her, something he never thought would happen. While he had always been contending with the idea of being alone, Julia had captured his heart. Now, he couldn't imagine his afterlife without her. Maybe he should have a conversation with Lilith, just to ensure that Julia would be by his side for eternity. He knew she would understand. Julia blushed, folding her legs and arms, trying to make herself smaller. "What are you looking at?" Alastor chuckled, his laughter bringing her comfort. "Oh, my dear, no need to be so shy. I'm just admiring you." Julia smiled, and it was still one of his favourite things about her. "Now, my love, I want to ask you one last time. Are you sure you're okay with this? I don't want to scare you."

She flashed him a mischievous grin. "Alastor, I adore every inch of you. Don't worry, I trust you completely. Show me that mischievous side of yours." Alastor felt a warmth in his heart as a shiver ran down his spine. This side of him was usually feared, only emerging when he needed to control the souls he possessed or ward off unwanted visitors. But for her? She would always experience the gentle touch of the Radio Demon.

Alastor's head whirled, his antlers sprouting into an eerie tangle of horns that twisted in unnatural directions. The dials within his eyes became more pronounced, emanating a deep scarlet glow that cast a crimson hue upon everything around him. His body elongated, transforming him into a towering, spindly figure. His neck stretched and contorted at an odd angle, while his smile widened to almost consume half of his face. The prominent X on his forehead seemed to pulsate with intensity, as if demanding attention. His presence loomed over Julia, forcing him to stoop slightly due to his newfound height. A dark aura enveloped him, and if she strained her eyes, she could discern peculiar red symbols flickering behind him. For anyone else, this would have been a terrifying sight, a true embodiment of nightmares. But for Julia, her heart raced with exhilaration, realizing that perhaps she possessed a darker nature than she had previously acknowledged. Despite the frightful appearance, she knew deep down that it was still her beloved husband, the man who showered her with love and affection.

Alastor, the man who haunted her dreams, and her devoted husband. No matter how he appeared, he remained as handsome as ever. Just the sight of him was enough to make her heart skip a beat and ignite a fire within her. "Alastor, come here," Julia said with a flushed face, using her finger to beckon him closer. Alastor felt a familiar chill as he crawled towards her, emitting a low purr that filled the room. She gently touched his face, mindful of his razor-sharp teeth, and looked into his eyes filled with delight and desire. "Darling, I am unworthy of you. If you'll have me, I would be honoured to have you," he spoke in a deep, rumbling voice that resonated throughout the room, causing her to tremble in a good way. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his lips, and he eagerly returned the affection.

Downstairs in the lobby, the lights started to flicker, casting an eerie glow across the room. Some of the lower-hanging lights swayed back and forth, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Angel Dust quickly sat up, his eyes darting around with concern. "What the hell is going on? Is that snake bitch causing trouble again? Or is this some kind of damn earthquake?" Vaggie looked up, her expression filled with worry. "No, you moron! We don't get earthquakes down here. It's probably those demons having another one of their turf wars!" Charlie held Josie tightly, her protective instincts kicking in. She glanced around, her voice filled with uncertainty. "This close to the hotel?" Vaggie let out a tired sigh. "Who knows anymore." Charlie couldn't help but notice that Josie seemed completely unfazed by the flickering lights and the commotion. The baby clapped her tiny hands, and miraculously, the flickering stopped. Josie's smile widened, revealing her two adorable fangs, before she clapped her hands again. Suddenly, the jukebox by Husker's bar sprang to life, filling the air with lively swing music. Charlie turned to Vaggie, excitement in her voice. "Did you see that, Vaggie?"

"Hmm, could it have been her?" Husk leaned against the bar, a drink in hand. "You know, that little one can do some surprising things. I've seen her tear the mailman apart." Vaggie's eyes widened in disbelief. Charlie glanced at the Cat Demon with concern, then down at the baby she held, shocked. "Well, they're not as cute as they seem, huh?"

[m-tribs]

quarry pitts - a self para

He would just have to hope Farina would be okay.

The dark was sliced by the singular beam of light, which he could feel on his back like a flame every time it swept across his body. One had gone after Farina at the fork in the road, and one had stayed on him. He could hear what sounded like a faint, siren-like scream, as if someone had a pillow over their face. This thing - whatever faceless horror it was - was fast. But Oxford was just barely faster.

The sharp slap of his sandals against the asphalt sounded like gunshots across the darkened Arena, but there was nothing Oxford could do about that right now. The only thing that mattered was outrunning whatever the hell this thing was. His legs pounded the pavement, pure adrenaline spurring him on to speeds he hadn't reached before. All he could feel was the wind in his face and the fiery light on his back.

He could only see his path ahead from the secondary light source behind him, so the path ahead was treacherous. A flash of light lit up a discarded ice cream trolley, and Ox barely managed to dodge left without breaking pace. His arms flailed as they steadied him, allowing him to keep hurtling forward.

Oxford felt the knife much more than he saw it. A whistle, perhaps, would have alerted him to it, but the truth is there was no way he was going to see it. However, whoever threw it also couldn't see him too well. It clipped him on his shoulder, slicing cleanly into his bicep before clattering away. The shock, more than the pain, threw him off, and before he could stop himself, he was tumbling.

A second set of footsteps joined the fray, and Ox looked up to see his machete clattered away. He went to lunge for it, but was stopped by a pair of sandals slamming down on his arm. He yelped and yanked his arm away, scraping away the top layer of skin from his elbow.

"NO!" he bellowed, as his assailant stumbled backwards. "WE HAVE TO GO!" He rolled, attempting to scramble to his feet. A kick between his shoulder blades forced him down into the dirt. But no - he was now just primed. He used the knelt position to launch forward. But whoever this was was faster. As he went to sprint, a foot swept out his, and he was back on his back in the dirt.

Finally he could see who he was fighting. In the dim, but rapidly approaching light, Ox could see a steel blue "2" on his opponent's chest. A Career. Who, Ox could immediately see, was unarmed and looking for the knife he threw. Ox, meanwhile, had landed directly next to his own weapon. So it was time.

Ox sat up quickly, slashing at 2's ankles. He was quick, though, and easily evaded Ox's attack. A quick counter kick to his injured shoulder brought out a roar. Oxford rolled up onto his knees, launching forward against this foe. This would not be where he died.

The two tumbled over, the machete squeezed between them. Before they hit the ground, 2 pounded a punch into Oxford's jaw that spiraled him sideways. The light grew brighter, and Ox couldn't tell if it was 2 who was quietly screaming or not.

But before Oxford could think, he was attacked again. 2 came at him with swift, trained martial arts, kicking him in the chest, the face, the side. Any time he tried to move, 2 was there to outspeed him. Ox crawled backwards, trying his best to block the barrage. With a desperate surge of energy, he managed to parry a kick with his machete blade. The deep gash in 2's foot finally halted the assault.

"Gotta go," Ox coughed, finally scrambling to his feet. He pointed over 2's shoulder, where the lamplight was bright and big. But 2 had found his knife, and wasn't about to let Oxford turn around again.

2 gave a wicked, wide grin that Oxford could see clear as day. "Not today..." he chuckled. He slowly lowered the knife into a defensive stance and bent his legs. He nodded to Ox, clearly indicating he should take his stance. "You got a higher score than I did," he hissed, unamused. "So this should be -"

The thing grabbed him.

The guard grabbed 2 by the shoulder, and with a pop that Oxford knew would be heard for miles, it tore 2's shoulder out of its socket. 2 roared in pain, but a dislocated joint had never stopped him in the past. His knife flashed up, and the guard recoiled with three fingers less. It hissed and lunged again, but 2 parried.

Ox stood momentarily, watching in horror as 2 squared off against the guard. It was eerie; Ox could only see the fight in the occasional strobe of the guard's lamp. But even a moment can be too long in the Hunger Games. The thing had gotten close, and lashed out with its claws at him.

It grabbed him by the forearm, and yanked it so hard that Ox was pulled forward. The machete drove deep into the guard's side, pulled with its extraterrestrial strength into itself. It hissed, and Ox saw that it had 2 in its other hand by the collarbone. With a sickening crack, the guard snapped the bone in 2's neck, and he screeched out in pain. 2's knife flashed expertly again, but the guard seemed to hardly feel this pain.

Ox took the distraction to kick out at the guard. He connected with its hip, shoving it back. Oxford threw his own weight backwards, and with the extra momentum tore the machete from the thing's side. It screeched in this pain, and effectively released him. He fell backwards onto his back, and watched, horrified, as the guard now had both hands free.

Its hand snapped to grab 2 by the side. It lifted him, by waist and broken collar bone, to stare directly into his eyes with its own sightless face. Then it started pulling. 2 shrieked, and Ox could hear the rending of flesh from the few feet away. A small rip sprung from 2's now-exposed shoulder as the very skin started to be pulled apart.

The claws of the guard sunk in further, folding his collar like a piece of paper and gouging deep holes into his side. But 2 wasn't about to lose his fight either. It took a moment of focus, but he deftly flipped his knife into his free hand and brought it thundering up into the guard's featureless face. He stabbed two, three, four times as the guard screamed back, muffled.

The guard seemed to release its grip, though its fingers were still inside 2's side. It fell first to its knees, then over backwards, dragging 2 with it. There was a small gasp as 2 fell, and in the now-flickering light of the guard's broken headlight, Ox could see why: 2 had fallen on his own knife, pressing the blade deep into his abdomen.

Ox slowly rose to his feet. "He... help..." 2 gasped, his fingers twitching on the arm the guard had attempted to tear off. "Can't... can't move. We gotta... we gotta go..."

Oxford took a few halting steps forward. It was clear 2 wasn't going to get up. He could leave now and not have to think about this attack. He could literally leave it all behind. A rancid, pungent scent permeated the area, and Ox could tell it was emanating from the fatal lacerations on the guard's face.

2 tried to shift, but the blade and the fingers pinioned him in place. "If you just... lift me..." he said between gasps. Ox tried to waft the smell away. Then he heard it.

The jingle of keys that had started it all with Farina.

Actually: two jingles. It had somehow summoned two more.

Oxford looked down at the man before him. There was no way the Gamemakers would make a mutt that wouldn't kill him. But they would definitely make a mutt that would play with him. It was an easy choice, even if it cost a precious few seconds he could have used to escape.

His machete flashed up, then down in the strobing light, piercing through the already-destroyed clavicle to gouge through 2's chest. A cannon sounded, and Oxford, unaware of his tears in the darkness, ran.

Para continues here.

[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (2/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

Dappled moonlight spread across the forest floor, shifting as a gentle breeze blew through the branches overhead. Four figures crept forward through the dim light, rifles at the ready and eyes scanning their surroundings. The man at the head of the small group made quick, sharp gestures with one hand, separating his four man team into two units. One went left, continuing into the trees, while the other went right and out into the open clearing ahead. Standard flanking maneuver; useful under most circumstances.

These weren't most circumstances.

The two man unit stepped into the clearing. Without trees to block it, the moonlight lit up their dark techsuits. Fallen leaves crunched beneath their heavy boots as they slowly walked forward, scanning the treeline for any sign of their target. They'd made it further than any other team thus far, and that was clearly making one of them nervous. He stopped in his scan, lowering his rifle and turning to his companion.

"Okay, seriously. This feels way too easy—"

Whatever complaint Spartan Buck had been about to finish died in a startled grunt as the round hit his chest with a solid thud, bright blue paint exploding across his front. He stumbled backwards but kept his footing, turning to face the shot, only for a second one to clip the right side of his jaw. Balance thoroughly thrown, his second stumble turned into a graceless fall onto his back. Metal thudded beneath him and he lay there groaning. Spartan Locke grimaced as he darted for cover.

"Buck's down," He barked into his radio, "Shots fired from north side of the arena."

"Again?", came the groan on the radio channel as the other remaining members of Fireteam Osiris picked up the pace through the trees. Spartan Vale added a snarky, "Keep this up and they'll start calling you Blue, Buck!"

Buck's less than polite grumbling was covered by a third round striking the tree Locke had hidden behind. He threw Buck a shrug and half-sympathetic glance, then bolted east to try and flank the target from the other side. Buck was left to groan on the falsified forest floor, using his feet to push himself along and out of the clearing. He hadn't gotten halfway to his target before he found himself looking up into an unimpressed blue face.

"You're dead, Spartan," Cortana said dryly, arms crossed over her chest. "Dead people don't crawl away."

Rifle abandoned at his side, Buck threw an arm over his eyes.

"Ah, Blue," He complained, the very anti-thesis of dead, "You're killin' me here. How many times is this?"

"Fifteen." She crouched down above his head, flicking a finger at the small red light mounted to his shoulder. The gesture turned the code from a 3 to a 0. It flashed once, then went dead. "Stay put."

Leaving Buck where he lay, Cortana returned her focus to John, a half dozen other processes monitoring the progress of the remaining three Spartan IV fireteams still making their way through the woods. Three minutes left on the training exercise and not one had closed a hundred meters. Sloppy work, that.

"Bets on who goes down next?" She asked.

John loaded another round into his sniper rifle, the stand balanced on a boulder. "Majestic 3," He replied, sighting halfway down the field. He wasn't Linda who could have picked the wings off a fly at five hundred meters, but he could hit the targets before him just fine. "Leaves his right side open."

"Majestic 2 tends to cover that for him," Cortana noted, leaning back against a nearby tree. "Not that he should have to. Didn't they train these Spartans to watch their own flanks?"

"We're working on it." A blue eye flicked to her. In just his techsuit and BDU's, John almost blended into the dappled shadows of the AR construct. It made the goal of this mission—finding and eliminating him under a strict time limit—that much harder. Maybe a little too hard; this set of mission parameters had been in rotation for a week, and so far only Fireteam Crimson had actually managed to complete it. They weren't in the rotation today. "You're biased."

"Oh, absolutely and completely." Cortana teased, though she was serious about it. Each and every Spartan IV was a good soldier, the best and brightest of the UNSC. Strong, swift, brave, and well trained. They had to have been to have outlasted the war. She'd have trusted any of them with her life, bet on any of them to come out on top in a real firefight, and knew they could all come out alive and well at the end of any Covenant skirmish. They were Spartans. She'd be among the first to defend them from anyone saying they weren't.

They just weren't her Spartans.

It wasn't a fair comparison to make. No one could ever compete with a II, even if he tied one hand behind his back.

Leaning her head back against the tree, she watched through multiple sets of eyes as the three fireteams still standing made their way forward. Locke had rejoined with his remaining teammates, while Fireteam Majestic made a break for the next clearing. John sighted down his rifle, aiming for Majestic 3's chest, but he didn't bother pulling the trigger. Cortana sighed as a distant explosion thudded through the air; the process keeping an eye on them had a clear view of the paint bomb that had just gone off under their feet, knocking them all back and coating them in bright blue paint.

"Fireteam Majestic, that's a total kill," the process said to them, "Quit the field, Spartans."

Heckling cheers and boos from the distant audience followed the team off the field. Cortana crossed her arms and gave John an unimpressed look. His shoulders lifted in a half shrug as he switched targets to Fireteam Kodiak, who had taken advantage of the situation to close the gap. They were at four hundred meters and closing, with just under a minute and a half to go. They could still make it if they hurried.

And if they didn't get shot down like targets, she added to herself as John fired four shots in quick succession. Kodiak 1, 3, and 4 went down hard. Kodiak 2 dodged at the last second, splattered with paint off her teammate's falling bodies, and she vanished into the trees. Close, but no cigar. John reloaded, and with one more crack of his sniper rifle he blasted Kodiak 2 back with a single shot the moment she popped out of cover. She fell back with a startled cry, landing hard on her back. Majestic was still a groaning heap in the clearing, and Osiris' three standing members were—there.

Also too far. Cortana rolled her eyes as the buzzer rang.

"Time's up!" Came the voice of Spartan Commander Sarah Palmer, "On your feet, Majestic. You're Spartans, so act like it."

Four groaning "yes ma'am"s coincided with Majestic picking themselves up off the floor. John got back to his feet, rifle still in hand, as the AR simulation around them faded away. Trees became metal columns, boulders platforms, and it all folded back into the floor of S-Deck 2. With the exercise now over, the "fallen" Spartans that littered the field began to clamber back to their feet. The paint splatters remained, mostly on chests but some on necks or faces. Buck was scrubbing at his jaw.

"Did you have to nail me in the face?" He asked as John made his way forward, Cortana a pace behind him. "I swear, this stuff gets everywhere. Last time I was washing it out from behind my ears!"

"You'd think that would teach you to keep your head in cover," Palmer said with a less than professional eyeroll. Cortana clasped her hands behind her back as the Commander's eye swept over the motley crew before her. "Can someone explain to me how is it that, out of over a hundred fireteams on rotation, only one team has ever gotten close enough to take the Chief down?"

Silence.

"That was a question, Spartans."

An unfair one. John glanced back at her; Cortana pressed her lips together. The idea of these missions was training. If that meant training by frustration, fine, but they were still training. It had only been six months. It had taken years for the IIs to get as good as they were. The IVs were good, but they could hardly be expected to be up to par with a II in just six months! She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Palmer looked to her.

"Something to say, Cortana?"

"Yes ma'am," Cortana held her head up high, "If I recall correctly, Commander, your orders were to treat you all like any other Spartans." She looked at the paint stained IV's all around them. "I'm happy to provide logs from the II's training records, but failure rates like this were pretty par for the course."

In their earliest missions. Palmer raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Uh-huh. See—"

"And with all due respect, ma'am," Cortana cut her off before she could start to browbeat her Spartans again, "You weren't on the team that took the Chief down that time. If you want your teams to do it, maybe you should put your money where your mouth is and prove you can do it, too."

Soft oohs and hissed breaths rang through the deck. Cortana didn't flinch as Palmer looked her dead in the eye and smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile.

"You know what?" She cocked her head, "I think I will. Chief?"

The beginnings of a smile dropped off John's face so fast anyone else would have doubted it had ever been there to begin with.

"Ma'am?"

"You and me, right here, right now." Palmer rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck, "Let's settle this IVs versus IIs debate once and for all."

It would do that, at least. John turned to gesture Cortana back into position with him only for Palmer to interrupt with a sharp Ah! and raised hand.

"Just the two of us," She said, "If we don't get AI in our heads, neither do you."

Cortana didn't bother to correct her on that detail. Her chip was still docked in their quarters, nowhere near John's lace. If Palmer needed to believe the only reason no one had beaten John was because she was riding shotgun, well, she'd be in for a shock. She shared another look with John and watched the corner of his mouth tick upwards. He was going to have some fun.

"Standard rules," She said, taking one holographic stride past the Commander and towards the control terminal. Not that she needed it, but it would take her off the field. "First to ten points is the victor."

"Set the timer for ten minutes," Commander Palmer said, grabbing a paintball BR from the armory platform. She rolled her shoulders, checked the magazine, and set her chin with a smirk. "Probably only need half of that, but might as well be fair about it."

As if that would save her ego. Cortana kept a professionally blank expression as she looked back at her partner, arching a single eyebrow. He shrugged his left shoulder once, the sign of an all-clear, and she huffed out a soft laugh.

"Acknowledged," She said, giving the deck the orders. The platforms rose and fell at her command, reforming the forested arena and lifting the rest of them into spectator positions. Cortana crossed her arms over her chest to watch, tracking two Spartans in their element. There was no slow snipe and kill this time around, but a full on firefight through the moonlit trees. It took less than two seconds for rounds to be exchanged.

Not bad. Jury was still out on if it would be good enough.

"Ma'am, should we…" Spartan Thorne gestured forward at the shooting match a minute later, "Should we get involved?"

"That's sweet, Spartan, but the Chief can handle himself."

"Yes ma'am." Thorne smiled faintly, "I meant should we back up the Commander?"

Cortana laughed.

"Where do we stand with the Fireteams?"

"Fireteams Avalanche through Castle are showing marked improvement under the new regimen," Cortana's voice pierced the echo of water against the shower walls, clear and bright through the small quarters they had come to call home. "Crimson's off the charts, as usual, and Detroit through London are reaching their peaks."

"And Majestic?"

Silence. It was answer enough. Rinsing the last of the soap from his body, John turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. The seconds ticked by as he dried and dressed efficiently, folding the towel and returning it to its place. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stepped out of the small head and into the just slightly larger room that housed his bunk, foot locker, and bedside table with podium for Cortana. Leaning against the frame of the bulkhead, he watched her work. She was sitting in her usual position, legs crossed and holo-screens unfolded in front of her. He watched Majestic's latest combat sim play out, and watched as Spartan Hoya took three holographic shots to the head as he darted out of cover ahead of the rest of his team.

That had not been a good run.

"On their own, Spartans Thorne, Madsen, and Grant are improving, but Spartan Hoya is…" Cortana trailed off with a grimace before she found the right word. "Reckless. As for Spartan DeMarco, I'm not sure." Files and charts opened in front of her, data streaming by too fast for him to track. "There's something I can't quite put my finger on with this one." The file closed down and she glanced over her shoulder. "They're still bugging you, too."

It wasn't a question. John met her gaze, then tipped his head forward. Majestic did concern him; DeMarco had very little control over his team, Hoya had equally little control over his impulses, and Grant, Madsen, and Thorne were used to acting as soldiers, not Spartans. The five of them had the capability to be great, but only if they survived long enough to get there. Cortana closed her eyes.

"Right. I'll add more time with Majestic to the roster." Another file opened up. Pushing out of the door frame, he took the few strides towards his bunk. "They can have Crimson's slot since it's obvious they don't need our help."

"Only in paintball," John retorted, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "Blue isn't exactly their color."

"No, it's yours." Cortana shot back with a cheeky grin that lit up her entire face, "Considering you took a whole clip across your front."

John huffed quietly. She had the room to stand on that one: he'd completely frozen up during the round, the AR deck having been replaced with a foreign vista in the throes of war. Forerunner soldiers fighting armored beings, orders being barked in his ear and a voice in the back of his head saying that it was wrong, all wrong! It had lasted only for a second, but his lapse in attention had been long enough for Detroit 4 to to take advantage of and remove him from play. It had been a damn good shot and he'd been sure to say as much.

He was also sure that Cortana had noticed. She had given him the oddest look when he'd quit the field but had drawn no attention to it otherwise. He was still waiting for her to say something about it, but instead she dismissed all of her holo-screens and leaned towards him, raising an eyebrow.

"You gave up an admiralty position for paintball and AR missions." She shook her head in a mockery of disbelief. "I'm still not sure that was your wisest decision."

It was. It meant he got to spend more time with her.

"Admirals don't take combat missions," he said aloud, "Can you really see me behind a desk or leading from a bridge?"

"From a bridge? Yes. Doing paperwork…" Cortana wrinkled her nose. "Not really, no. Okay maybe you have a point," she raised a finger when one corner of his mouth quirked upwards again. "Don't grin at me, I can admit when you have a point and—" She stopped mid-sentence, "Company."

The tiny smile he had been considering dropped away as she got to her feet, stepping aside to allow access to a second hologram. Her blue glow began to war with the orange glow emanating from Roland's avatar; Infinity's ship-board AI, the man in the ancient aviator suit, popped up with a grin that quickly vanished.

"You know," He began, planting his hands on his hips, "I would seriously like to find out how you always know I'm showing up before I get here."

Cortana was just that good. Sharing a sidelong look with her, John added to the thought. She was just that protective, and the feeling was mutual. He watched as a polite but entirely false smile crossed her face.

"What can I say? We're just that good." She cocked her head. "Need something?"

"Oh, about a half million things, but I won't bore you with the details," Roland narrowed his eyes playfully at her as she grinned, "The Captain wants to see you two on the bridge ASAP. We've finally gotten our marching orders."

Finally. Nearly six months in Earth orbit, dealing with the recovery of the wreckage from the Mantle's Approach, the training of Spartan Fireteams, and coordinating efforts to gain a foothold on Requiem from so many light years away. It was the longest pre-mission brief either of them had ever had to deal with. Even Operation Red Flag had had less preparations before they would have enacted it, but things had been different then. As far as nearly everyone was concerned, the main threats to humanity were dead. Why couldn't they take their time to make sure everything went well?

Nearly six months was a very long time for the Didact to get himself re-established. How much longer did they have before he struck again?

"We're going to Requiem?" John asked.

Roland nodded, "That's what I'm hearing. Looks like those rumors on S-Deck were pretty true after all." He lowered his hands. "Captain's got a special, ears only mission for you two, though."

The pair of them shared another look. Cortana spread her hands in helpless confusion; she had no idea what this was about, either. Whatever it was, they were going into it blind.

Hardly anything new there.

"We'll be right there. Chief," Cortana smiled at him, though he could tell it was more concerned than amused. Something was bothering her. "I'll see you on the bridge. Try not to get lost this time."

"No promises," John replied, tipping his head in Roland's direction. "Roland."

"Master Chief," Roland replied with a crisp regulation salute and a not so regulation smile. He beamed at an amused Cortana and added, "Race you."

The pair of them vanished, taking their colored lights with them. John was left sitting on his bunk, eyes quickly adjusting to the stark overhead light. The headache curling over his right eye throbbed vengefully at the change. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gathered the small wrist-mounted tacpad from his bedside table and strode into the familiar halls of the S-Deck.

S-Deck was actually a bit of a misnomer. Taking up three of Infinity's fifty decks, the area reserved for Spartan use consisted of training facilities, AR decks, VR rooms, a mess hall, and almost an entire deck for sleeping quarters alone. The room that he and Cortana shared was one of the few with only a single bunk; most of the other rooms were meant to sleep an entire fireteam together, shared head included.

He wasn't sure if he should have been jealous of the other fireteams, or grateful he didn't have to beat anyone to shower before armoring up. Maybe he was a little of both. The way some of the crew still stared at him, like he was some sort of museum piece on display, settled uneasily beneath his skin. Most had long since stopped, having had their fill or having learned there was really nothing to see, but some of them…

Well. He tended to avoid the labs on a good day, anyway. Shaking off the thought, he called the elevator car that would take him across the length of the ship and to the bridge. Infinity was a well-oiled machine. The car came swiftly, empty as everyone scurried about their stations, and the doors opened. He stepped inside.

"Hey!" A voice called out from behind him, "Hold the door!"

John kept the door from closing with one hand as four figures rushed inside. In techsuits and BDUs alone they could have been any Spartan at all, but he'd made a point to learn every face and name in the battalion. He knew these four, and let the door shut once they were all safely aboard.

Spartan Olympia Vale, Spartan Holly Tanaka, Spartan Edward Buck, and Spartan Jameson Locke. The four members of Fireteam Osiris were, like most of the other Fireteams, rarely seen apart. Nearly all of the teams had gravitated to their units, quickly becoming brothers or sisters in arms, and they had made their way up through training like that. Something about needing one another to get through the combat sims had brought them together, Cortana would have said, though they both knew it was part and parcel of being a Spartan.

Nothing good had ever come of a Spartan on their own. Not in the long run.

As the elevator car began its journey, John scanned the four Spartans in front of him. They'd all scrubbed themselves clean of paint, though a shower could do nothing for the yellow-green bruise taking up half of Spartan Buck's jawline. He still grinned.

"Chief!" The man exclaimed, "Just the man I wanted to see. We saw that Grifball game with Detroit the other night?" Shaking his head, he whistled low, "Talk about getting their asses handed to them. Don't suppose you're up for another go?"

"Only if you want to get your ass handed to you," Spartan Tanaka said before John could reply, "He kicked all four of Detroit up and down the centerline by himself." She threw John an impressed look, "Speaking of, where did you learn how to play like that?"

"Classified," John replied flatly. Cortana would have understood it for the joke that it was meant to be, while Fireteam Osiris all eyed him with varying levels of uncertainty. He held back a quiet sigh and added, "Another time. Once your bruises have healed."

"Low blow," Buck muttered, rubbing at his jaw. It would be healed in a day or less. And maybe the Commander was right: maybe it would teach him to keep his head down. The GEN-2 armor was a wonder of engineering, but it didn't make them invulnerable. Buck needed to learn to stick to cover before he started chattering. He shook his head and kept going, "We could make it a team match, though. You and me against Vale and Tanaka, since, you know, you're down a full team."

Whatever hint of amusement had been building in John's chest faded like dust in the wind. It had been six months since Lord Hood had told him, regretfully, that Blue Team was considered MIA. In those six months, no one had been able to learn anything. Cortana kept a process constantly searching for them, but even she hadn't been able to find anything. His gaze slid to Spartan Locke as the other Spartan watched him with narrowed eyes, but years of experience kept his face blank.

"Another time," He repeated, gesturing to the door with his chin as the car slowed to a stop at R&D. "Your stop."

"Uh, yeah, yeah, next time, next for sure and—ah! Vale!"

"Come on, fanboy," Spartan Vale grabbed her teammate by the arm, dragging him from the car. "We're going to be late."

"You know, I can walk by myself—"

"Then walk."

"Chief," Spartan Tanaka nodded as she headed out of the car after her teammates. Spartan Locke lingered just outside the door, watching John as they closed. He pressed the button for the Bridge and left Osiris behind.

Once more alone in the car, he allowed himself to sigh quietly. The tacpad on his wrist buzzed; he looked down, huffing out a quiet laugh.

Maybe not entirely alone.

The blue question mark on his screen bounced up and down, Cortana's wordless inquiry her way of checking up on him without actually putting him on the spot by asking. It worked better this way; he was able to narrow it down to a single status rather than try and find the words. She'd have waited forever for him to find them, he knew, but the rest of the ship was hardly that patient. He tapped the screen, three colored dots appearing in place of the question mark. Green, amber, and red.

His finger hovered over the amber status light for a second, the only allowance he would allow himself to make, before he pressed the green one instead.

Everything was fine. He was fine.

He knew she'd never believe it if he said it aloud, and was grateful she didn't make him try.

"Attention all hands!" Roland's voice came over the address system, drawing his attention upwards. "Prep for slipspace jump."

That was confirmation enough for him that they were headed to Requiem. He took a deep breath as the elevator rolled to a gentle stop on the command deck, walking forward through the crowded halls. Officers ran this way and that, tablets in hand or fingers pressed to their ears as they ran through their most recent orders. John made his way forward in a steady, slow pace, careful not to run into anyone. The throng began to clear as he came to the door to the bridge, which slid open automatically for him. John snapped out a crisp salute.

"Sir," he greeted the Captain, "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted," Captain Lasky replied with a rueful grin at Cortana, standing at parade rest across the holo-table from him. She shrugged, biting back a smile that made something warm curl around John's heart. "At ease, Chief. No need to be so formal here."

Maybe not. He lowered his hand and ducked beneath the bulkhead, pausing for a moment to allow an ensign to hurry past him. If the halls outside the bridge had been full, the bridge itself seemed like the center of the hive. Men and women hurried from station to station, going over the data on their screens and planning accordingly. Outside the massive viewing window, slipspace parted around them like a river.

John stepped up to the holo-table, hands coming to rest at the small of his back. Cortana cocked her head at him just so, arching an eyebrow. He flicked his eyes to her, then back to the Captain. Everything was fine. Nothing to see here.

She and the Captain exchanged a glance that made him wonder what they'd been speaking about before his arrival, but then the Captain shook his head as if chastising himself. A third source of light entered the room as a holographic model of Requiem appeared to hang suspended above it, Covenant ships in standard formation all around the hollow planet.

"Before we left Requiem six months ago," the Captain began, "We left sensor beacons and drones to map the planet. They've been sending data back ever since, and recently, that data's become of interest to FLEETCOM."

With a flick of his fingers, Captain Lasky brought up several files on screen. Data scrolled past; John made quick work of reading it before his brow furrowed.

"Forerunner signals." He glanced at Cortana, "New targets?"

"Old target," She said, "The signal matches the Librarian, and it's broadcasting in a UNSC distress pattern." She looked back to the files. "Near as I can figure? She's trying to get our attention."

"Or someone using her signal is," Captain Lasky said, "Hence FLEETCOM's interest. A chance to speak with even the recording of a peaceful Forerunner is something no one wants to turn down, except…" He shook his head faintly. "The source is behind enemy lines. Scan drones report a battalion of Knights and Crawlers in the surrounding areas."

"And where there's one battalion…" Cortana began,

"There's more." John finished. He shared a look with Cortana, who inclined her head. "We have coordinates?"

"We do." Cortana pulled up a topographical scan. None of it looked familiar, John realized. It wasn't the canyons that Gypsy Company had cleaned out the last time he'd had boots on Requiem, but some other network of tunnels, ridges, and caverns. "Scans show a whole network of underground tunnels and access ways." She added in a half amused aside, "Seems the Forerunners who built this one were some pretty busy bees."

"Roland calls them Type-A's on steroids," the Captain added dryly. He pushed at the map to zoom in. "It would take at least five fireteams to canvas a space this large, assuming the Prometheans are the only threat on station."

John knew better to make an assumption like that. He and Cortana wouldn't have been called up for an eyes-only mission if things were going to be that easy, and the implication was as obvious as Cortana's glow.

"Should we expect back up, sir?"

"Unfortunately, no." Captain Lasky sighed. "Navy wants Requiem retaken ASAP. It'll be all boots on the ground and we can't spare a single fireteam for recon. Once we get there, you'll be dropping in solo." He looked up at Cortana, then to John. "I'll be honest with you, Chief. I don't like this idea of sending you two down there alone. Not against these numbers."

John and Cortana shared another glance. Captain Lasky had become well known for his gentler touch with the soldiers under his command. He didn't hesitate to send them in to get the job done, it was just that he regretted every life spent in the process of completing the mission. He was a good Captain; younger than most, but learning quickly and learning well. He was also one of the best commanding officers John had ever served under. He shifted his weight subtly.

"We've handled worse, Captain," He said, pitching his tone low to try and reassure the Captain that there was no need to be concerned. It was an honest truth all the same. "Impossible odds are kind of our specialty."

Captain Lasky snorted in amusement. "Well aware. I still don't like it."

John was saved from any more awkward attempts at reassurance—and from Cortana having to save him again—by the door to the bridge opening. Commander Palmer strode in like she owned the place, which as the Infinity's XO she technically did. Blue paint was still speckled across her face, a sight that turned up the corners of Captain Lasky's smile.

"Commander Palmer."

"Captain Lasky," She greeted with a nod to John, "Chief, Cortana. I'm not interrupting bedtime stories, am I?"

"On the contrary," Captain Lasky leaned both hands on the holotable. The files slid away to return Requiem to the display. "I was just telling the Chief and Cortana that things are about to get interesting. Show starts at 0500."

Commander Palmer frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "We've waited six months. Another forty-eight hours to run the teams through the wargames—"

"Are off the table." The Captain interrupted, "The Navy wants everyone ready. Now."

Commander Palmer's frown deepened. She and her Captain locked eyes for a long few seconds, and then she turned to face the Chief. Over the past six months, John had found himself slipping into the de-facto role of her 2IC, a little detail that had come in handy a few times while training the IV's. He hadn't exactly wanted it, leadership not something he sought, but he'd come to settle into the role well enough. It certainly kept him and Cortana busy most days.

"Chief," the Commander began, "You two have had hands on every one of the fireteams and have firsthand experience with Requiem. Are they ready for it?"

John didn't hesitate. "Ma'am," He said firmly, "Yes, ma'am."

"Uh-huh." Maybe not entirely convinced, Commander Palmer looked to Cortana.

"They wouldn't be here if they weren't ready, Commander," Cortana said without missing a step. Though they both shared in their misgivings about Majestic, throwing the one fireteam under the Pelican wouldn't help them. He made a mental note to add them to more combat rotations before they reached Requiem; with just over thirteen hours until then, there was still some good they could do. Cortana nodded almost as if she'd caught the thought. "They're good to drop."

If Commander Palmer had any misgivings after such a resounding display of certainty, she set them aside.

"Copy that," She said, "Then it means it's time for us to go and get all dressed up for the party. Wouldn't do to keep our guests waiting for us."

As she strode off the bridge, John exchanged another glance with Cortana. She shrugged up to her ears.

Some things, it seemed, really had changed.

Some things would never change.

"Sure you wouldn't rather take a seat?" Cortana asked, safely nestled in John's SNI. She ran a final suite of checks even as she waited for him to answer, reassuring herself that the suit and its wearer were in peak condition. The suit was fine, but John…his cortisol levels were off the charts. Something told her it wasn't just because of being stuck in a Pelican again. "Ride may get a bit bumpy."

"We'll be fine." John replied, holding onto one of the crash rails. Infinity's full contingent of Pelicans was ready to drop as soon as they cleared the slipspace corridor. Having no team of his own to ride with, he and Cortana were borrowing a slot on Fireteam Crimson's bird. All four of them were seated and strapped in, but Cortana knew John preferred not to be. He had always hated losing control. "How long until we drop?"

"Three minutes and counting," Cortana replied. She tabbed up a few files. "Want to go over the intel again?"

He gave the faintest nod. Having been ready for it, she set the files across his visor's imaging system. A top-down map of the area opened up, revealing the network of canyons, caves, and pits that was the sector of Requiem they would be dropping into. Though all of Requiem had been constructed, this was a more natural looking sector at first glance, the network tangling up into Requiem's inner workings. It was practically a fortress. Pulling anyone out would turn into a mess very quickly.

It'd be good to get back to form.

"Three days ago," Cortana began, "Scanning buoys on Requiem's outer edge picked up a signal, Forerunner in origin and broadcasting in known UNSC distress patterns. They traced it to this network of canyons and were able to match it to the Librarian."

"Does the signal say anything?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's more of an identification signal than anything, letting us know who's broadcasting but not why." She paused then added, "And that is assuming that it is the Librarian broadcasting to begin with and not a trap from some over-ambitious Knight."

"We'll deal with it either way. Intel on the location?"

"Sparse." Cortana increased zoom on the map. It was even more of a maze up close. "The scanner drones couldn't get much before they were spotted. As of last scan, there were Knights camped out all along this ridge," She lit up a sector in crimson red, then another further away in cautious yellow. "And a whole pack of crawlers down in this basin. Last count puts it at roughly three hundred Prometheans, and I'm willing to bet they'll be all over us the second they realize we're there."

"So," the Chief nodded, "A Thursday."

Cortana snorted out a laugh and banished the files. "Better than a Friday," She retorted, "We'll have to be careful in some of the switchbacks, but otherwise it's your usual clear the area sort of mission. Nothing we can't handle."

So why could she not shake the worry in her gut? Was the lack of backup really bothering her so badly? She set a process to analyze the thought but there was no time to wait for it. Roland's voice came over the address system.

"All hands, prepare for slipspace exit in three, two,"

One. Impact shook Infinity from bow to stern. Fireteam Crimson rocked in their seats. John barely moved.

"Come out of slipspace and crash right through a super carrier," Cortana muttered. "Show-offs."

"You'd have done the same thing."

"That's hardly the point," She rolled her eyes at him before banishing all traces of amusement. It was time to get down to business, and she slipped into the role of his combat partner as easily as he put on his armor. Opening her link to Infinity's systems she monitored the chatter. "Frigates away. Pelicans launching in five, four, three, two—"

One.

"All fireteams, launch!"

"Hang on to your helmets!" The pilot called back, and with a low rumble the Pelican lifted off.

Using the crash rails as a guide, John made his way past Fireteam Crimson and to the cockpit doors, watching out the window as their bird and dozens more soared out of the hanger, diving through the lines of plasma fire that hung between them and Requiem's entryway. The frigates that the Infinity carried were lighting up the blackness of space with MAC rounds and missiles, tearing through the Banshees and Phantoms that dove back and forth, scouring anything they could hit with plasma fire. Debris littered the corridor; one bird nearly hit theirs as it was forced to quickly maneuver away from an exploding Banshee. Their pilot compensated with a curse. Opening up the local comm-channel, John let it all wash over him.

Six months of tentative peace were finally coming to a close. Cortana wasn't sure how she felt about that, her analysis coming up empty, but here they were. One way or another, it was time to get back to work.

"Requiem corridor is clear! Repeat, Requiem corridor is clear!"

"Hang on!" Their pilot called, "We're going in!"

Under her skilled hands, the Pelican dove for the light that was Requiem's door. John tightened his grip on the crash rails as their bird fell into formation with a dozen others.

"Sure hope getting out of here's easier than last time," Just ahead of them, the light of the entrance was growing too bright to look at. John ducked his head.

"We'll be fine."

"I hope so," Cortana whispered. "I hope so."

Compared to the utter mess that was the space outside of Requiem, the false skies inside the hollow planet were peaceful. En-route to Fireteam Crimson's destination, Pelican 329 soared over winding stone canyons, the artificial sun baking the stone below. The Chief watched the network of tunnels and formations slip past the open hatch, noting a few chokepoints visible from even this high up.

He also saw, much to Cortana's audible annoyance, more Knights patrolling the ridgeline than the drones had caught.

"We'll be fine."

"Not what I'm worried about," She shot back. Motion caught his eye before he could reply.

"Sure you don't want some back-up, sir?" Crimson Leader asked; he turned his head. Crimson Lead met his faceplate with her own, tilting her head towards the drop. "There's a lot of targets down there."

There were. But he'd faced down stronger numbers on his own before, and this would be no different. Besides, while an extra gun or four would have come in handy, he had all the back-up he needed.

"We'll be fine," he said, inclining his head in her direction. "Focus on your team, Spartan."

Crimson Leader nodded firmly.

"Sir," She replied, "Yes sir. Good hunting."

"We're over the coordinates now, Master Chief!" The pilot called out over the radio, "Now's your chance!"

"Copy that, 329," Cortana answered for him, "See you when it's over."

Wasting no more time, the Chief leapt from the Pelican and tucked himself straight into freefall. A waypoint popped up on his HUD, guiding him through the minute adjustments he'd need to make with his thrusters in order to land safely. He watched the altimeter in his HUD rapidly count down, rapidly ticking down the distance. Eight hundred meters. Four hundred. Two hundred. One hundred.

At fifty meters from the ground, he rotated his body to get his feet beneath him and fired his thrusters. Speed bled away like water through a hose, leaving him to safely touch down on a stone archway that linked two canyon walls half a kilometer from the cavern entrance.

"For once, you did not land on your face," Cortana whistled. "I'm impressed."

John rolled his eyes. Reaching back for his rifle, the Chief did a quick sweep of the area. Crimson's Pelican hadn't been the quietest bird around, and no one watching the skies would have missed him dropping like a missile. It was time to get moving. A waypoint appeared on his HUD before he could ask her for one; it seemed like they had both been itching to get back into the field.

Setting off down the canyon, the two of them walked in companionable silence. He could feel her in the back of his mind, keeping watch over him and his systems, and he accepted that for the comfort it was. It felt good to be getting back to work with her, like stretching a muscle that had gone unused for too long. He knew she felt the same way.

"Hostiles, dead ahead," She said as they approached a turn. "I'm reading four Knight-Watcher pairs."

His motion tracker lit up in red, eight dots headed his way at speed. They'd definitely noticed his less than subtle arrival. Good; he could use a workout. Putting his back to the sun-baked stone, the Chief carefully peered around the corner.

Promethean forces had no standard formation, but the four Knights walking his way were in a staggered line all the same. Too spread out to hit at the same time, the Watchers buzzing over their heads would keep any grenades off them. He'd have to get in closer, finish things off personally. In short?

Nothing they couldn't handle. Red outlines surrounded all eight targets as he tensed his muscles, preparing to leap. One of the Knights stopped walking, tilting its angular head. For half a second, everything stopped.

The Chief pounced on the opening. Darting out of cover he opened fire on the Watchers first, bullets slamming into their wing-structure. With the element of surprise on his side he was able to hit the first one dead on, sending it crashing to the ground, before the Knights even realized that he was there. They whirled around, screaming at him in their oddly disconcerting way, and then they were moving. The Watchers buzzed away but not so far as to be removed from their assigned Knights. The Knight who was now running solo charged at him, energy blade buzzing angrily in its clawed hand. The Chief sidestepped the charge, pivoting on one heel to slam the other foot into the construct's back. It went down with a rattle, down but not out, but he removed it from the field with a hard stomp.

Leaving the data burst behind the Chief rolled out of the way of the attacking Knights, focusing fire on the Watchers above them. His rifle barked, three round bursts making quick work of the Promethean constructs. They fell in pieces to the canyon floor, harmless debris and fading light. The Knights were still firing on him.

"Watch out!" Cortana exclaimed, "New weapon on the field!"

One shot slammed into his chest. The impact would have turned unarmored flesh into ground meat; it still sent even his bulky frame reeling. His shields screamed as they plummeted down to half strength and he ducked back into cover as another shot of bright orange light flared past him; Cortana had tagged it as high intensity pulse weaponry. An EMP of some kind, and one that could get past the hardening of his shields. Just one more new element to deal with.

Counting the shots the Chief waited for three seconds before a lull came in the firing. As soon as it did, he twisted on one ankle and opened fire, a half magazine of rounds slamming into the reloading Knight. It went down without even time to scream, but the two remaining Knights were still shooting. Motion carrying him across the canyon entrance, the Chief ducked back into cover to let his shields recharge. He reloaded his rifle as he waited; two Knights left, but they were closing fast. More light-shot blazed past him, close enough that his charging shields flickered. Cortana silenced the warning as he twisted out of cover once more; palming a grenade from his thigh mag-lock, he let it fly.

Without the Watchers to grab the projectile away from them, the Knights were forced to retreat from the explosion that followed. It was a tactic they were fond of, and one that left them open as their light trails showed exactly where they were going. Though they split up across the canyon, the Chief was ready. One went down just as it began to reappear, a well-placed burst getting between the plates that made up its face, and the other soon followed. Silence fell upon the canyon.

"Eight data purges confirmed. All targets eliminated." Cortana said, "And all without losing your shields. Looks like six months of downtime didn't kill your edge after all."

John snorted quietly. With half an eye on his motion tracker he scanned the canyon again, just to be sure. When he spotted no targets, he made his way forward. The new and improved weapon was laying on the ground where he had felled the Knight holding it; slinging his rifle onto his mag-lock, the Chief picked up the new gun and considered it. It was built like a scattershot and looked like a scattershot, so what was different? The readings popped up on his HUD.

"Huh," Cortana hummed pensively, "It's a scattershot, but the ammo it fires operates on a different frequency than the ones we've seen before. That's how it drained your shields so fast."

"The Prometheans are learning how to handle us."

"And a lot faster than I'd like them to, that's for sure." Cortana sighed, "I'll packet this up for the techs back ship-side. We're going to need to harden shields accordingly." His shields whined, drained, and began to cycle as she performed the necessary changes. Slotting the scattershot onto one of his rear mag-locks, he grabbed the fallen pulse grenades while he waited for his shields to recharge. "There. Not that I'd stand in front of them and let them empty the chamber on you, but it should hold up better now."

"You've gotten good at that," John pointed out.

"I had a lot of time to practice." She replied, and his gut twisted. Nearly five years of drifting in the dark. They'd never talked about it. He wasn't sure how to bring it up, or if he even should. She seemed fine… "Not so much recently, though. You Spartans know how to keep me busy in downtime."

"It's not downtime," John replied, setting his feelings aside for the moment. "Training the IVs is a battle."

"Training Majestic is a battle," Cortana countered, "You like Crimson."

That was true. Not that he'd ever admit it, but the four of them did remind him of Blue Team in their younger years. Just thinking about that, about them, made his gut twist harder. He still didn't know where his team was and it was long past irking him. Shaking off the thought, he started walking again.

"Crimson gets their missions done," He said, not needing to stop as they encountered another Knight. While he wasn't as used to fighting Prometheans as he was fighting Covenant, there was nothing overly special about them. Dodge the fire, return fire, stay out of close combat range unless absolutely necessary. He barely even needed to think about it anymore. "Majestic would be fine if they could work as a team instead of lone operators."

"True, but consider their role models." Cortana retorted, her voice casual as if she weren't riding shotgun in his head while he mowed down ancient constructs. She was used to this, too. "You and Commander Palmer both run solo more often than not. I'm not surprised it's rubbed off on them."

"I don't work solo," John said, "I have you."

A second of silence and then a soft, "Yes. Yes you do."

The pair of them fell into another companionable quiet as the Chief made his way through the canyon, mowing down Prometheans as he went. His mission timer read fifteen minutes and counting when he finally reached the waypoint, a cavern entrance carved into the wall of the canyon. He paused at the mouth, considering the darkness below.

"Do we have any information on terrain?" He asked, "Scan data?"

"Not much," Cortana's frown was audible, "There's some data from one of the geological survey drones, but all the teams are sure of is that it connects to a network of tunnels and caverns that spread through all of Requiem's first and second layers." Her face appeared in his HUD, brow furrowed. "It's a maze down there. Best I can tell you is that it seems pretty empty."

Empty, twisting, and connected to Requiem's Forerunner tunnels. The perfect place for an ambush. And what had happened to the Crawlers?

"Is there another way to reach the signal?"

"Not unless you feel like climbing across four kilometers of canyon and then digging a really big hole. It's tunnels or bust, Chief."

Perfect. The Chief considered the options all the same, turning his head to scan the rest of the canyon. A sheer rock wall blocked him from continuing forward in that direction; he could climb it, but he'd be completely exposed in the process. Not something he really wanted to do without a second set of hands on station. He turned back, considering the tunnel entrance. As far as choices went, there really only was one. He would have to duck to fit into the cavern, the five foot entrance shorter than he was. Wind had scraped and sanded down the edges, leaving them rippling and uneven. Another gust of wind blew across the entrance, sending a howling noise into the air. Cortana made a disgusted sound.

"Well, that's not ominous at all."

"It's just the wind."

"Uh-huh." She arched an unimpressed eyebrow. "And Requiem is just a planet."

"Don't tell me you're scared." John teased gently, taking mild amusement in how she reared back, utterly insulted. "You glow in the dark."

Cortana was saved from having to come up with a witty retort by the chirp of the radio. The Chief tele-hailed the connection open.

"Master Chief? Palmer. How's it going down there, Spartan?"

"We've reached the cavern entrance and are proceeding into the tunnel system as planned."

"Copy that. Be advised, we're picking up scattered Covvie chatter. You could have two forces on your ass soon."

"Understood, Commander," Cortana replied, "We'll radio you when we have target lock. Cortana out."

The radio went silent without so much as a by your leave. Cortana rolled her eyes.

"At least they know we like our privacy. Ready?"

The Chief answered that by ducking beneath the low entrance to the cave. His eyes adjusted quickly; it was the same brown and beige stone from outside, just colder now that it was out of the sun. Water dripped somewhere ahead, and he tele-hailed on his flashlight. The sharp beams pierced the darkness, revealing a natural path that sloped downwards, and no signs of Promethean activity. Odd. He kept his rifle at the ready as he stepped into the dark.

"And, for the record?" Cortana said as they left the sunlight behind, "I'm not scared of the dark."

John let himself smile.

"Of course you're not."

With a pointed grumble she fell silent, her face vanishing from his HUD. The Chief continued to make his way forward, one eye on his path and the other on his motion tracker. The only sounds were those of his boots and water dripping down stone. It was quiet. Too quiet. He didn't like this. The Prometheans had been entrenched all along the ridge and the canyons, so where they now? He slowed to a stop at a junction in the cave system, helmet-lights shifting from dark hole to dark hole.

"How far does this go?"

"Kilometers in just about every direction," A soft scan flared out in front of him, his motion tracker wobbling for a moment. "Far as I can tell, this cave system is practically a hive. We could be wandering down here for days and still never get where we need to go."

Perfect. Consulting the objective marker on his HUD, the Chief went over his options. Either go down the most obvious route, the one that lead in the same general direction as his marker, or take a different path and hope it spat him out somewhere he could make a way forward. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Hang on. Let me see if I can—" Cortana stopped mid-sentence.

"Cortana?"

"What—oh, sorry," The ice water feeling along his spine shifted, gathering itself together as she audibly shook herself off. "Thought I heard something. Let me just put this data together…there."

Another image popped up on his HUD, a white and blue wireframe overlay of the cave system. Three of the junction entrances flared red, one of them green. It was in line with the marker on his HUD, but that wasn't his concern at that moment in time.

"What did you hear?" She didn't answer him. "Cortana?"

"Static. Just static. You didn't hear it?"

John's heart stuttered a beat. "No."

"Oh. Well." She cleared her throat, "Well, what's odd about it is it's not UNSC or Covenant in origin. It's Forerunner."

"The Librarian?"

"Could be." She didn't sound very sure. If anything, she sounded worried. He could just picture the lines between her brows, her arms crossed as she considered the data before her, the downturned corners of her mouth. "Impossible to say for sure without more data."

"Can you track it?"

"Triangulating." A moment, then: "Same location as our target broadcast. Two guesses why that is."

"It's coming from the same source," the Chief said with a low growl. Voices in his head was one thing, hallucinations only he could see were another. He had heard the Didact during their first campaign on Requiem, a sensation of broken glass and churning gravel he would never truly forget. He could handle that. But for some Forerunner technology to be going after her? He wasn't going to let that stand. Setting a hurried but steady pace, the Chief headed down the tunnels. "Why couldn't I hear it?"

"I'm not sure. The armor should be picking up the same signals as my chip, so I don't understand it. How could the drones pick it up but not your…suit…" She trailed off, her voice growing distant as if something had caught her attention. His blood ran cold. "What is that?"

"Cortana."

He felt her jolt, a flash of ice down his spine, and her face appeared in his HUD. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Sorry. It's getting louder. We must be on the right track—keep this heading. I'll see what I can dig out of it."

She vanished from his HUD. Blood still chilled in his veins, the Chief kept walking. When he found the source of that signal, he was going to make it leave Cortana alone. She'd been through enough already. She didn't need voices inside her head, too.

The companionable silence shattered, the Chief continued to make his way forward through the tunnels. They continued to slope downward, water pooling in dips and crevices as it trickled down the walls in thicker and thicker rivulets the further he'd walked. By the time his global positioning data had him halfway to his target, he'd walked nearly a kilometer straight down. Much further and he was sure he'd hit the unnatural section of the tunnels, but it seemed that was where the signal was coming from.

Why build something so far underground? What had the Forerunners been trying to protect here? The questions ran circles around his brain as he took notice of the caverns beginning to open up, low ceilinged tunnels giving way to a wide chamber, a deep chasm splitting the open space in two. The Chief slowed his pace, scanning the area. It was too wide, and too dark, for his flashlight to fully pierce the black. If something came at him, he wouldn't see it until it was nearly on top of him. He consulted his waypoint and almost grimaced. It was across the chasm. Of course it was.

"I don't like this."

"That makes two of us…"

Carefully, the Chief made his way forward to the edge of the chasm. It was too dark to see all the way to the bottom, the beams of his helmet lights not strong enough to get that far. A look from side to side revealed that the chamber was massive; his footfalls echoed with each step he took. He had to cross the chasm somehow, but how? It stretched too far to simply leap across, and a look up told him the ceiling was too low for him to use his thrusters. He'd have to walk across, but how? He flagged his motion tracker. Where was the mapping adjustment Cortana had made? Ah. There.

Another scan-ping lit up the area directly in front of him, soft blue light rushing out across the stone. It mapped the edge of the chasm nearest to him, then ran over a stone bridge that reached across to the other side. There was his way across. He made his way forward.

"Chief, be careful," Cortana said as he stepped onto the bridge. It cracked ominously beneath his weight. "This thing looks very old. I'm not sure it can handle any sudden movements."

"It'll be fine," He said, though he was mindful of just where he put his boots down after a piece of the bridge crumbled away. "Don't look down."

"Funny. I was about to tell you the same thing."

Taking slow, measured steps, the Chief began to cross the bridge. Having to focus on where he put his feet down, he had to keep his head tilted towards the stone. Abyssal darkness stared back at him from either side of the bridge, his motion tracker utterly still. For a location so far into Promethean territory, it was oddly quiet. He didn't like it one bit.

A tremendous crack knocked him from his thoughts; he froze, barely daring to breathe. Had that been the bridge? Another crack was the only answer he got, the ground shifting beneath his feet. He looked down.

"Uh, Chief…"

Beneath his flashlight, cracks were forming on ancient stone. They raced across the bridge almost too fast to track, followed by blue light as Cortana lit them up. Branching pathways formed islands of stone, separate pieces hanging suspended for a few seconds as a steady middle finger to gravity.

In the end, gravity would have the last laugh. The Chief's stomach lurched up towards his throat as the stone beneath his boots began to fall away into the abyss below.

"Chief!"

There was no time to talk it over. Acting on pure instinct the Chief fired his thruster pack, pushing himself onto another chunk of stone, then another as that one fell away, too! One foot in front of the other, trusting in Cortana's glowing blue outlines for the next best step to take. The bridge was shattering behind him, cutting him off from escape that way; the only way was forward, one leap at a time until he got his boots firmly on solid ground, turning to watch the last piece of the ancient bridge fall down into the darkness. Cortana sighed shakily.

"So much for going back that way."

"We'll find another route," He reassured her, rolling his shoulders to shake off the adrenaline. He'd have survived the fall, had survived from higher, but there was something about falling into the endless darkness that set his nerves on edge. Stone shattered so very far below them, the pieces having hit bottom relatively quickly. He shook his head and turned, scanning this side of the chasm. Stone, stone, and more stone. A single tunnel entrance broke the monotony, and the Chief started walking again, following the waypoint further into the darkness.

It wasn't long before he had to stop again, headlamps pointed down a long, dark drop. Perfectly circular in nature there was no way it could be natural. That wasn't saying much on Requiem, but the thought still nagged at him. These caves had appeared natural enough, but this…this wasn't. He frowned at it.

"What was this?"

"Judging by the shape and depth, I'd say it used to be some kind of gravity well. I'm not picking up any power, though," Cortana hummed quietly, "It's still our only way to get closer to the source of that signal. Good thing you're not afraid of heights."

No. Just what might be waiting at the bottom. But it wasn't like he had any other options. They couldn't go back the way they'd come, and if it was the only path... The Chief locked his rifle to his rear mag-lock, rolling his shoulders.

"Hang on tight."

With a single firm push from the stone, he leapt into the darkness below.

[ellitx]

Temptations | Venti x Reader

masterlist

art belongs to rome

word count: 2.4k

warning: NSFW content ahead

           The throbbing of Venti’s cock inside you made you bit your lip hard to refrain yourself from letting out a moan whilst he brushed the side of your neck with featherlight kisses. This was too much for you and you really can’t handle it the more he leaves soft kisses on your skin.

            You badly want to grind against him, to bounce on his cock, and to further deepen his length inside your tight walls. But that’s not going to happen. Not now.

            His butterfly kisses ceased as his eyes slowly fluttered open to observe your flushed features. Venti lightly grabbed your wrist, surprising you, and raised your hand until it was now in front of his face and starts to continue caressing your palm with his sensual lips.

            Intertwining your fingers together, his other arm snaked around your middle and dragged his lips towards the tip of your ear to nibble on it. When he pulled you close to his chest, a sharp gasp came from you as he shifted your body bringing you to impulsively clutch on his arm to steady yourself between his lap.

            “Unable to control yourself, princess?” He asked, voice whispery and velvety while his fingers play with your skirt. You shut your eyes closed and lowered your head when he leaned forward to analyze your reactions.

            You know it’s one of the things he loves to do during this kind of moment. He wants to see every possible reaction he can gauge from you and he takes pleasure in it— be it the sound of moans, whimpers, and gasps or having you beg for his cock as a small drool drips from your lips, he’ll record those little pieces in his head and have it on repeat.

            “I… I can still h-hold it…” You didn’t like the fact you stammered. It’s either he’ll notice you were lying or it’s just you struggling to construct a proper sentence as he continues with his little ministrations on your thighs. 

            “Is that so?”

            He hummed a bit before lowering down his gaze and settling his chin on your shoulder. “You don’t have to resist the urge, love. You know I’ll always give it to you if you ask.”

            I know that! But that’s not the case here…

            Venti had always wanted to be inside you, to just feel your pussy clenched on his cock and feel your wetness. No fucking, no thrusting of hips or slamming himself against. Just a relaxing yet heated and intimate time with him while he pampers you with his affectionate love.

            You wanted to return his favor since he’s been always spoiling you nonstop during sex. It’s only fair to do it right? No matter how many times he had told you that you don’t have to worry about him, you still wanted to pay back his kindness and that’s what you’re currently doing now, to sit on his lap and have his shaft enter you and just relax.

            Seems easy right? But it was a struggle for you. You wanted to bounce on his cock so badly rather than having sitting between his legs. Just hold it a bit more and don’t give in to your desires. It was now Venti’s turn to be pleasured than yourself. It’s always been you and it’s just unfair how he merely brushes it off when you said this to him.

            But he let this one pass. It seems harmless and not tiring to do. He was pleased when you suggested it to him. Green optics softened in letting you know he’s delighted to do it with you, his heart fluttering at the sight of your fidgety state when you pulled down your panties until they were out from legs and have you settle yourself on his thighs.

            But because of that little teasing he did— fingers playing with your pussy to know how wet you are for him— it brings out all your desire for him, how you wanted him and that’s why you’re in this predicament of keeping yourself still.

            “Venti,” you gasped just as his thumb slipped inside you, circling your entrance. “S-stop tempting me…!”

            He tilts his head to the side, feigning innocence and confusion. Though your words never stopped him from letting a finger enter inside of you fully. You quickly clasped your mouth with your hand to block the moans from slipping once more.

            Your lover furrowed his brows together and pouted. “Why are you hiding it? Let me hear your moans, princess.” When you shook your head, Venti sighed in defeat as his hand reluctantly left from your pussy.

            You would have whined if he did that but this time it gives you relief he’s letting you handle this. It was an agreement you’re supposed to be pleasing him, not the other way around. Without your knowledge, he suddenly grips your hips firmly and lifted you up before slamming you back down to his length.

            “AH!”

            A sharp cry came from you at the sudden intrusion and your hands fell over him, grasping at his fingers to have something to hold onto. Before you know it, Venti was guiding your hips to bounce on his cock. To have your pussy stretched around him every time he slams you down.

            You always struggled in taking him. Even just the head was already a problem and he always has to bring you slowly until he’s fully sheathed in you. The way he filled you up brings goosebumps all over your arms and it’s what you always love and crave. You’ve been wanting this and he knows that very well. No matter how hard you try to hide it from him, he can easily notice it.

            “Feels much better now doesn’t it?” He asked behind you, his lips brushing over the nape of your neck.

            So good and perfect.

            You want those words to come out from your lips and let him know he’s stretching you so good. It was the perfect distraction for you and you breathed heavily, leaning back until your backside was resting against his chest.

            “You’re taking me so well.” He praised you, his hand wandering from your hips to your thighs until it reached to your clit, his thumb circling on it. His other hand crept the sides of your thighs, dragging his fingertips against your flesh upwards.

            A shaky sigh was drawn from your trembling lips when he starts to unbutton your shirt and pulls them down until your breasts were freed from their bounds. He gives them a soft squeeze before letting one of his fingers play with your perked nipples. 

            He knows how to play your body like an instrument, perhaps even better than the lyre he always plays with. He knows how to tease you until you were a mess for him. 

            Your moans were the sweetest melody for his ears to delight in, and today he was in a mood for a symphony.

            “Spread your legs for me will you, princess?”

            Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you absently nodded your head. The desire was kicking in and everything around you is just hazy and muffled. Your mind was cloudy and unclear and it’s practically a struggle to regain your focus and attempt to take control again— but he wasn’t letting you or rather, you’re too delirious to take over.  

            He hooks your legs over his own so when he parted them, yours followed along. 

            A pleased hum reverberates from his chest and you feel your face is burning hot, aroused, and excited, as you anticipate what he’ll do next.

            You were supposed to indulge his desires, but now, that task is already a failure. You let him play with you as much as he wants to and you’re not even going to complain about it.

            “You’re so wet.” He mumbled next to your ear. Even with your eyes shut, you can sense a smirk crawled to his face the same as his fingers slowly hovered over your core and traced your folds. “Tell me what you need. Do you want to sit on my cock as much as I want you to? Do you want me to fill you up?”

            You could only nod at him, trying to gather air as much as possible with how deeply he was settled inside your wet cunt. “Please… everything… I need you, Venti.”

            Smiling softly towards you, he pressed a kiss to your cheek and fixed your seating so you’ll be much more comfortable as he continues. “My pleasure.” He whispered and pressed his nose behind your ear to leave a kiss on it.

            “Anything and everything, I’ll give it to you all. You deserve the world, princess.” He sucks on your neck and holds you still when you squirmed against him. Panting heavily when he licks your neck, your nails dug deeply on his arms while he persists in marking you all over the place.

            “Just relax. Close your eyes and focus on how good I’m making you feel, okay?”

            “Hm,” 

            Your thoughts are getting more disoriented the more he pleasures you. You were moaning his name, desperate for his touch as you plead for him to touch you anywhere. Venti lightly chuckled and connected his lips with yours to drink in your moans and whines as he helps your body bounce on his shaft.

            Muffled moans echoed throughout the room and your heart was beating loud when his tongue darted in your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of it. You fear that Venti might have heard your thumping and racing heart. He licked his lips when he saw a trail of saliva connected on yours and his lips as he parted from you. 

            The short image made you clenched around him so tightly, your wetness dripping out of you that stained his outfit. He thrust his hips against yours and you arched your back in surprise when he managed to hit your weak spot. 

            He was stretching you to your limit, even the countless times of you clamping around him, it still made him so proud of himself that he’s the only one who’s able to make you feel like this. Aside from that, he enjoys the sight of your moaning and panting mess. 

            You were getting lost to the feeling of his cock pounding inside you. He can see how cloudy and hazy your eyes are. He pulled your head against him and laid your head on his shoulder while he softly kisses the crown of your head and pampers you with praises.

            Your body was burning and so was his but he continued to move, repeatedly bouncing your body on his shaft as he brushed his lips across your shoulder and neck before giving it a bite and sucking on them to create a dark blemish on your smooth skin.

            You loudly moaned when you feel yourself close to reaching your release and with one last thrust of his hips, you were now cumming on his dick, coating him with your thick white liquid.

            Venti continued to move himself in you through your orgasm and your body trembled in sensitivity at the same time at the wonderful feeling of his seeds filling you up. He was staying true to his words and it just brings satisfaction to you he keeps his promises.

            A sigh of contentment came from him as he pulls you against him and leaned back on the seat so that you were much more relaxed. He was still inside you and you can still feel his dick throbbing inside when you shift. His fingers draw circles on your belly whilst he buries his face on your hair and just enjoyed the feeling of how warm you’re taking his cock that snuggly rests in you.

            After recovering from your release, your shoulders were shaking and Venti heard your sniffling and soft cries. In a panic, he quickly sits properly turned to look at you and watch you furiously wipe your tears away.

            “[N-Name]? Wait— was I—?!”

            Was he not supposed to cum in you?

            You shook your head and puffed your cheeks when you pressed your thighs together. The way your pussy clamped on his length caused him to hiss and grip your hips in instinct. He threw a confused and worried face at you to know why you were crying.

            “You were supposed to be relaxing while I make you feel good, dummy…”

            He could only blink in confusion in hearing your remark and slowly turns your head so you could look at him in the eyes, though you were looking anywhere other than him with that pout still present on you.

            “You’re not mad I came in you?”

            Another shake of your head and then it brought ease and relief to him. His spirits and mood were lifted up that it wasn’t about that then it dawned on him the reason as to why you’re mad and crying.

            “Ah… I completely forgot about it and slipped my mind.” 

            All throughout, your whole face was burning red that he finally understands you now. He did agree he’ll let you take care of him and just relaxed at the feeling of your slick coating his cock while he was inside you. To feel how warm and wet you are for him without doing anything.

            “But nevertheless, you still enjoyed it right?” He asked and slither his arms around your waist, giving you that puppy look he knows you always love.

            A nod of your head assured him you didn’t mind he takes to control of the session when it was supposed to be just a leisure moment for him to be spoiled by you. 

            “We can still go for another round if you want.” His suggestion made you perked up and looked at him with eager and sparkling eyes. He felt his cheeks warmed up when you pressed your bare chest against his and now it was your turn to give him the begging look.

            He can’t say no to that face. As long as you’re fine and comfortable then it’s fine with him as well. Venti had his eyelids flutter closer and loosed himself to the sensation of your lips brushing against his. You wrapped your arms over his shoulder to make the kiss deeper and this time he hopes he’ll be able to control himself while he's tranced from your alluring kisses and touches.

[messymessyml]

Breaking and Entering

I'll be moving this one over to AO3 at some point (done, available here), but I'll start this off on Tumblr. This is a lighthearted, multi-chapter Jasonette story.

Summary:

Marinette is away from home when a curious visitor drops in. The kwami don't see any problem letting the man in; the question is: what will the guardian think when she realizes an intruder was in her house while she was gone?

Chapter 1 is below the cut.

Chapter 1: What did I come back to now?

Marinette felt a wave of relief hit her as her key turned smoothly in the lock. She was more than ready to unload her bags and take a well-deserved night in after a whirlwind week of consulting with clients in Metropolis. She’d decided to take Tikki and Sass with her and rent a hotel for the week as most of her clients were only available for early morning consultations, and while it was the most effective way to make sure she didn’t miss a meeting, she was glad to be back home.

Gotham may not be as glitzy or have as many potential clients as Metropolis, but it more than made up for that with the anonymity that Gotham allowed her. The local mentality of ‘take no shit’ and ‘mind your own damn business and I’ll mind mine’ allowed the kwami and her freedom that they wouldn’t get in Metropolis, a city crawling with news stations and a baffling love of all things mundane. Half the time when she visited Metropolis it felt like she had a target on her back; the paparazzi were worse in Metropolis than they ever were in her Parisian hero days and that held for her professional pseudonym as well as plain Marinette. It was a wonder that with so many news outlets (and Superman to report on for crying out loud) that she was still the topic of a news piece twice in the past week: once as MDC and once as plain old Marinette. In all seriousness was helping with a local tree planting event for Earth Day that newsworthy?

‘Enough of that’, she thought, realizing that although her door was now unlocked, she’d thought so much about arriving home that she hadn’t even fully opened her door. A slight twinge of embarrassment hit her. Carrying her tiny friends everywhere was always a blessing, but sometimes, she mused, it might be nice not to have an audience for every action she took—no matter how embarrassing.

Letting go of that train of thought, Marinette stepped through and closed her door behind her, feeling tension bleed out of her shoulders. The underlying scent of vanilla and blossom honey hit her nose as she strode over to the kitchen island. She set her bags to the side and took a hold of one of her swinging barstools with the intention to sit for a bit before making any attempt at dinner for the kwami and herself. Absently tracking the path Sass and Tikki took as they flew in the direction of the room where she kept the Miracle Box, she hesitated to sit as she noticed a slowly building feeling of unease hit her. Something, she thought, was off.

Sharpening her gaze and gripping the barstool a little tighter, Marinette scanned her apartment. At first glance, the living space looked unchanged from how she left it; the furniture was where it belonged, and her shelves and wall art were unmoved. As she looked closer though, she saw items around the house that were shifted a bit more than they would be if the kwami had decided to explore while she was away: the living room rug was centered, the dishes she had left to dry right before leaving the house a week ago were put away, and the barstool she was currently grasping was a bit more level than it had ever been, thrifted as it were. The kwami were a joy to interact with and an honor to serve as their guardian, but cleaners and tinkers they were not.

Marinette released her grip on the stool, rounding the kitchen island to open the cabinets. Like she thought, the dishes she had washed a week ago were put away and the towers of plates and bowls looked straighter than they were normally. Her gut churned as the beginning stages of worry started to fill her.

A chorus of greetings from behind her met her ears, disrupting her thoughts. Turning, Marinette saw the kwami flying towards her from the hallway.

“Marinette, did you have a nice trip?” Mullo squeaked.

“Guardian, I hope all went well on your trip. It is wonderful to have you back home.” Wayzz said.

The other kwami threw in their own noises and words of agreement, mirroring Wayzz’s welcome.

Marinette couldn’t help her small smile, replying, “My trip went well, and I am happy to be back here with you all.” She paused, hesitating before she asked, “Did anything happen while we were away?”

“Not much, Pigtails.” Plagg swam leisurely into view, tailed closely by Tikki, both twirling as they approached. “Some fighting outside, and a bit of a showdown on rooftops at the end of the block, but no damage to our building.”

Wayzz intercepted Plagg’s path, floating into the center of her vision to say, “That may be true, Plagg; however, one of the combatants took a breather on our balcony by using the garden for cover. He didn’t seem injured, but he was breathing heavier than was wise. Most of us hid in the box while I continued to strengthen the wards on the outer walls and windows.”

Marinette interrupted, “No one entered the apartment?”

Wayzz hesitated, then said “The man stayed hidden as best he could, but he was quite large, and I could feel the shifting balance; if he stayed on the balcony, he would have drawn fire here. I strengthened the barrier outwards then loosened the barrier on the balcony doors, undid the latch for him, and asked Trixx to hide us from view. He had a protector’s spirit and none of us could feel an intent to harm any but the ones he’d been fighting outside. I am sorry, Guardian, for making this decision without your input.”

Marinette took a deep breath to fend off the impending tension headache, unclenching the hand she had used to subconsciously gripped her other wrist. She loosened the muscles around her eyes to soften her gaze. “It’s alright, Wayzz. I wasn’t there, and I trust your intuition. What did he do?”

“He seemed distrustful of the open door at first but ended up entering almost silently and quickly moved to scan the apartment.”

Trixx added, “I made sure he could not see the Miracle Box and that he was not visible from the outside at any point, but he stayed away from the windows for the most part.”

Roarr piped in, “He has a fierce spirit, and I agree with Wayzz that he has a strong protective streak.”

She heard some murmurs of agreement from the other kwami, some of them breaking out into small discussion pertaining to the man’s character. “If so many of you saw him, did you leave the Miracle Box then? What did you see?” Desperately, Marinette wished that the immortal beings she called friends could get to the points.

“Some of us came out to see, but most of us stayed in the box. Trixx’s illusions held; he didn’t see or hear any of us.” Barkk confirmed.

“Yes, he mostly stayed in the living room. He sat right here for a while!” Saying this, Pollen surged towards the end of the couch, landing with their back to the armrest in a bored sprawl. “Like this!”

Plagg, swaying upside down near the ceiling, lazily added, “He wasn’t much fun. All he did was check his guns then started cleaning the place. Boring.”

“Guns?! Cleaning? Why?” Alarmed, Marinette’s heartbeat started to pound at the picture painted by the kwami. They had let a large combatant enter her apartment and all he did was inspect his guns and clean??? ‘This can’t be real’, she thought. ‘Was I caught up in one of Scarecrow’s attacks on the way home?’

“He had good manners at the least.” Kaalki sniffed. “His gear smelled of money and he fixed that stool of yours that never would have entered the premises if you had listened to me from the start. At least now it isn’t horrendously squeaky.”

“Hey!” Mullo protested.

Kaalki just turned away.

“He needed the protection.” Wayzz apologetically said. “He didn’t seem interested in your workroom and he wouldn’t have been able to find the box, so we observed. He cleaned a bit and left after checking that the coast was clear outside.”

Marinette allowed her shoulders to sag. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Glancing around, she gave the kwami a smile, eyes hesitating on the glass doors leading to the balcony, she absently added, “Thank you for keeping an eye on things while I was gone.”

Striding over to the doors leading out to the balcony, she peered out. Nothing seemed out of place out here, but she couldn’t be certain. Checking the door handles, she noticed that one of the kwami or her mystery visitor must have relatched the lock. Unlocking it, she stepped out and went to sit at her patio table. Leaning back in her chair, she let her head tip back to view the sunset, partially obscured by the balcony two floors above her own. Her apartment building had mostly staggered the balconies to allow more light to reach its inhabitants, a must in Gotham’s dreary weather.

After a few moments, she let her head droop forward to land in her hands. As much as she loved them, the kwami’s survival instincts always seemed at odds with hers. She couldn’t tell whether that was due to her anxiety amplifying everything past the point of reason or that the kwami’s inherent existence rendering most danger obsolete, but while some intruder might not be a danger to beings that could turn intangible and invisible at will, she was definitely a bit more breakable (‘Mortal’, her brain whispered) than them. If she had been here? Who knows how that visit might have gone?

Taking a few more minutes to calm her body’s response, a few deep breaths, and a moment or two of gratitude that nothing bad had happened, she straightened a bit as the evening wind started to pick up and a splash of white started to flutter at the edge of her vision. Glancing up, her eye caught on a piece of paper at the other end of the table that was weighted down with a rock she had decorated a while back with paintings of ladybugs and cats playfully chasing each other across a meadow. That particular rock usually spent time in the catnip bed Plagg had insisted on and Tikki had seconded as a nod to both kwami. Curious, she reached out and grabbed the sheet of paper underneath. Opening it, she read:

Dear Stranger,

I was in a bit of a tight spot and hanging around your balcony when your door swung open. Haunted house, much? Hope you don’t mind, but I ended up using your house as a temporary safe house while you were gone. Don’t worry, I made sure no one saw me entering or exiting, so you shouldn’t have any problems from the type of shit that follows me.

On the topic of haunted houses, are you sure yours isn’t haunted? Your house is unnervingly the calmest- and safest-feeling place I’ve been in a while, but I kept seeing blurs out of the corner of my eye and I was NOT concussed. Might want to talk to someone about that.

I ended up tidying a bit while you were gone, hope you don’t mind. Fairs fair, you (unknowingly, I know) lent me a place to stay, I tidied up a bit. Stay out of trouble, alright?

Cheers,

- Red Hood

The Red Hood? The RED HOOD is who they let into the house? For kwami’s sake, what were they thinking?!?

[mrs-gucci]

Doth Not Fear, For Our Future Awaits {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

@babbushka:

Happy follower milestone my dear friend!! My prompt idea for your consideration: A medieval AU where reader is a lady in waiting to the Queen at the royal court, and Kylo is the crown prince who is in love with her. They can never be together...or can they? However you'd like to take this, if you decide at all, would be so much fun! xoxoxo :)

author’s notes: hello, hello! I’m baaaaack after a lengthy case of writers block 😩 my dearest friend, my beloved, thank you for this wonderful request!! I’ll be honest, I restarted this about three different times, but I’m very pleased with how this one turned out for you <3 @babbushka​

warnings (what you see is what you’ll get!): fluff. forbidden romance/love. passionate kissing. themes of infidelity. use of Shakespearean English. some insults are thrown around.

no tw’s :)

word count: 1.6k

my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp​ @babbushka​ ​@mrs-zimmerman​ @dirtytissuebox​ @thepalaceofmelanie​ @einmal-im-traum​ kylo’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings @icarusinthesea @lumdelacour @readingreaver @eagerforhoney​ @trubluepensfan​ @beachwoodmonet​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or at the top of my masterlist.)

[NOT my art/image. full credit to the artist, therealmcgee, and found via Pinterest]

A gentle autumn breeze rustles the masterpiece of dark tresses that sit atop the head of crown prince Kylo Ren, who stands alone in the moonlight-illuminated garden. The birds have ceased their chirps and allowed for the nighttime singers to shine through, crickets and katydids creating a peaceful melody from amongst the grasses.

He stands by the pond, staring down at his gently rippled reflection in the water. A grimace seems to be permanently etched onto his expression whenever he’s in the presence of his overbearing mother or pesky new bride, creating creases in his skin that shall surely remain for the rest of his living days.

As he looks down upon himself under the soft moonlight, he can only see the miserable face of a young man trapped in the cage of a legacy, unable to free himself from the heavy chains of expectation and tradition. Tonight, though, those chains bear an even greater weight for the young royal.

You're all he desires in life, the only thing he wishes to seek out and fight for. Not the kingdom of Alderaan, not his new bride, not even his mother; it’s you. And now, he’s forever bound to the wrong woman, restrained yet again by the rigid ways of his family’s traditions.

What if he no longer wants to be Prince?

A hollow footstep on the stone courtyard startles him from his thoughts and he turns around to gaze upon the intruder of his serene privacy.

“I believeth thy new bride is awaiting that lady marital bedding.”

His expression softens upon the sight of you striding towards him, turning fully around to properly face you as you stand before him. He holds your smaller hands in his much larger ones.

“The lady shalt beest waiting for an eternity, then. I am doubtful of that lady did suppose pureness, if 't be true i am truthful.”

The two of you laugh softly together at his comment.

“I wanteth nay other, Y/N, only thee.”

You offer the crown prince a sad smile. “And I only desire thee, Kylo, but we simply cannot beest together. I am mistress in waiting to thy mother, the queen, and ye art did set to becometh king. 't is 'gainst the laws of the land and we shalt certes beest hanged if 't be true anyone ever did discover our love affair.”

He sighs, forehead pressing against yours as he looks longingly into your eyes. “I wish things wast not this way, yond people couldst beest free to marry for love, not for status or bloodlines.”

“Me too.” You lean into him, bringing your mouth up to hover over his, and his down to meet yours. Warm, gentle wafts of his breath smooth out across your lips and you give a soft whimper in response, pressing yourself further against him. “Telleth me all thee would do to have me as thy bride, Kylo.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, considering you’re barely able to breathe through your nose by now, with your face practically smashed up against him, but that’s the absolute last thing you give thought to at a moment like this. He opens his mouth and lazily attempts to capture you in a kiss, fingertips pressing harder into your sides.

“Gods, I would doth aught for thee. I would giveth up mine coronet, mine legacy for thy handeth.”

Slowly, your arms slither up around the back of his neck, feeling a familiar heat rising and bubbling in your nether regions.  “Telleth me more.”

He’s practically slobbering over you now, so desperate to press his lips unto yours. The hunger surges through him as he pulls you flush against him.

“I would square for thee, square anyone for thy love to belong to only me. I would drop of sorrow mine bloody, beating heart out of mine own chest for thee.”

Your pulse throbs neath your flesh, the upbeat tempo of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You sigh into his open mouth, hand coming up to grab hold of his silky hair. 

“Moo.”

Suddenly, he sweeps you up off your feet and instantly presses you against the side of the nearest structure, effectively caging you in with his massive form. He snarls softly, pinning you even further into the wall, forcing a quiet gasp from your lips.

“By gods, Y/N, I would killeth for thee.”

You tighten your grip in his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. He returns the embrace with eager lips, tongue prodding and exploring every cavern of your mouth. His pelvis presses right up against your lower abdomen, rubbing his stiffening length up against you.

“Kylo.” A sigh pushes its way through your pursed lips as Kylo’s head dips down, lips pecking at the taut skin on your neck.

“Did shalt we runneth hence together. I wanteth to declare our love to the kingdom tonight.” His face lights up as he holds yours in his massive hands, smiling. “I’m sick of hiding in the shadows, sick of having to keepeth myself hence from thee.”

You’re riddled with worry over this sudden decision, rubbing the strong upper arms of your lover. “Art thee sure? This idea worries me greatly, mine sweeting. What if 't be true we receiveth did doth catch? They wilt throweth us in the dungeons for sure; our destiny wilt beest but soft decaying down thither until death showeth us mercy.”

“I don’t care. Allow me to prove all I would doth for thy love and for thy handeth, Y/N. I wilt taketh care of thee, I wilt at each moment maketh sure thee hath't everything thee couldst ever needeth and moo. And we wilt beest together, beest free to love one another at last. Who is't cares whither we art or what our fates wilt beest? We can finally beest together without restrictions, punishments or secrecy.” He presses you further up against the wall, lips parallel to your ear. “Mine life isn't worth living if 't be true thou art not by mine side. Wilt thee runneth hence with me?”

Simply just the thought of that makes your stomach go a flutter, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your eyes flicker up to meet his once more, hands cradling his handsomely carved face.

“I trust thee, kylo, thither's few or none will entertain it path thee decideth to taketh; I wilt remain by thy side. If 't be true thee wish to telleth the kingdom, then I wilt telleth those folk 'longside thee. If 't be true thee wish to runneth hence from this lodging, then I wilt runneth with thee.”

Kylo pulls you close for one more embrace, then guides you along back up to the party. Acidic nerves begins to crawl up your throat as the two of you draw nearer and nearer to the bustling ballroom.

Instantly, the Queen rushes over to her estranged son with a frustrated frown on her face. “Whither on earth hath't thee been?! Thy bride hath been by herself all night waiting for thee to returneth!”

He takes your hand. “The lady is not mine bride, mother, not anymore. Y/n is mine bride, and we don't care what everyone thinkest of our forbidden love. I've grown did tire of trying to prithee, of trying to followeth all of the traditions of our family. I wanteth to marry for love, not for the continuation of our lineage, and i intend to doth so with mine beloved.”

Now, people have begun to look onto the unfolding situation, finding it far more interesting than the festivities. Leia’s eyes search her son’s, then flicker over to glare into yours. A shiver swipes down your spine at her gaze of hatred.

“Thee've poisoned mine son. Callet!”

This gets the attention of even more patrons and suddenly, every single set of eyes are focused on where you stand. You wish to simply crumble in this moment, become one with the Earth in order to escape their accusatory stares. 

“How dare thee speaketh of mine beloved in such a manner?! Didn't thee heareth what I did doth sayeth? We don't care what thee bethink of us, what any of thee bethink of us. We wilt beest together, coequal if 't be true 't doth take every single moment of mine life to achieve.” 

The room is completely still and scarily quiet, not a single shift in position or breath can be heard in this moment. Leia stands up straight to look up into her son’s eyes. “I at each moment did knoweth thee wast nev'r did cullionly to beest in this family. I'm ashamed to hath't thee as a son.”

Patrons begin to stir and an angry unrest drapes itself atop the crowd.

“Throweth those folk in the dungeons!“ One says.

“Death to the coronet prince!“ Another exclaims.

From the very back of the room, another voice pops up. “Traitors!“

Suddenly, Kylo yanks you towards the stairs, breaking out in a full sprint.

“Runneth anon, mine love! We wilt hence!”

Your precious shoes fly off your feet as you run behind him. “Kylo! Mine shoes hath't cometh off! What am I to doth?”

He’s quick to scoop you up and carry you in his arms, breath steadily growing heavier with your added weight. He runs all the way down to the stables and seizes a tacked horse, mounting the perplexed creature swiftly.

“Taketh mine handeth. Doth not fear, for our future awaits, mine beloved.”

With a bright and hopeful smile, you take his hand willingly, the wind catching your hair as rhythmic hoof-falls carry you off to your new life, one you get to spend with the love of your life.

[coldlittlecuties]

ugh, I totally get what you mean about it being cold where you are 🥶 i always think of poor pre-war Steve getting chilled to his bones in the winter and curling up next to the wood stove after a long cold day in a futile attempt to get warm. or crawling into bed under blankets at an unreasonable hour, desperate to stop shivering. (spoiler alert: it doesn’t work and he ends up coming down with something)

GAHHH!! I'm so, so, so sorry this took so long! College coursework sucks sometimes.

I too think about how Steve dealt with winter before the serum! That's one of those fluffy scenarios I play in my mind before going to sleep. It usually involves cuddles with his best guy. I had a little drabble about that in my drive, so I fed it your ask and created this:

Please enjoy this fluffy little pre-war Stucky Fic

Steve cursed under his breath. He had tried to redraw this same line three times now, but every time, he was interrupted by a shiver running up his spine. His hands were already trembling without his gloves on–they made it difficult to grip the pencil–and his full body tremors made it so there was no way he could draw properly.

So, Steve decided to do some charcoal work instead. He had a piece that he needed to work on, and charcoal was a little more forgiving than graphite. Steve put away his sketching materials into his bag, then began trying to set up his charcoal. He blew into his hands and rubbed them to chase away the creeping numbness. He felt so weak and pathetic, shivering in the corner of the art studio in his heavy coat while everyone else was unbothered.

Steve ignored that feeling and focused on his charcoal work. The studio had its monthly showcase in a couple of weeks, and Steve needed to complete as many pieces as he could so he could sell them and make enough money to take Bucky on a date. Of course, it wouldn't look like a date to anyone else. He figured they could go back to Coney Island, just the two of them. And this time, Steve would keep extra train money in his pocket instead of letting Bucky spend it on a dame.

His daydream was cut short by a fit of sneezing. He managed to catch them in his left hand so he didn't mess up his piece. "*Hih'GSHSH! HihiTSHSHmmmphh! Ih'teh-heh'KSHCH!*"

The owner of the studio, Ms. Brown came over to where he was working. She was a tall, opinionated middle-aged woman with black hair that had just a touch of grey. Steve often felt intimidated by her, but she was actually really nice.

"Steven, I think you should just go home, today. It's obvious you aren't feeling well and pushing yourself is just going to make things worse," Ms. Brown said.

"I-I-I'mm *fffff*fin-ne, m-m-m-ma'am-m," Steve chattered.

Ms. Brown rolled her eyes. "Steven," she tried again. "You're cold. You're sick. Go home. Don't make me call James."

Steve fumbled to put away his materials as quickly as he could. She smiled, then went to check on her other students. She paused to say to him, "Steven, if you come in tomorrow not feeling better, I will personally drag you back home by your ears. Get some rest, dear."

"Y-Y-Yes, m-m-m-m-ma-a'ammm," Steve assured.

Ms. Brown had a patented brand of tough love that came from surviving the first World War, getting the Spanish flu, living through the Great Depression, and fighting to open her own art studio for young, aspiring artists in Brooklyn. She was tough, but her students knew how much she cared for them.

Steve double checked he had everything packed and put away before heading out. The second he stepped outside, he was bombarded by freezing wind. Steve's teeth started chattering even worse, now. He stuffed his hands under his arms and walked to the streetcar stop a few blocks away.

Brooklyn was just starting to change from fall to winter. There was some snow sticking to the ground here and there, even more in areas that had frequent shade. A few buildings even had the beginning drips of icicles. The day was overcast and cloudy, so the morning frost was able to stick around. Without the sun, the below freezing temperatures felt even colder. All of this was painfully obvious to Steve as he stood in the unsheltered streetcar stop.

Steve hugged himself and rubbed his arms. Gust after gust after gust of frigid wind buffeted him, like it was trying to knock him over or freeze him solid: Steve wasn't sure which. He kept shuffling his feet and stomping them from time to time in a futile attempt to fight off frostbite. His toes might've already froze off for all he knew. Steve kept telling himself the streetcar would be there soon, then it would take him back to his and Bucky's warm apartment.

The blonde brought his hands up to his mouth to rub and blow into them again. His gloves weren't warm enough. None of his clothes layered on seemed to be warm enough. At this point, Steve could set himself on fire and still be cold. His nose, his ears, and his cheeks were red from the cold. His nose kept running, but Steve kept sniffling to stop it. It didn't work, and he ended up muffling sneezes into his hand. "*huh'TCHSH! uh'kSHSH! Huh-TSCHSHmmphh! uh'TSHSHXX! uhh'tSCHmphh!*"

He brought the collar of his coat up over his mouth and nose to thaw his face a bit. That made him feel a little warmer until a breeze sucked away said warmth, leaving him shivering and shaking and miserable and freezing!

Steve's hands were losing feeling again, so he stuck them in his coat pockets, keeping his face buried under the collar. The wind took advantage of his exposed chest, making Steve shiver so violently he nearly doubled over. His teeth chattered loudly and painfully. He reluctantly took his hands out of his pockets to hug himself again.

He could just see the streetcar in the distance. He double checked he had the right amount of change in his left pocket. Steve's hands were trembling so bad he didn't think he could count out the change without spilling it everywhere. He silently thanked his past self for always keeping transport money in his left pocket.

Finally, the streetcar arrived. Since it was so late in the morning, there were only a few people on board. A couple of other people were at the stop with Steve, so he let them board first. It gave him enough time to get the change out of his pocket. He managed to get it into the collection tin. Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and stiffened his shoulders to fight back shivers. He waited until he was behind the other passengers and sitting down before giving up the fight.

The inside of the streetcar was much warmer than outside, but the chill was so deep in his bones Steve didn't think he would thaw completely until April or May at least. It was November. Steve groaned at the thought. A woman a few seats ahead of him turned around to look at him. Steve did everything he could not to look as pathetic as he felt. It didn't help though, as he was still shaking uncontrollably.

She stood up and started to approach him. Steve braced himself for the usual lecture of "it's not that cold" and "buck up, sissy pants" and, his personal favorite, "man up." What the Hell did "man up" even mean?! Act like a man? He is a man!… sort of. He was only 19, which is technically still a kid. It has "teen" right in the name after all.

Steve was pulled out of his thoughts when the woman sat on the bench next to his. She reached into her purse and pulled out a blue knit scarf. It was the same pattern as the green one she had on. "Here, you look like you need this," she offered, handing him the scarf.

"Th-Th-Th-Thank y-you, mmma-a'am, b-b-b-b-but I-I'm a-a-alr-right. I-I-It's c-c-c-c-cold ou-out th-th-there. Y-You sh-sh-should k-k-k-keep-p i-it," Steve insisted.

"I know it's cold out there. You're shakin' so hard I'm surprised the Earth hasn't started trembling," she replied. Steve smiled at that. The woman was still holding the scarf out for him. "My arm is getting tired."

That convinced Steve to take the scarf. He wrapped it around himself a couple of times. It was wide enough to cover his shoulders and his nose. He pulled it down a little. "Th-Th-Thank y-y-y-you."

"You're welcome, young man. And do me a favor would'ja? Get a hat before your beautiful hair freezes off!" She and Steve both laughed at that. The woman got off at the next stop a few moments later. Steve waved to her as the streetcar took off again, and she waved back.

The scarf was so warm! It chased away the worst of his shivers after a few minutes. Steve was about to drift off when he realized his stop was next. Thankfully, he didn't need to pull the signal because a few people were standing at the stop. Steve gathered his bag and stepped off from the streetcar.

A light snowfall had started during the ride. It was just barely enough to stick to the pavement. Steve couldn't help worrying about Bucky working at the docks in this weather. He prayed his boyfriend was working in one of the warehouses today. He couldn't imagine how frozen Bucky might be by now, even as Steve himself was half frozen.

Steve was shivering so violently that he struggled to get his key out from his pocket. He fumbled it and dropped it a couple of times before he finally unlocked the door. He closed the door with his foot and locked it again. It was easier for his trembling fingers to grip the lock than the key, but his hand still slipped once. Steve took off his outermost layer of clothes that had been lightly dusted by the snowfall. He set them on a chair in front of the wood stove to dry out so he could wear them again.

The apartment was so cold that Steve could see his breath. He blew into his hands a couple of times to ease the trembling. He opened the stove and put in a log, sticks, and some shredded paper. Steve had to take his hands out of his gloves so he could use the matches. He fought back a shiver to strike the match. But as soon as the match touched the side of the box, Steve shivered so hard he broke the match in half.

He cursed again, then sneezed into his arm. Steve picked up the broken match, let himself shiver again, then tried to strike the match once more. This time, he lit the match. His fingers were so close to the flame Steve felt them getting burned. He quickly tossed it into the stove so it landed on the shredded paper. Steve stuck his burned fingers in his mouth to stop the burning. It worked until his teeth started rattling again. He pulled his gloves back on and watched the fire grow.

Steve huddled as close as he could to the stove. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep from crawling into the fire. He hugged his knees to his chest to help warm up. No matter what he did, he just couldn’t stop shivering! Steve longed for Bucky to come home and cuddle him. Bucky’s cuddles always warmed him up.

****

"Brrr!" Bucky shivered, setting the bag of food on their kitchen counter. "Oh, it's freezing out there! Hope the studio was warm today."

Bucky glanced around their small apartment looking for Steve. The stove was out and the lights were off, but Bucky knew Steve was here somewhere. He couldn't see him, so he checked their room. Sure enough, Steve was curled up in their bed with the covers up past his nose and one of Bucky's hats over his head. Bucky smiled. "Guess the art studio was a little chilly, huh?"

His smile turned to a frown when Steve didn't respond. "Stevie? You awake?" Bucky kneeled down beside his boyfriend to check on him. That was when he noticed how much Steve was shaking. Bucky placed the back of his hand on Steve’s forehead, then immediately yanked it back. He was ice cold! “Stevie?! Hey, babydoll, wake up for me, yeah?”

Steve forced his eyes open, then curled into himself with a violent tremor. Bucky could hear his teeth chatter. Bucky kissed his forehead and rubbed his sides. “Hey, baby. How're you feelin'?” he sighed.

“C-C-C-C-Co-Co-Cold-d-d, *buh-buh-buh*Bun-n-n,” Steve moaned.

Bucky felt his heart ache. “I know, honey. Wait here, I’ll light the stove.” He started to walk back to the living room, but Steve reached his hand out to grab the edge of his sleeve. Bucky turned around to see two wide, blue eyes pleading for him to stay. Bucky kneeled by his side and kissed him again. Steve was starting to pull himself into Bucky’s chest, but Bucky stopped him. “Just give me a second, baby. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Steve finally let go with a whine. Bucky tucked the blankets back around him, then hurried back out to the main room. He opened the grate to the stove and saw some embers still glowing. Bucky poked at them with the poker to coax the fire back to life. He had to toss in a few more sticks and paper, then added a couple of logs once the fire was strong enough. He set the containers of stew onto the cast iron surface of the stove to keep warm while he checked on Steve.

Bucky went back to his and Steve’s room. It was too far away to feel the warmth of the stove. It was no wonder Steve couldn’t get warm. Bucky crouched in front of him again. He scooped Steve into his arms, blankets and all, then carried him out to the main room. Steve nuzzled his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

“I know, babydoll. I know. I got’cha. You’re okay,” Bucky soothed when he heard Steve whimper.

“...c-c-c-cold-d-d,” Steve moaned. Bucky sat in front of the stove with Steve in his lap.

“Shh… shh… shh… it’s okay. I’ve got’cha,” Bucky murmured as he tucked the blankets tighter around Steve so there was no way the cold could get to him. Bucky squeezed his boyfriend tightly, dotting kisses over the exposed parts of his face around his eyes. Steve cried out as he was wracked by a violent full body shudder.

“My poor babydoll. You must’ve been so chilled in the studio today,” Bucky sighed.

“C-C-C-C-Could-dn’t ssss-s-sto-op-p-p… sh-sh-sh-shak-k-king. *huh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh*... M-M-M-Missss B-B-BBB-B-Brown ssss…s-s-s-sent m-m-m-me *huh-huh*hom-m-me,” Steve chattered out. "*heh'TSCHSHuugh! ehh-t'SHSHeew! eh'heh-heh'KSHSHuugh!*"

“Aww, bless you, honey. How long have you been home?” Bucky asked, massaging Steve’s limbs through the blankets.

“... l-l-l-l-lev-v-ven,” Steve mumbled.

“Eleven?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded. Bucky looked at the clock. It was nearly eight o’ clock! That means Steve had been freezing to death for over nine hours! Probably longer if Ms. Brown sent him home! Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts when Steve began coughing. Bucky kissed his head again. “Poor guy.”

The young couple sat in front of the stove for over half an hour, talking about nothing in particular. Bucky kept massaging Steve’s limbs as his shivering finally eased. Steve was nearly asleep when Bucky moved him to the couch in front of the stove. Bucky brought over the containers of stew and the bread that got slightly toasted sitting on top of the stove.

“Figured stew would be good today. It was freezing at the docks!” Bucky commented.

Steve took a sip of the broth and shivered before he responded. “I was worried about you when it started to snow.”

“Wasn’t too bad for us. We were moving around a lot and took a bunch of coffee breaks. If that was coffee, that is. Tasted like crap, even to a bunch of guys freezing their bits off,” Bucky said.

“With all the money they save with your crap paychecks, you think they could at least get you decent coffee! At least Folgers,” Steve agreed. He could see Bucky starting to shiver beside him, so he brought the blankets over his lap too.

Steve and Bucky spent the rest of the night on the couch, bundled in blankets, cuddled together, and enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, they both laid back with Steve on top of Bucky, nestled between his boyfriend and the couch. Steve was so tired from shivering all day that he fell asleep in seconds.

Bucky was awake a little longer, rubbing Steve’s back and running his fingers through his fluffy blond hair. He could feel his head was a little warm and, judging by how red his cheeks were, Steve was going to have a Hell of a fever. Bucky had a day off tomorrow, so he could spend the day snuggled up with his boyfriend. He kissed Steve’s head, then he too drifted off.

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 4: Uninvited

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Peter didn't really wake up the next morning, because he hadn't really fallen asleep last night. He'd been incredibly tired, but his hair hadn't been able to lay flat and he hadn't been able to block out the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of Mr. Fowler's closet. He'd been it the entirety of the day and even throughout the night when Mr. Fowler stomped into the room and passed out on the bed. The lilting stumbles in his steps made Peter think he'd been drunk and had likely forgotten about the kid trapped in his closet.

So he hadn't really slept, but his eyes had been closed--the darkness of his eyes was better than that of the closet--until the door had finally swung open, allowing Peter his first full breath in almost a whole day. The dankness of Mr. Fowler's room was a thousand times better than the closet. An arm had grabbed his own, pulling him roughly to his feet and out of the closet. His legs had ached with the disuse, but he'd stumbled to his feet nonetheless.

"Are you going to talk back to me again, son?" Mr. Fowler had asked, a horrible pleasantness to his voice. Peter had shaken his head. Something had been shoved into his hands, and he'd fumbled only to realize it was his wallet. "There. The card doesn't work anymore, so you can have that piece of shit back. Now get out of here."

"O-okay. Thank you," he'd said, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom that he'd been deprived of for almost twenty-four hours. Once he'd finished and washed his hands, he'd searched through his wallet.

His few crumpled bills had been taken, but the pictures stuffed inside had been left alone, and the black card had sat crammed in a pocket. He'd grabbed it with fumbling fingers, brows furrowing. It didn't work anymore? Had the man maxed it out? Peter had swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about what the hell he'd bought to do that. Probably a lot of alcohol had been his guess.

He really, really hoped that Mr. Stark couldn't see his purchases.

After a quick shower, in which he'd had to sit down his vision had swam so much, he'd rushed out the door with his beaten up backpack swinging off of his shoulder. He knew he probably should have stayed to check on the other kids who'd had to listen to the fight last night and might need help with homework, but the teenager couldn't stand to be in that house for any longer. Everything smelled like Mr. Fowler's awful closet and he just needed to be out in the bright Sunday sun. He wanted to find just a little comfort in his shadow that he'd been deprived of the night before.

So he'd changed into his suit and swung around for most of the day, flipping for some overly excited middle schoolers and directing an old man from Ukraine visiting his son who lived in Harlem and ignoring the pain in his stomach. When there was a lull in the late afternoon, he strung a web between two buildings and just did as many daring flips and handstands as he could. It was a feeble attempt to distract himself from the events of the past few days.

Hits and threats from Mr. Fowler were nothing new, in fact, they were a staple in the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but last night had been different. He'd never been trapped like that in the group home. He'd always had a lot of free reign as long as he operated within the curfew and got his chores done, but yesterday was like someone had flipped a switch on that, and he was still reeling from the terror.

Or that could be the hunger eating through his stomach. Peter stopped flipping on the web for a moment, instead laying down and balancing himself on the thin string as his stomach growled so hard he flinched. He wouldn't even be getting anything today. When did his grounding end again? He was pretty sure it was Thursday, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Fowler extended it after last night. Maybe he could stop by Ned's and get a granola bar or something.

The teenager looked down at the ground to stare at Mr. Stark's shadow, blinking as he realized it was no longer clothed in normal attire, or a sharp business suit, but rather the larger outline of what he could now identify as the Iron Man armor. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man must be doing. Probably something really important.

Peter sighed, moving to sit up, when a sound made him pause. He cocked his head before finally turning in the direction of the mechanical whine to make out the Iron Man suit flying towards him.

Huh.

He tried to feign disinterest, laying back down on the web and placing his hands underneath his head as the suit landed on the nearest building rooftop and Mr. Stark stepped out, but Peter couldn't lie to himself about how excited he really was to see the man.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," he greeted from the web.

"Hey, kid."

"Um, thanks for the letter." Please don't ask about the card. Please don't ask about the card. "Are you sure about the phone, though? I mean, that thing looks like it could cost as much as a house."

"Keep it, kid, I gave it to you for a reason," Mr. Stark said, waving him off. Peter watched him warily as he sat down on the edge of the building, shuffling nervously. Peter smiled to see the man very clearly out of his element, as if he would let him fall anyway. "So, how's your day been?"

Peter shrugged. "Fine."

"No hangovers or anything?" Peter froze. "Can you even get drunk? Cap can't."

The teenager hesitated before answering. It was either 'I bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card' or 'My foster father bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card.' He wasn't sure which one was better, but there didn't seem to be much to win from lying, not that there was much to gain from telling the truth either.

"I don't know," Peter responded honestly as he sat up on the web to stare at the shadow on the ground. The imitation felt more comforting than the real thing at that moment.

"You don't know? You bought three hundred dollars of pure liquor."

"Three hundred--Oh, jeez. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a second before his gaze softened.

"You didn't buy any of that stuff, did you?" Peter shook his head. "Who? Andrew Fowler?" A moment. A nod. "Okay, I'll just deactivate that card and give you a new one."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Stark," Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie pocket and showing him the black card. "He gave it back. I think he was annoyed that it was, like, maxed out or something."

"Well, it is most definitely not maxed out--there's a lot more than three hundred on that, kid--but I'm glad you got it back."

"Thanks."

There was a minute of awkward silence before Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter.

"So, no tower yesterday?"

Peter suddenly remembered the little note at the end of his letter. He shrugged bashfully, mumbling, "Yeah, sorry, uh Mr--Mr. Fowler kept us pretty busy yesterday. Chore day, so."

"Wanna stop by now?"

Peter looked up at him in surprise. It was a wonder this man didn't hate him yet. The foster parents Peter had before Mr. Fowler had gotten sick of him pretty quickly, or just hadn't been very attached in the first place, while the majority of his teachers regarded him with either pity or disdain at his situation and record. As far as Mr. Stark knew, he had an accident-prone, snotty teenager as a soulmate whose favorite pass time was to be a juvenile delinquent.

And yet, the mechanic regarded him with a soft smile. A little strained, but welcoming nonetheless. It unfurled something in his chest.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Yeah!--I mean, sure sure, that'd be fun." Mr. Stark gave him an amused smile as the teenager stepped off of his web and onto the roof of the building. With a quick glance and a rare smile, Peter leaped off the roof, enjoying the way Mr. Stark yelped in surprise. Peter called, "Beat you there!!"

He did not, in fact, beat Mr. Stark to the tower. To be fair, the man was in a suit that flew faster than a jet and Peter was only propelled by physics and muscles.

The teenager watched from a short distance as the Iron Man suit paused in front of a higher point in the tower, faced him for a moment, and then dove through the window. He raised an eyebrow, but doubled down in catching up to the man, only barely managing to swing himself high enough so that he wouldn't have to crawl his way up more than a couple of stories.

Finally, just a few minutes later than Mr. Stark, he rolled through the window and landed hard on the floor just a little unsteadily, not that he cared in the slightest. There were much more interesting things to care about in that moment.

"Whoa..."

"You like it?" Mr. Stark called from across the lab. Peter nodded dumbly, staring, widemouthed, at the state of the art equipment decorating just about every inch of the room. There were cases of Iron Man armor lining the walls, robots rolling around--he managed a laugh at one with a dunce cap sweeping the ground with a broom inefficiently--and tables filled with projects Peter couldn't even begin to dream of. "You can take your mask off here, kid. No one's going to see you."

Mr. Stark's voice pulled him back to reality, drawing him further into the room hesitantly. He glanced at the man, but realized dimly that his spider sense had finally calmed down. This wasn't the danger he'd felt after being fished out of the lake, or the feeling that had been following him since, it was a normal calm mixed with just a hint of nerves.

He tugged his mask off.

Mr. Stark stared at him, a soft look on his face, before finally tearing his gaze away when Peter shuffled uncomfortably.

"Sorry, kid," he apologized. "Didn't mean to freak you out. Just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just nice to see you, Peter."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just offered the billionaire a strained smile and stepped over to the desk the man was standing at. He felt more than a little out of place, but his curiosity overwhelmed his discomfort as he glanced over a shiny metal case held lightly in the billionaire's hands in interest. Mr. Stark tapped it when he caught the boy looking.

"This, kid," he said, sliding it over, "is for you."

Peter caught it effortlessly, his fingers light and hesitant as he glanced from it to Mr. Stark, his head down.

"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark. You already--"

Mr. Stark interrupted by reaching over and pressing something on the case. It sprang open, spooking Peter enough for him to take a step back but holding his attention as he caught sight of the bright red fabric. The eyes were what really caught his attention, looking unreasonably cool and intimidating. Peter mumbled, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "Good thing it's yours."

"It's--" He gaped at the man. "Mr. Stark, I really can't accept--"

"Too bad," he interrupted. "It's a gift and it's rude to turn down a gift. So, there's a bathroom right over there if you want to try it on. Give it a whirl?"

After a moment of hesitation, he closed the case, thanked Mr. Stark, and headed to the bathroom to change.

  ---

When Peter stepped out of the bathroom in the new suit, Tony couldn't help but frown. He covered it up as quickly as possible, but the sentiment still remained as his eyes roamed over the kid. He was muscular, sure, but he was so thin that it practically hurt. The teenager's ribs were practically there just for him to count and worry about. He filed it away for later as Peter turned to look at him, the mask's eyes narrowing.

"Looking good, hotshot," Tony said. "How's it feel?"

"It's awesome, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, his hands held out in front of him as he tapped the webshooters. "It smells like a new car!"

Tony couldn't help his laugh. "If you think that's cool, just wait. Friday, Babysitter Protocol."

"Babysitter--" Peter cut off with a confused yelp as his suit lit up blue, the AI in his suit supposedly greeting him. The kid cocked his head. "Oh, hi. Nice to meet you too."

Tony turned away, letting the kid and the AI get acquainted as he pulled out his phone and ordered a few pizzas. Five might be enough. Steve had always eaten a lot, and even if he didn't manage to burn through the best pizza in the city, the kid could definitely use leftovers. He entered the order and shifted back to observe the kid again.

"--uh, Liz? No, no, that's weird. How about Karen?" A moment as he waited for a response. "Fun. Nice. Cool, this is so cool."

Tony smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid. His soulmate. His little shadow. 

Peter turned to look at him after a few minutes, muttering a quick goodbye to the AI--Karen, he guessed--before tugging the mask off again. There was a hesitant smile tugging at his thin face. Much too thin. How many pizzas would it take to get the kid back to even a semi-healthy weight? Probably way too many.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I really can't thank you enough."

"Please, you can thank me by not thanking me. Pepper says my ego's already a little off of the charts." Peter laughed and Tony couldn't help his grin. "Wanna stay over for dinner? I ordered pizza."

Peter hesitated, but after a moment he answered, "Alright," which was so much better than the kid regarding him defensively or looking like he was constantly on the edge of running away again. And, as it turned out, Peter fit more easily into his life than he could have thought.

In barely thirty minutes, the kid was sat beside him at a desk filled with vials of web fluid and pieces of Iron Man armor, an old, frayed hoodie of Tony's slipped over the suit, and a stack of freshly baked pizza laid out in front of them. Peter sat in the chair next to him as the mechanic ran through the schematics of his suit, hanging on every single word.

"...most of the framing is between the protective layers of your suit, completely waterproof by the way, if you ever get yourself into another lake. You also have a parachute if you pass the three thousand feet threshold."

Peter glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "There's a parachute in this thing? How?"

Tony tapped his back where he knew the spider logo was. "A magician never reveals their secrets."

"Did you compress all the air out of it? Or build it into the wiring on the patch on my back somehow?"

"Both are true." He took a bite of pizza. "You're pretty smart, huh?"

Peter ducked his head with a shrug. "Sorta. I can figure out chemistry, but that's about it."

"I don't believe that for a second, but we'll stick with the modesty for now." Peter huffed out a laugh, spinning the hologram of his suit and staring at it in complete adoration. It dragged a smile onto Tony's face.

Peter had a sort of ruggedness to him, a desperate scrappiness, but it was embarrassingly easy to see that that wasn't all there was to the teenager. His rambles were fast and excited, his scarce smiles adorably bright and always lighting up his doe eyes. There was a kind of spark to Peter that Tony couldn't explain, and, though he was sorry that the kid was saddled with him, he couldn't have wished for a better soulmate.

Apparently, five pizzas ended up being a great number, because Peter ate everything Tony offered him. He was practically a human garbage disposal, though much more polite. Tony was glad that the kid was filling up, but it made him seriously question how much he was getting at that group home. After letting the kid get comfortable for about an hour, he voiced it.

"Do they feed you where you live, kid? I swear, you just put down over ten thousand calories."

Peter paused on the slice he was eating, swallowing before putting it back on the plate nervously, and Tony immediately regretted ever opening his big, fat mouth.

"Yeah. They--Mr. Fowler feeds us fine. Just, enhanced metabolism, so." He shrugged. It was said so nervously that it felt like an outright lie, but Tony left it alone.

"Okay. Good to know. Just make sure to use that card whenever you get hungry, kid. I'm not having my soulmate starve."

At his mention of being soulmates, Peter glanced over his shoulder to stare at their shadows. Right now they almost looked like their own shadows, mirror images of each other, but if you looked hard enough you could see the slight difference in hair texture and the distinctive widths of their shoulders.

"It must've been weird," Peter said. Tony glanced at him in confusion. "Not having a shadow. You didn't get one until I was born, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tony agreed. He swallowed as he admitted, "Thought I was broken for the longest time. It was the best day of my life when your tiny little baby shadow appeared at my feet... What about you? Always had a grown man following you around, huh?"

"That sounded creepy, Mr. Stark." Tony just grinned cheekily. "It was nice, actually, always having you there. Like--like a guardian or something."

"And now you've got the real thing." Peter rolled his eyes and Tony pointed at him. "Ah, there's that good ol' sass I was looking for. I was afraid I'd lost it."

"Uhuh. You're kinda weird, Mr. Stark."

"Right back at you, little shadow." Peter smiled at the nickname before glancing out the window where the sky was a deep russet red. "Time for you to head out?"

"Yeah. I've still got some homework to do."

The two stood up and walked over to the window. Peter moved to take the hoodie he'd been wearing off, but Tony stopped him. "Keep it. I've got plenty."

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so generous. Have fun with the suit, kid, I'll see you soon."

"When?"

Tony paused, looking over at the kid who had only just begun to pull the mask over his head, hopeful eyes staring at him. He desperately wanted to tell the kid he'd pick him up from school tomorrow so that they could hang out in the lab again, but he knew he genuinely didn't have any time. He'd been putting off packing for a few too many days.

"After we move. I'll pick you up from school on Friday. We can go explore the compound together. Sound good?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Real good, Mr. Stark."

"You can call me Tony, Mr. Parker," he joked.

Peter pulled the mask down and jumped out the window with a call of. "See you Friday, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's shoulders shook with laughter.

  ---

Friday. Peter couldn't wait for Friday. With a burst of excitement and energy he hadn't had in a while, Peter flipped in the air and let out a WHOOO! only catching himself at the last second before flipping back up.

"Wow, this suit is so intuitive!" he exclaimed, shooting another web.

"I am glad you think so, Peter," Karen responded, shocking him so bad he nearly let go of his web. Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten he had an AI now. Man, Mr. Stark was so cool. "I am currently taking feedback for the suit's systems in case anything needs to be changed on Friday. Would you like to rate the suit's webshooters?"

"Oh, full eleven out of ten, Karen. It's great."

"Thank you for the feedback, Peter, I have sent a note to Mr. Stark."

"Oh." Peter blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that, Karen."

"Why not? He has asked for feedback."

"No, it's not--" He cut himself off, sighing as he flipped himself into a large arc. "I just don't want to bother him. He's already been so nice to me."

"Mr. Stark has asked for feedback, Peter."

"It's not the--it's not the feedback, Karen," he tried to explain.

"I do not understand."

He spluttered and then sighed, waving it off. "Whatever. It's fine, Karen, just forget it."

"Of course, Peter. Would you like me to show you the quickest route home?"

Peter hesitated. He did have a lot of homework to do, and Eric probably needed help with his reading, but he had to swallow down fear at the thought of being in the same room as Mr. Fowler again. It was irrational--it was so stupid--and Peter knew it, but he couldn't stop the way his hands seemed to shake and his entire body quail.

"Actually, let's take the scenic route. Really test out the suit, y'know?"

"Of course, Peter. Planning now."

A blue line appeared on screen, leading Peter back to the group home. He muttered, "So cool."

Spider-Man was only halfway back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, finally across the bridge and back into his home territory, when his spider sense went off again. He immediately glanced down at his shadow, which had lengthened as the sun set, for some kind of comfort or guidance. But of course, there wasn't one. It was just a shadow.

A little put off by the shiver that had run down his spine, he attached himself to the side of the building, staring out over the street. Nothing too out of the normal. People hurrying on the sidewalk, cars honking down the street, and shadows following along aimlessly.

"Karen. What's going on?"

"What do you mean, Peter?" the AI asked.

"It's just--there's something wrong. Maybe--" At a second shiver up his spine, Peter turned to look at where his senses were directing him at the ringing of a bell.

It was a small bodega, its door swung open as two men stepped inside in unreasonably thick coats for the warm weather. He narrowed his eyes, and the suit zoomed in with him, scanning the men before they disappeared through the door.

"What's the time, Karen?"

"7:30."

"Alright, we're good then. Plenty of time." He swung over to the bodega, attaching himself to the wall above the door, out of sight of the occupants inside. His senses had yet to calm down, so he assumed that he was right about this being a robbery. "Ready to test out the suit, Karry Berry?"

"I am always ready, Peter."

"Y'know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Does that mean I should assign you a nickname too?"

"Definitely! Think about it for a moment and get back to me after we do this," Peter exclaimed in an excited mumble, straining his ears to hear whatever was going on inside. There was the tense calm of nothing for a moment, and then a shuffle and a squeak followed by a spike in his senses. He muttered to himself. "Finally."

He kept his ears strained on the actions going on inside, dropping down in front of the door quietly to watch what was happening. There was a teenager at the register, her hands fumbling with the register while the two men from earlier in their dark coats pointed shotguns at her. He could see tears streaming down the girl's face, clearly terrified.

Peter crept forward, picking up on the muttered conversation inside.

"--just open the register, keep it quiet," the closest man said in a raspy voice. "Hand everything over nice and quick."

"It's--it doesn't open," the girl cried. "It doesn't open unless a purchase is made and--"

The man flinched forward. "Do I look like I care? Just open it!"

Finally having heard enough, Peter placed his fingers against the door and pulled it open as quietly as possible.

Ding!

Peter froze. Heads turned. Curses flew.

The superhero darted forward as the gun pointed at him, firing a shot that missed him completely as he dove behind a grocery aisle of gummies and pregnancy tests. Bodegas really were something. Peter crouched down, muttering under his breath, "Fuck that stupid bell."

"Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your predicament?" Karen asked.

"What? No! I can deal with this, Karen, just watch."

"I like the new look," came the voice of the man that had shot at him. "New government sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched. "I really wish that that would stop being people's first assumption. People can be platonic y'know!"

There was a scoff and the sound of something warping. Peter's eyes narrowed, peeking around the grocery shelf and then immediately ducking back. The man, the one who hadn't shot at him, had pulled out a large and glowing weapon that looked incredibly similar to the one that had been at the ATM robbery. Man, he was getting really sick of those things.

The teenage girl had looked okay, shivering behind the desk and thankfully not making any moves to alert the police, as far as he could tell anyway. The last thing he needed was cops showing up in such a tense situation. And his first time using the new suit! That would be just plain embarrassing.

"Platonic or not, I don't give a shit," Normal Gun Man said. "A new look isn't going to change your situation. So either come out, or we shoot you."

"I don't know if you can shoot me while I'm back here soooo."

There was a click and a squeak. "Yeah? What about her?"

Okay. So that was a little different.

Without hesitation, Peter stepped out from behind the aisle shelf, his arms raised half-heartedly in the air. The two men had ski masks over their face--not quite as fun as the Avengers masks, but it'd do--but he could still see the honestly nervous smile of the man holding the gun. Clearly he hadn't expected the arrival of Queens favorite vigilante.

"Good to know that you can comply," Normal Gun Guy said. Alien Gun Guy had the weird blue gun pointed at Peter, but the shotgun was still directed at the worker. He chose his target.

"Not really."

With a flick, he webbed the shotgun and slammed it into the wall. There was a startled scream at the same moment his hairs stood on end. Peter only managed to jump forward before he was encased in a blue light that gave him quite possibly the worst headache of his entire life. He hated the feeling of that stupid thing. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt like something out of The Incredibles. Like Syndrome and shit.

"Ugh! This thing is so weird!" Peter complained in a warped yell. Alien Gun Guy gave him a brutish look and then swung him through the window.

Peter grunted as he crashed through the window, wincing at the clinking shatter of glass that broke under him, but, surprisingly, none of the glass managed to grab at him and slice through his skin, even as he was shot across the street from the force of the alien weapon, only stopping when he thudded against the wall. He groaned as the air was forced out of him.

At least the suit had kept him from getting cut.

"Ugh... The hell." The teenager shook his head, forcing himself back to his feet, clinging to the wall for just a moment as he blinked out dizziness. Remembering himself, he turned back to the bodega across the street, panicking when his head pounded. That wasn't from being hit, that was his spider sense.

The men ran out of the door, hulking along a cash register and a handful of cigarette packs, but the teenage girl had yet to leave and his head only pounded harder. Spider-Man dashed across the road, leaping through the already broken window, his breath catching as he caught sight of the purple thing sitting on the ground in the middle of the bodega. It whined, louder and louder.

Bomb. Bomb!

Peter's head shot around so fast he physically winced, but he caught sight of the teenager behind the counter. Working on instinct, he jumped over the counter as the whine reached its apex, wrapping his arms around the girl and pushing himself between her and the bomb. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth.

The world shook and she let out a surprised cry into his shoulder but didn't let go. Peter barely managed to hold down a whimper of fear. Be brave, be a hero. Be brave, be a hero. He could do it. He was fine.

He was fine.

Peter blinked his eyes open, moving carefully to peer over the counter.

"Dammit," he muttered. The rest of the windows had shattered, and just about every product in the store had been knocked back and now littered the ground. A tile fell from the ceiling, making him tense his shoulders. They'd gotten away. Some hero he was.

"I have a nickname for you, Peter," Karen said in his ear. He frowned in annoyance. Well, he had told her to tell him once the situation was over.

"Great," he snapped, stepping over the counter, his boot crunching on the glass. "What is it?"

"Peter-butter!"

"...Okay that's actually pretty good."

  ---

After double checking that the cashier was alright, Peter had fled the scene, cursing himself for how bad it had gone. Nobody had died, but that wasn't really the standard he was looking for. If anything, he'd really just made everything worse. Stupid, Parker, stupid!

The teenager sighed, dipping into the dark alleyway where his backpack had been left earlier. He grabbed it from under the crate of boxes where he'd hidden it, pressing the spider emblem on his chest, allowing the suit to cascade off of him. Frustrated, Peter ripped the mask off and untangled himself from the fabric at his feet, stuffing the items in his faded blue bag and jumping back into his own clothes, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him.

He pulled the bag over his shoulder and buried his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets in the direction of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys. His brows were furrowed and his face squished into a deep frown. He couldn't believe he'd been given a superhero suit by literally Iron Man and he'd screwed it up immediately. He chittered nervously at the thought of Mr. Stark seeing what had happened at the bodega and realizing just how shit of a superhero his soulmate was.

As he was debating the likely-hood of Mr. Stark taking the suit back and never talking to him again for his screw up, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, Peter pulled it out to find two texts waiting for him. One from Ned and one from Mr. Stark.

He clicked on the one from Ned first. The text app opened up to show Peter a grainy picture of him in his new suit followed by Ned's message of 'Excuse me??? tf is this?? tell me everything rn or im going to die'

Peter smiled faintly, making a mental note to call his friend in a few minutes. With a deep breath, he clicked on Mr. Stark's message.

Mr. Stark: I saw the news. You okay?

Peter blinked. He wasn't mad? He chewed on his lip as he sent a response, 'All good. Sorry I freaked you out.' 

Mr. Stark texted back almost immediately, 'No problem. Just glad you're good. Text ya later, kiddo.'

And that was that, Peter supposed. No...no nothing, really. He'd expected a lot more resistance or opposition from the billionaire, but he wasn't mad that he hadn't gotten any. He was about to call Ned when his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Stark: 'P.S. You can talk to and text Karen through your phone. Knock yourself out, Peter-butter.'

Well, that was embarrassing. But still kinda cool.

With a shake of his head, he finally dialed Ned's number. His friend only picked up after two rings with a breathless greeting.

"Yo, what the hell is up with that suit? Did Mr. Stark make it for you? Are you super hero buddies now!!? Officially his sidekick!!?"

Peter smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he stopped at a streetlight. "Yeah, Mr. Stark made it for me. It's cool right? It even has an AI!"

"It has an AI!!? Please, please, tell me you'll let me look at it."

"Duh. Yeah, you can look at it. We can go to your house after school." Peter thought for a moment, thinking of the alien weapons. He'd messed up today, probably disappointed Mr. Stark, but if he could take the whole operation down... "Besides, I need your help with something."

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[dannymayevent]

Congrats to tumblr user @omgiamwish for completing Dannymay 2020! All of your art was fantastic, and we appreciate so much all of the hard work you put into creating something new each day.

This fic was written by @lexosaurus based on your art for Day 29 Heat.

tw character death

---

The first thing Danny registered was the smoke.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his face. It was too early for this. Goddamnit, it was a Saturday too, wasn’t it? What the hell were his parents doing?

He tried to force himself back asleep because he would be damned if he woke up at what-the-hell-o’clock because of whatever stunt his parents were pulling, but for some reason his body refused to cooperate.

But why? It was just a little bit of smoke...

Wait.

A high-pitched scream sounded from another room.

Smoke.

Danny bolted up, throwing the blanket off him and shooting out of bed. His eyes darted around him only to be met with black waves of smoke billowing in from his door.

What…?

He stumbled to his door and went to grab the handle, only to pull his hand away hissing at the contact.

The door handle was hot. It was hot!

Danny stepped back, coughing. What was happening?

His throat was suddenly tight in a way that made Danny unsure if the smoke was to blame. He stared down at his hands with wide eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

The air was growing denser by the second. And it was hot, so hot. Vaguely, he could see some red and orange flicker in the corner of his room, but he couldn’t look to see what it was because it hurt to breathe and the air was hot and it was pressing down on Danny and choking him and he needed to get out of here.

Someone screamed again—Jazz—and Danny darted through the door, transforming into Phantom as he did—

Bad idea. 

The heat increased tenfold, and for a moment Danny was blinded by the clouds of smoke. He coughed and looked around, his eyes watering. He blinked and looked around, his stomach dropping as his worst fears were becoming a reality:

Fire. The house was on fire.

He coughed again, nearly collapsing into the carpet. It was too hot. Phantom may not have needed to breathe as much as Fenton would, but Phantom had an ice core. His ghost half didn’t do well in the heat.

He needed to get out of here. 

“Jazz!” Danny yelled, staggering forward into the hallway. 

The fire licked at the walls, devouring anything in its path with a verocaty that Danny had never seen before. It reached out to him with spindly fingers, desperate to grasp onto his clothes and skin. 

It was too hot.

“JAZZ!”

He spun around. Where were his mom and dad? Where were the firemen? Why wasn’t the fire alarm going off?

The fire roared in his ears, and the ceiling creaked above him, planks of wood scattering onto the ground. His core...

No…

Danny threw himself against Jazz’s door, but it didn’t budge. 

“Jazz, please!”

He closed his eyes and focused. His core was vibrating, begging him to get out of here but he fought against it, willing himself intangible as he fell through Jazz’s door.

The door burst into flames.

Danny scrambled away from the fire and demanded his shaking body upright, only to immediately regret it as he doubled over, coughing.

“Jazz!” he wheezed. 

The fire surrounded him, dancing around as if it were mocking him. It spun and wove its way to and fro throughout the room, inviting him into its arms.

No...he needed to...he needed to find Jazz.

But through his blurred vision, he surveyed the room. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here. 

The ceiling groaned, finally giving into its battle against the heat. It collapsed, falling around Danny, smashing into walls and floors like a tidal wave. Danny’s hand shot up and, with the last of his reserve, he forced an ecto-shield over his body.

A beam swung down from the ceiling, shattering his shield and knocking his body across the room. A searing burn overtook his torso, and he curled in on himself, gasping as he lay on Jazz’s floor.

It was too hot. There was too much smoke.

He couldn’t breathe.

Jazz…

“Please…”

It was so..so…

The window shattered, and Danny’s eyes widened as he saw the fire instantly ravage the rest of the room. Time slowed down and, without thinking, he pushed himself over the ledge of what used to be Jazz’s room.

He hit the ground hard, wheezing for the breath that was knocked out of him and blinking away the black spots that were trying to overtake his vision. His fists gripped the grass. Lights flashed around him and in the distance he heard sirens.

“Phantom?” a stranger’s voice called out from behind him.

Danny closed his eyes, ignoring the man. His core trembled under his skin and he clawed at his chest, begging for his core to understand that he wasn’t in the fire anymore it was okay please stop please stop but deep down he knew that this wasn’t from the fire.

Please…

It was too hot.

---

“You switched majors? But you were so into sports in high school! Hell, you were my best teammate.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure about electrical engineering at first, but my professors have been awesome and the classes are actually really cool. My parents are still pushing for me to be a doctor, though. You know how they can be.”

“Eh, screw ‘em. No offense, Kwan, but you’d cry at every patient.”

Kwan snorted. “That’s fair. So what about you, Mr. High School Quarterback? You still going for sports science?”

“Yeah,” Dash said, rounding the street corner. “But you know, it’s funny. When I was younger I always pictured myself as a football coach or something like that, but honestly I’ve really gotten into the PT side of things. I’ll probably still get my athletic trainer certification next year—I might as well—but I think I want to go more into injury rehabilitation and stuff like that.”

“I think you’d be a great physical therapist. You should totally go for it.”

“Thanks, man.”

Dash glanced over at Kwan, marveling at the changes in the other boy. Though Kwan was always outwardly confident in high school, Dash had been close enough with him at the time to be able to pick out the subtle insecurity lingering just behind his eyes. But that insecure arrogance was long gone and now replaced with a different kind of confidence, one far more relaxed and approachable. His stride had even changed, from the rigid linebacker to an easygoing college undergrad.

Kwan rambled on about some new ecto-friendly technology, and Dash couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lit up in excitement.  But then that expression flashed into one of shock before settling on something far more somber. He raised his arm out in front of him and said, “Look, he’s still there.”

Dash’s eyes trailed back out to the line of houses in front of him, sweeping the seemingly normal neighborhood before landing on one home that sent ice curling through his veins. “Wow. He is.”

“It’s been five years now, right?”

“I think so.”

“I wonder if he’s left that spot at all since then.”

Dash shook his head. His throat felt tight. “Doubt it. Remember when the mayor tried to get him out of there? Phantom went totally berserk. Mr. Masters even managed to track down some of Phantom’s old ghost friends too, but it didn’t work.”

“It’s so sad.” 

“Yeah.” Dash stared at the tumbled mass of broken brick. No one could touch it, not with Phantom guarding it like his existence depended on it.

...and maybe it did.

Phantom was calm now, that much Dash could see. He sat cross-legged hovering just above the pile of what used to be the Fenton’s house. His back was towards the road, and from a distance he still resembled the protective angel that used to guard the town. But Dash knew, and everyone else in Amity Park knew, that if they got too close to the old home, then like a switch Phantom would turn into a rabid animal, attacking everything and everyone on site.

No, it was best to leave him be. The town had already fenced off the property, preventing drunk teens with a death wish from becoming the next breaking news headline. 

After all, Amity Park didn’t have a guardian protecting its citizens anymore.

“Do you think he thinks he can still save them? The Fentons?” Kwan asked, pulling Dash out of his thoughts.

“I...don’t know. I don’t think anyone really knows what he’s thinking.”

They walked by the house. Even though they were still a sizable distance from Phantom, Dash could still feel the cold otherworldly chill crawl up his arms. He forced his gaze away from the glowing figure, if only as some thinly-veiled attempt to prevent the ghost’s attention.

Not that it would have mattered. Phantom didn’t seem to register anything other than the safety of the burnt pile of rubble. It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist to the ghost.

Dash paused at the next street corner and looked back one more time at the cursed plot of land. From this angle, he could finally see Phantom’s face. His eyes were wide open, glowing, and empty. His expression was one of stone. He sat with his hands on his knees, staring at the pile of rubble beneath him.

Dash sighed and turned away. There was nothing he could do. Nothing that anyone else could do.

They moved onto the next block, leaving Phantom behind.

[hisunshiine]

Money Heist | knj | Part 2

moodboard 1 | moodboard 2 | playlist | Netflix ReImagined BTS Masterlist

↳ #NetflixReImaginedBTS: Kim Namjoon x Reader starring in a bank robbery au

↳ M-18+, implied sexual content, major character deaths, bank robbery actions (violence, use of weapons, deciet)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Money Heist Masterlist | Heathfritillary (author)

The world around me began to collapse. Brick by brick, the space I had occupied for a month began to fall apart. The foundation was shaking beneath my feet. This was it. There was no place I could run or hide. Like a mouse caught in a maze, I was trapped inside the walls of the Bank of Korea.

The enemy was about to enter. Blasting through a wall in the basement, I could hear faint and muffled voices shouting on the other side as my mind attempted to comprehend the explosion that occurred right before my eyes. The ferocious ringing in my ear made me light-headed as I fell on the floor, clutching on to the L85 as I crawled, evading the bullets that kept shooting toward me before I hid behind a metal object.

Every inch of me shook, my heart pounded against my chest, reaching its breaking point while I desperately tried to collect my accelerated breath. There was no way in hell they were going to take me. I would never surrender.

The sound of Gwacheon’s voice shouting my name pulled me out of the mind-numbing situation I had caught myself in. Senses were slowly recovering as I caught his gesture. He kept waving, leading me to safety beside him but I knew I could not make it over to him. One of those bullets was inevitably going to meet my flesh.

“I can’t,” I shouted before taking a quick glance at my surroundings, “The hostages fled,” I explained. Gwacheon had asked for more hostages, preferably the strongest men, to assist him to create a way for us to escape the bank unscathed. But I had stupidly gone by myself. Despite the big gun in my hands, they overpowered me and as soon as I thought they would shoot me, the explosion happened and they ran through the wall the police had created.

“Damn it, London!” I watched him as he began to fire back, ignoring one of the Professor’s sacred rules to successfully pull off the heist, ‘no casualties’. He kept firing his weapon, disabling the authorities from entering and momentarily ceasing fire. I rushed over to him, “Are you hurt?” he asked out of breath as he hastily began to add more ammo to his gun.

I nodded as I attempted to shake off the close encounter. Had I been closer to the wall, I was certain that those heavy bricks would have buried me. The grace of God was the reason why I was still breathing.

➰

Gwacheon and I separated as we escaped the basement. I heard another explosion and figured that he had managed to block off anyone trying to enter the bank from below us. Before we parted ways, he told me to inform everyone and to activate phase four of the plan.

I entered the main part of the bank. The tall ceiling, huge chandelier, and mosaic art tiles greeted me as I walked past the hostages who were bound together by the wrists, sitting on the floor with a terrified look on their faces. I ignored every single one of them as GC caught my signal and approached me.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked quietly, trying not to attract too much attention from the hostages.

“An explosion. The way we planned to escape, we can’t anymore.”

“We heard gunshots.”

“It was the police. Gwacheon blocked them out,” GC visibly sank his shoulders as he let out a sigh of relief.

“And the hostages you took?”

“Escaped.”

“Goddamn it, London.”

“That’s not our biggest concern right now. The police are getting impatient.”

“As are we. We’ve been here for days.”

I sensed his growing frustration and placed my hand on his shoulder as a gesture of reassurance, “Gwacheon wants phase four,” GC's eyes enlarged as he straightened his posture. I stared out at the hostages and met a pregnant woman’s teary eyes, “We have to leave them,” I whispered, “They want them safe.”

GC matched the direction of my gaze, “We can’t hand all of them over. Without them,” he paused as he ripped his eyes from the hostages, “You know this. They will shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Stay here.” I requested and heard GC behind me as he ordered the hostages to listen to him. He was going to do his part and initiate phase four. We needed the most valuable hostages to ensure our survival and everyone else would be handed to the police camping outside the bank.

➰

I entered the CEO’s office that had turned into our discussion room. Everything happened here. With the President of the bank, himself, tied to his own chair present. Including the only real leverage we had and the reason why the police had not stormed the bank, the President of South Korea.

During our planning phase, Busan discovered that twice a month President Moon would visit the bank. Often he would speak with the President of the bank and we would secretly listen in on their conversation.

It was Ilsan’s idea and the Professor liked it. We would rob the bank on the day the President of South Korea would be there.

I laughed when Ilsan said it was poetic, in fact he said, there was something beautiful about robbing the nation of its money while the savior of the country had to forcibly watch as we fucked him in the ass. Ilsan was a sadistic fucker and it made me fall harder for him. He did not care but the Professor made sure he, along with the rest of us, understood that no harm was allowed to be done to the President.

President Moon’s eyes grew wider as I entered the office and explained everything that happened to Ilsan. As the person in charge, I informed him about Gwacheon’s need to activate phase four. He glared at me momentarily before he turned his attention back to the wall behind the two Presidents.

Neatly hung every cellphone of each hostage, including their wallets, “54 hostages in total,” Ilsan was deep in thought and would often talk out loud as he contemplated something, “We only need ten,” he then returned to the room and smiled at me, “Actually we could release every hostage except,” he paused as he teasingly pointed at the Presidents, “These two.”

“Where is my daughter? What are you doing?” The President of the bank hulked in desperate anger.

“You should contact the Professor.” I dismissed the man and asked Ilsan.

“No. I will call the negotiator, tell that bitch what’s happening and buy us some time by releasing some hostages.”

“Some, not all.”

“As a sign of good faith, we will release those in dire need of medical attention,” he smiled at me as he brushed away the hair strands from my face, “You have dust all over you.”

“Yeah, cutting it close.”

“Your gun?” He raised an eyebrow as he bit his inner cheek.

“They took it when they ambushed me.”

“I see,” he grabbed my face and slowly examined the bruises the hostages inflicted on my jaw, “You shouldn’t have gone alone. You don’t get to go alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“They could have shot you too. Busan is still critical.”

“I’m aware, Namj--” I paused mid-sentence as I remembered we were in the middle of a heist. The Professor explicitly did not want any of us growing close and he certainly did not want anyone falling in love.

No real names, city names only. Those were the rules.

However, Ilsan and I engaged in something that none of us could have foreseen. Love. Despite how hard we tried - in those initial months in Jindo - to resist and fight our urges, they grew stronger. Regardless of how intriguing he was, how smart, and how utterly attracted I was to him, I tried to cast aside all emotions until I gave in until he did as well.

One weak moment and I found myself in his room. And before I knew it, months of boring planning the heist had turned into months of planning for a heist while secreting and daily breaking a sacred rule.

We got closer, closer than intended and he and I were on a first-name basis and after the beach house found out the Professor did not agree. Busan did not either and could not see why I would choose Ilsan over him. Soon, however, everyone eased to the idea and Ilsan made sure our relationship would not interfere with our collective wish to see the heist through. And I agreed. He was not going to get in the way of me receiving my cut.

Ilsan glared at me briefly, irritation spewing through his eyes as he ignored my unintentional slip-up, “How far is Gwacheon? And Gwangju?”

“We need a new route.”

“Go find out how much we have. We might be able to leave sooner.”

➰

If the Professor was the planner then Ilsan was the enforcer. He called every shot and assessed each problem as they emerged and chose the strategy he saw fit.

Back in Jindo, the Professor made sure everyone else knew that Ilsan was the ringleader. Gwacheon did not appreciate having someone with less experience as the leader of the heist and unfortunately, Daegu and Gwangju followed pursuit with the same thought and it caused some tension between them.

Essentially it was boys being toxic as hell. Who had the biggest dick?

However, Ilsan proved himself with the knowledge he possessed and it caused Gwacheon to ease upon him. Daegu grew fascinated and requested Busan find information on him. Curiosity got the better of me and I read the information about him.

Ilsan was suspected to steal from the Queen of England, breaking into Buckingham Palace by himself and gathering her jewelry, some going as far back as seven generations. Ilsan was not just a thieve but a deadly one. Daegu could admire that including Gwangju and with this information, they figured it was better to keep him happy.

The guys were excited to have him part of the team whereas I grew more inward. At that point, I was aware I had some interest in him. However, I could not admit it to myself.

In all honesty, Ilsan terrified me slightly. He was not someone I could read well and that alone scared me. He could express himself with little or no words but at the same time, he would let his guard down and simply be a guy around the others. I did not know where to place him.

Something changed, however, within those first few weeks after he entered the beach house. He hardly spoke to me. We avoided each other, almost religiously. A part of me was relieved but if I was, to be honest with myself and the emotions I was developing, I only avoided him because I was afraid to be alone with him.

I was not too sure whether or not he could sense it but I found myself running into him at the most unintentional moments. Although it was innocent at first, those run-ins would become more frequent. Sometimes, despite the hesitation and resistance at first, we would talk and those conversations became longer. Other times we would steal quick glances and before I knew it, it naturally turned into something I swore I would not do with any of these men.

A mere accidental touch would turn into lingering gazes that later became a need to be closer to each other.

I was not certain when it happened but I had developed strong feelings for Ilsan. And after the first physical connection, I had not been able to take my hands off him. It was primal, needy and above anything else, it was a vigorous emotion. It felt as if he was someone I had longed for without even knowing.

So, it became easy to take directions from him. Despite everything I knew and any opinions I had, I became disloyal to them and strictly loyal to Ilsan.

It felt real. He felt right.

The cafeteria area of the bank was where we had placed Busan. I entered with a heavy heart, slowly approaching the table we had set up for him. Ilsan had spoken to the negotiator and demanded a doctor and a nurse to enter the bank. They complied but only if we released two hostages and we did.

The red-haired nurse stood up from her seat as she nervously eyed me, “There’s nothing to report, Miss.”

“Did I ask?” I dismissively brushed off her statement as I kept my glance at Busan. I towered over him and gently placed my hand close to the gunshot wound the sniper from across the street had fired yesterday. A low sigh evaded his lips and he gingerly whispered my city name into a weak smile, “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.”

I caressed his golden locks and grew aware of the two strangers observing me. Leaning closer to his ear, I murmured, “Phase four,” he stared at me and I nodded as soon as I could tell he understood what was happening.

Hastily, he began to sit up but I held him down, “No please, I can brush it off.”

“Your shoulder is out, you’ve lost too much blood,” I reminded him, “Focus on getting your strength back.”

“I’m fine, London.” He sat up and the monitor the negotiator had provided began to beep louder, his heart rate accelerated and I could not help but feel like shit for involving him, “I have to do my part.”

“I’ve got this, Busan.” He stared at me momentarily, confusion and defeat coated his gaze until he let out a sigh. He knew I would not back down, “I’ll talk to you soon.” With a gentle kiss on his cheek, I shot the red-haired nurse a glare and pushed her to the side, far from Busan’s wandering ear, “Take care of him or else,” I threatened before I left them.

➰

I spotted Gwangju and gestured for him to climb down from the rail. The Professor wanted to replicate his previous heist in Spain. The plan was never to rob the Bank of Korea but to print out more money. And we did. With Gwangju in charge, eight days was all we needed to print out 901 million in South Korean WON.

It was not a quick robbery but a methodical and thoroughly thought out plan. The Professor had done it before and all of Spain and Europe was looking for him.

He was bold.

If we made it through the heist with the money and unscathed, it meant that the Professor was a mastermind in the bank robbery. One, no police officer could catch. However, as excited as I was to be a part of his crew, the Professor made it crystal clear - before any of us had agreed - that blood would be spilled. He had seen it back in Spain. He lost a handful of good people during and after the heist.

The pain of it still haunted him.

All of us understood the consequences and continued on with his plan. But after Busan, I was grateful that only one of us had gotten hurt. He was not dead and that was all that mattered. Moreover, when the bullet penetrated Busan’s shoulder, I realized that this was real life. There was no going back. I was in this heist.

Ilsan froze when the negotiator mentioned the Professor’s real name including some of the other guys’. Mine as well as Daegu’s, GC’s, Ilsan’s identities had yet to be found but we were sure it was only a matter of time.

The negotiator was ruthless, adamant about knowing who the thieves were. I felt certain she would try her hardest and find all of us but more importantly, she would have us executed for embarrassing the nation and capturing the President of Korea. Thanks to Busan’s profile on her, I knew she would never back down.

“You ready?” Gwangju asked with a grin on his face as he jumped down the ground, “These hostages are the most hard-working bunch I have ever seen,” like a child eager to show his parents his accomplishments, Gwangju took my hand and guided me through the process. “Every ten minutes, we are printing 500.000 KRW.”

“Wow,” I murmured.

“Wow? Just wow?” He shook me slightly with a grin, “They are working hard, overworking, overtime,” he raised his voice to get my mood elevated before reaching for his megaphone, “We are having fun, right guys?” He yelled out and the hostages obeyed him. He laughed as he turned to me. His expression changed upon noticing my unfazed reaction, “Alright, what the hell is wrong?”

“I need the guns.”

He frowned with a small head tilt, “Daegu has them.”

“He’s not at the vault.”

“Then I don’t kno--” he paused briefly as he scanned my red jumpsuit, “Why is there dust all over you?”

“Phase four is beginning.”

“No, no. We can’t. I am nowhere near the amount.”

“The police are right under our feet and Seok--” I paused as I bit my tongue, correcting myself, “Gwacheon bought us some time but we need to leave soon. How much?”

Gwangju glanced around as he contemplated the amount he had managed to print, “A little over half.”

“It’s been four days!”

“Yeah and like I told the Professor for that amount, I need eight days. These machines aren’t the latest model, I’ll ruin them.”

“Then ruin them!”

“That’s not how it works, kid.” One of the machines began to malfunction, so loud as a jam occurred and smoke appeared from it, “Fuck!” Gwangju rushed over to the machine being operated by an elderly male hostage. He seemed fragile and I wondered why Gwangju personally had requested him. Poor man. I was sure he did not expect to become a hostage when he left his home in the morning. But Gwangju said he had experience according to Busan, and this hostage had worked at the bank for over 35 years.

“Sir,” the elderly man started, “One of the bills is stuck.”

“Shit,” he exclaimed as he climbed back up to the rail to get a closer look.

“Gwangju,” I yelled after him and he glanced down at me, “Walkie up. We need to go soon. Phase four.” He nodded as he waved at his walkie talkie.

➰

I had to search for Daegu. He was the only one left to be informed about Gwacheon’s need to activate phase four. With my walkie talkie in hand and a fast pace, I searched every room within the bank until I spotted Daegu exiting the bathroom.

He eyed me momentarily with a frown and questioned what happened to my jumpsuit. I had not seen myself but I was certain I looked like a mess. None of the bullets hit me but the explosion created a sky of dust made of brick that coated every inch of my red suit.

I explained to Daegu what happened and although his eyes were filled with concern, he hastily guided me to one of the vaults he had hidden our weaponry. “Thanks,” I murmured as he handed me another L85, “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“We’ll flush them out.”

“You and me?”

“Unless you’d prefer that GC or Ilsan take the post?”

“No, no.”

Daegu handed me a bulletproof vest and I began to put it on, “You’re hesitating.”

“I’m not.”

“London, it’s alright that you don’t want to hurt anyone but,” he paused as he assisted me with the vest while staring intensely into my eyes, “If it’s a matter of your life versus someone else’s, I hope you choose yourself above anyone else. Any hesitation on your part will lead to a bullet in your head,” he placed his index finger in between my eyebrows, “You have a duty to this team. Stay alive and do your part.”

➰

Phase four. One of the many plans the Professor had created if the heist did not go as intended. At no point were the authorities supposed to come inside the bank with their guns blazing. It was not the correct protocol. Busan suspected this and made it clear to us. The Professor had to figure out a way to secure our safety, in the events that Busan’s theory about the negotiator was right, and prevent an active shoot out. The Professor’s main focus was to make sure that there were no casualties. The murder was something he never wished to be pinned on us.

“Are you ready?” Daegu eyed me as he pressed the elevator that would take us down to the basement.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The plan was simple. Ilsan would hide the Presidents and then join us. Gwangju would collect the money he had printed and meet Gwacheon at the new escape route. Busan was out of commission, so I had to take his spot. GC would dress all of the hostages into the same red jumpsuits we wore, including arm them with fake guns, to throw off the authorities and slow them down, even for a moment. The Professor explained that that single moment of hesitation on their part meant our lives. The hesitation would make all of the difference.

Although I feared for my life, I could not allow it to cripple me. As much as I wanted to go back to my initial post of helping Gwacheon, Daegu ordered Seoul to take my spot when we spotted him on our way out of the vault. This meant that Seoul’s initial position of studying the police’s every move was unchecked. We had no idea when and where the authorities would strike from. We were at a disadvantage.

However, we had an ace up our sleeves.

Phase two was never activated which meant the police had no clue that the heist mastermind known as the Professor was the brains behind this operation. Up until now, the negotiator had only spoken to Ilsan. She knew he was the one in charge but luckily for us, and thanks to the Professor’s methodical planning, we had another pair of eyes informing us where they would strike.

Seoul had infiltrated their system as soon as we took over the bank. This enabled the Professor to be a step ahead of the police. He knew everything they were saying, contemplated, everything they could see he would know and inform Ilsan. Even our walkie talkies were undetected by them. Seoul kept changing the frequency. It made the police unaware of our communication to the outside. Moreover, due to Seoul’s technology skills, they were unable to hack into the security system within the bank because he had sneakily created software and encryption that made it impossible to hack months prior.

Seoul was no amateur. He might have been the youngest and the most naive of the group but he was by far the smartest.

The elevator doors opened and Daegu and I stepped out with our guns positioned, ready to fire at anyone who roamed the basement. The flickering lights, million pieces of shattered bricks on the floor, and the sound of - what I assumed was a pipe that broke - dripping water made me clutch the L85 tighter. We did not speak. Through hand signals, Daegu gestured we took a right turn but to keep his back safe. I walked behind him as he signaled the coast was clear.

We walked deeper into the basement until we found ourselves close to where the explosion happened. It was walled off, exactly how Gwacheon intended but a small gasp escaped me upon realizing that some of the officers that came through the hole were now buried in the aftermath of the second explosion.

“Let’s go.” Daegu gently tapped my shoulder, “Today, we need to leave today.”

No casualties. That was the rule. One of the most sacred rules. Without rules humans were barbaric, the Professor often said. And he was right. No one was supposed to get hurt. I understood it and agreed. It did not feel morally correct to take someone’s life. However, I was the reason why Busan was still breathing. They did not care who they shot at through the window, his life, and the kind of man he was. They did not bat an eye for his well being.

The Professor could call me barbaric, he could scold me and kick me off the team but right this instance, as I stared down at the man who fired the shot against the sweetest man I had ever the pleasure to meet, I was glad that Gwacheon buried them. Trigger happy pricks.

↣ all rights reserved © heathfritillary 2021. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed. 

[datawyrms]

A Victory

Dannymay 2020 13: Regret With the fifth crackling whine of the ghost shield repelling an attacker, the half-ghost finally admitted he was not going to get any sleep without dealing with the determined intruder. He had hoped the ghost would have gotten bored by now, but a glimpse out of the window confirmed the circling specter was just looking to make yet another attempt.

He rubbed at his temples, letting out a long sigh. Three nights of this, as if the first had not been enough. The ghost’s near feral dedication in trying to get past something they knew couldn’t be breached made a hint of guilt scrabble at his spine. Perhaps they were so angry they’d forgotten that fact.

He stepped out into the cold night air, waiting for the ghost to notice he was no longer in the building. The shrieking electrical howl of the shield thirty seconds later confirmed he had the furious spirit’s attention. He frowned at it as it panted in mid air, eyes furiously fixed on him.

“Daniel. You need to stop this. All you are doing is being an annoyance.” Vlad’s frown deepened as the ghost simply snarled at him. Surely he couldn’t have degraded that badly, even from a severe emotional shock. “Get a hold of yourself! What do you mean to accomplish with this?”

Green eyes flared with a hatred he had not seen in years. The snarling made more sense as the ghost opened its mouth, ectoplasm running down it’s face, teeth a foul shade of green. “You’ll. Regret this.” it spat, raspy and weak.

It was hard to keep down a grimace. “You are the one who’s damaged yourself with mindless wailing. Go home.”

The gurgling sputtering wheeze of a laugh would likely make a lesser man vomit. “Where’s that?”

He could not actually tell if the white haired ghost was joking or not. Playing dumb was certainly the teenager’s natural state, but slamming yourself into an electrified brick wall could have taken him to Jack levels of dimness. “You know where you live, you’ve watched too many horror movies.”

Danny cocked his head at an unsettling angle, scowl returning. “Don’t live anywhere.” He paused to slam a gloved hand into the ghost shield, ignoring the shriek until the stench of burning ectoplasm forced him backwards. “Your fault.”

“You decided to get in the way. Not that it did you any good, you foolish boy.” he scowled back at the petulant ghost, trying to ignore the pang of regret that moment had caused. Danny had been human at the time, he shouldn’t have had the energy or time to block the lethal blow meant for Jack. Yet the insufferable boy managed it.

The ghost preferred to growl in answer this time, not interested in hearing the truth.

“Your idiot father didn’t even die. Just go away Daniel. Seeing you like this is pathetic.”

That prompted another slam, fury almost audible in the savagery of the hit. The ghost skidded across the grass when thrown back this time, laying in an angry leaking lump for several minutes before managing to get up again.

So much for possibly getting him to be sensible. Death had only made the boy more emotional instead of less. Not caring that it was the middle of the night, he dialed a number.

The voice that answered was hoarse and filled with vitriol. “What do you want.”

“Jazz, if you could be so kind to keep your brother from splattering himself all over my lawn, it would be appreciated.”

“There’s no point. He’ll just go back.” The hatred was still there, but there was a heavy pain too.

“I wouldn’t expect you of all people to give up on him so quickly. Surely you can redirect him to coming home.” Vlad fiddled with a sleeve, one eye on what used to be the only other half ghost around.

“Dad didn’t make it.” her voice hitched, trying desperately not to let this murderer hear her cry. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.” She hung up quickly, leaving him to wrestle with the emotions that news caused. His gambit had worked, Jack may have survived the attack, but apparently it had been a temporary reprieve. 

He’d won, and accomplished his long standing goal despite Daniel’s meddling. There should be pride, some joy, anything but this emptiness.

Jack was dead, and what did he have? Daniel, a full ghost who had learned his final sacrifice had been meaningless, driven into a near feral quest for vengeance. The love of his life aware of what Daniel had been, considering how his ghost crawled out of his corpse. Likely Jazz would tell her exactly who had killed both of them, now that Daniel’s secret was meaningless.

For an absolute victory, it certainly tasted like regret.

(edit: one should totally check the art here by cardcaptorkatara)

[hotchocolatewriting]

‘Falling’ in love

My first attempt to write a villain that flirts, hope you like it! Hero saw villain standing on another rooftop. They had a smug smile on their face and gestured for hero to come and get them. Hero started to run and jumped from one rooftop to another. They were so close now, only one jump left. Hero jumped, but their feet hit the edge rooftop and they fell right in front of villain. “Already falling for me, I see.” Hero’s face slowly turned red. “If you want to throw me from this building now, I wouldn’t complain.” Hero said embarrassed. “You’re doing a fine job at that yourself.” Villain laughed but took hero’s hand. “I’d rather do this.” Villain pulled them against their chest and held them close. Hero looked up at them. Their hands against villain’s chest. Their cheeks turned a bright red color and villain smiled. Hero shook their head. What were they doing?! They pushed themselves away from villain. Their feet slipped and they stumbled backwards. Villain tried to grab their hand. “Hero!” Air rushed past their ears and hero landed on the ground with a loud thud and then everything turned black before their eyes. Hero woke up in a soft bed of a nice room. There were candles burning and the room was dark except for the desk were villain was working. The desk was filled with paint, pencils and other art supplies and hero saw some paintings on the walls around them. Hero focused on villain again. They didn’t seem to know that hero was awake and they were still working on whatever it was they were doing. Their hands were covered in paint and their face looked like they were focusing very hard to try and remember something. Hero tried to sit up but immediately regretted that decision when they noticed a shooting pain running through their back that made them cry out. Villain turned their face towards them and observed their slow movements. “Awake, I see,” villain concluded. They turned the lights on without leaving their desk. “Where am I?” “You’re in my room darling. I hoped your first time here would be for other reasons, but fine it is as it is.” “Wait.. this is your bed?!” Villain rolled their eyes. “Yes of course it is, it’s my room. Did you think I sleep on the floor or something?” Hero had a look of disgust on their face and got out of the bed as fast as they could. Villain laughed at that. “Why didn’t you bring me to a hospital?” Villain shrugged. “I know that beautiful body of yours can handle something. Besides, I wouldn’t have missed this reaction of yours for anything in the world. Your expression was far too precious.” Hero walked to the door and tried to open it. They were so done with villain this time. That stupid flirt! But of course, hero should have known that villain would have locked it. Hero growled angrily. “What’s wrong darling, you seem… bothered.” Villain had that same smug smile on their face as when they were on the rooftop. “It’s locked and will you stop calling me that?!” “But of course… darling.” Villain was taunting them. They had a devilish grin now which made hero want to slam themselves in the face out of annoyance. Hero pulled at the door once again, knowing all too well that it wouldn’t do anything. “You’re not leaving if that’s what you want.” Hero turned to face villain again, but they sat with their back towards hero now, working on what hero thought was their next piece. “You better make yourself comfortable, that was quite the drop you made.” Villain still didn’t look at them. Hero slowly sat down on the bed again. They let their eyes go over the room a second time. Hero studied the paintings a little better now. There was one with a large treehouse which almost looked like a castle in the trees. Another painting displayed a beautiful landscape with a medieval village in the distance and the loveliest painting was the one hanging above villain’s desk. A painting with beautiful colors and a sky during sunset. There was a dragon flying in the sky and on the ground, in the corner of the painting, there was an elf with a wolf beside them. “You made all of these yourself?” Villain hummed but didn’t quite answer. Hero got to their feet again and walked towards villain. “And what is it that you’re working on right now?” “Nothing special. Just lie down again, you were far cuter when you were asleep. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” But hero didn’t listen and villain turned sharply, getting to their feet and standing in front of what they were painting. Their expression was… different. Hero raised an eyebrow. “So… what is it that you're so desperately trying to hide from me?” hero asked when they attempted to look past villain, who was far bigger than they were. “What is it that you don't want me to see.” “None of your concern. Do your shoulders hurt? You can take a shower, maybe that will help.” Hero shook their head and smiled at seeing villain becoming more and more nervous with every passing second as they continued to hide something from them. “No thank you, I’m fine, just like you said. That ‘beautiful body’ of mine can handle something.” Villain cursed under their breath. “Here you can have the key, you can leave now.” Villain tossed them the key, but hero didn’t let that distract them. “O how the tables have turned, now you're the one who's shy. What were you working on villain?” Hero still came closer and villain tried to hide it once more by standing in front of it, blocking hero’s view. Hero was so close now that villain took them by their shoulders to prevent them from looking. “Okay, okay, fine, I will show you, but please don't laugh.” Villain gave in and stepped aside to show hero the piece they had been working on all day. It was a painting of hero staring up like they had done last night. They had little blushes on their cheeks and a lock of hair just in front of their mask. "Why would I laugh? I'm rather amazed. It's beautiful, villain, it looks like a picture!" Villain looked away, their cheeks red from embarrassment. "You looked so beautiful with those blushes and sparkling eyes. It was the moment right before you realized what was happening, but you looked so stunning and I couldn’t get the image out of my head, so I had to paint it although it doesn't look quite as lovely as you do." “Now you've seen it, will you please lie down again and heal?” Why do they care? Hero thought. “In your bed?” they asked. “Yes in my bed, where else?” Villain rolled their eyes. Hero slowly crawled back underneath the soft blankets of villain’s bed. It was warm and comfortable. Hero’s back was grateful for the rest, but their shoulders hurt and hero didn’t know how to get comfortable enough to sleep. “B...but where will you sleep?” hero asked. “I won't, I will watch over you and maybe finish the painting.” “But what if you get tired?” “It's my house hero, don't you think I have a couch?” Hero shuffled underneath the blankets. "You can sleep here… It's a double bed. You sleep on your side, I sleep on mine." Villain blushed. "How can I say no to such a tempting offer." They lay down next to hero and turned the lights off. They were both lying on their back. Villain stared at the ceiling for a long time. "Hero?" "Yes?" "Do you think... Do you think I can earn my money in a fair way? By... by selling my art?" Hero turned to their side to look at villain. "Of course, I think you can. That would be wonderful! I will support you if you do that." Villain smiled a little unsure. "I… I will try. I was never so sure about my art skills, but you gave me some confidence. Thank you."

[xynchronicity]

Enjoy this moment, few get so close. || The Trickster

Ji-Woon Hak (Korean: 학지운) or "The Trickster"

Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more. Even as a child he found ways to draw crowds. Working at his family's restaurant, he attracted business with spectacles he performed using throwing knives. Gullible tourists believed this was a traditional South Korean experience, gladly parting with their money to witness it. Ji-Woon's father spent the restaurant's earnings on dancing and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he never could. Ji-Woon did not disappoint. After years showcasing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he hit the track to stardom. Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited Ji-Woon into her training program. He transferred to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star, taught how to move and sing, how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty. Draining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, bringing a raw energy to their tracks. Fame was almost immediate. Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out. But over time, the champagne grew stale. When he looked at his fans, he saw their joy and envy split five ways, thinned out between each band member. The validation that had surged through him left a desperate yearning for more. Ji-Woon kept up impressions, mimicking a charm long buried under loathing. He recorded the latest NO SPIN album with his bandmates, never missing a beat. After a lengthy lunch break, he returned to the studio to discover fate had granted him a gift. The scent of burning wires was unmistakable. He rushed to the control room, finding the door blocked by fallen speakers. On the other side, his bandmates pounded on the door, their cries accompanied by the crackling of flames. Ji-Woon called to them, dashing to the speakers, grabbing one and—stopping. He froze. Each breath was a conscious, deliberate process requiring all his attention, the nearby cries hardly audible until, slowly, he backed away. And then he heard it. They were screaming his name as they burnt. Screaming for him to save them. Ji-Woon! Ji-Woon! Ji-Woon Hak! It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. When the fire crew arrived, his tears were genuine. Ji-Woon was celebrated as a tragic figure, a hero who did all he could in a futile attempt to save his friends. Yun-Jin paraded him through interviews until it was time to rebrand. He was reborn as The Trickster, a solo artist who produced his own songs, sporting a soft heart beneath a wild exterior. But, away from concert set-ups and television stages, something darker grew. He targeted those who lived alone, coming to them in the night. The first was a college student with a fire escape that led to her living room window. Ji-Woon woke her with a baseball bat to the skull, binding her arms and legs, gagging her with a rag duct taped into her mouth. He tortured her for hours, dissecting her alive. Yet there was something missing—a connection. He wanted to hear her pleading as he cut her belly open, but all he received was muffled cries through a rag. He learned and adjusted. Victims had to be abducted, driven to an abandoned building where he could let their voices carry unrestrained emotion. He made music from them, prodding in the right places to evoke different types of shrieks and howls. Stabbing the quadratus lumborum elicited a long, guttural wail, while slashing the carotid artery created a sound similar to a cat being strangled. There was honesty in their suffering. Ji-Woon recorded each session, synthesizing and working them into his songs, hiding them behind layers of melodies. He was elated with his work. He left hints for police, arranging a mink boa from a recent photoshoot around a victim's slashed throat. For his next killing, he removed the teeth from a man that a boxer in one of his music videos was without. During a particularly audacious plea for attention, he killed a fan he had met during a VIP meet-up, replacing her eyes with his diamond cufflinks and writing I HAVE SEEN GOD in blood across her chest. Each scene was a dazzling spectacle. Between music and murder, Ji-Woon's work was discussed globally. However, as violence became his preferred art style, his music career took a hit. Revenue was down and Mightee One executives pointed their fingers at him. Yun-Jin, with professional fury, came to his defense, but she was outnumbered. It was decided that Ji-Woon could no longer self-produce his songs. The decision was devastating. His tracks fused genuine humanity into music, yet executives rejected anything that wasn't generic and expected. And so be it. If they couldn't understand his art, he would incorporate them into it until they did. He had three months until he was to perform a private show for Mightee One's board members; three months to plan his magnum opus. He transferred obscene amounts of money to a veterinarian in exchange for cannisters of nitrous oxide, then bribed the stage technician of Mightee One's private theatre for access to the room. His celebrity granted him a benefit of the doubt no regular person could conceive. When the show was ready, gas seeped into the room as executives and stagehands awaited Ji-Woon, conveniently running behind schedule. When he arrived, half-conscious bodies were splayed in their seats and crawling across the floor. He worked quickly, binding everyone, pausing only when he came to Yun-Jin—the woman who had plucked him from a mudhole and set him on the path he deserved. She would be rewarded, granted special access to the coming display of wonder. Even under sedation, she fought, a raging storm within her, far stronger than the others. He propped her up as the lone audience member, prying her eyes open. The others, sniveling and sobbing, were brought on stage to perform their final act. With a contemptable sneer, he slapped makeup onto their faces and shone stage lights upon them. They became his instruments. To the sound of self-produced melodies, he tortured them, gracefully dashing from one body to another, conducting an operatic crescendo from their wailings. They shouted, whimpered, screamed, cried for their loved ones, cried for their mothers. It was a magnificent outpouring of emotion, of what it meant to be human, and they did it with eyes fixed on Ji-Woon. Viscera drained from the stage until, with the toss of his throwing knife, the final human instrument fell silent and the music stopped. Covered in sweat and blood, an exhausted Ji-Woon looked to Yun-Jin and bowed. Curtain call. He had attained perfection. With blade in hand, he made his way to Yun-Jin, prepared to tie up loose ends before the credits rolled. But as he reached her— The Fog. From where, he didn't know, but it billowed around them, damp, cool... comfortable. He saw the grand stage: hospitals and temples, forests and slaughterhouses—an eternal plane adorned with rusted hooks, sustained by the million eyes that would watch him, run from him, experience him. All he had to do was accept, become an implement of The Fog and, most importantly, make them scream. Encore!