#either way she’s got her hair styled I puffs and a shirt with a skull on it I’m preeeetty sure

[starlooove]

Devastating

[teatimewithclementine]

After The Order

Chapter i.

Synopsis: In his voyage to restore the Jedi Order after the Jedi Purge, Cal continues his search for the holocron containing a list of the next generation of Jedi. Unfortunately, his plans are put on halt when him and his friends are forced to land on the crime-infested planet of Jakku when his ship breaks down. Cal has one mission; find a ship scrap and get the hell out, but that too is interrupted when he finds someone who’s supposed to be dead.

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Word Count: 4,170

Cal had a hard time bracing himself despite being seated in his chair. His brain rattled and his insides churned after the Mantis’ rocky landing. He ran to the ship’s door, banging on the button, not even giving the door enough time to open completely before he launched himself out. In a blur, his feet hit the ground and one hand was situated on the exterior side of the Mantis while the other gripped on his thigh right above his kneecap. Between the Jakku sun making him already break a sweat and the inability to breathe when he threw up, it was an uncomfortable combination.

“Hey, you okay out there, kid?” Greez asked, one of his four arms reaching up to scratch at his chin.

Cal’s chest heaved as he caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. BD-1 beeped from the ship’s ramp in concern for his human friend and reached out a little metal leg.

“Yeah...yeah I’m good.”

“Good, because you’re gonna have to find something to fix this ship. The faster we get off the ground the better.” said Cere.

Cal adjusted himself to stand up straight and Greez raised his eyebrows at Cere; who was leaning nonchalantly against the door frame of the Mantis ship. Her dark skin began to collect sweat and her considerably capacious eyes lingered on Cal, waiting for an answer to her thoughts.

“Hey, the kid just spilled his guts. Maybe he should take some seat before heading out there?” Greez said.

“No, no. Cere is right.” Cal said. “We can’t stay on Jakku forever. I’ll try and find some more food and see if I can score a hyperdrive scrap.”

“Be careful, Cal. If we’re stationary for too long the Empire might get on our trail.” said Cere. To Cal it only appeared to be a warning, but her stomach was churning and she grew afraid of what would become of them if the Empire was able to strike them while they were defenseless.

Cere watched as Cal straightened himself up and regained his posture, then walking off into the distant city that was just barely visible over the dunes.

Cal had never been to Jakku and never expected it to be as hot as it was; and oh was it hot. The front of his hair, a burnt and darkened orange, had fallen from its usual slicked back style into a loose side part with strands stuck to the sweat on his face. His pale complexion was red and overheated, certain he had already been sunburned and any more time out in the sun would boil him alive from the inside out.

Cal didn’t plan on ditching his clothes either, but in the sand at least two miles behind him was his brown poncho stained with oil and torn at the seams. He rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt underneath the padded chest plate he wore just to feel a little cooler. There were sweat stains on his chest, back and under his arms which made his shirt cling to his body and the cotton feel unbearably scratchy.

He gargled down his last few drops of water from his canteen and swallowed his mouthful whole. BD-1 adjusted himself from Cal’s left shoulder to his right, perching eagerly and scanning in the distance. He beeped excitedly as the town seemed much closer and the sand was making his robotic joints hard to function.

“I know, buddy, we’re almost there. I think we’ll have to make a water stop before finding a hyperdrive scrap.”

A half an hour later Cal and BD-1 reached the city, standing at the edge of a colorful market. BD-1 beeped like a child and swiveled his head around to take in all the sights the market had to offer, the bright reds, blues and greens of many stalls contrasting against the monochromatic yellow sand and buildings.

It was full of all sorts of goods; edible and tangible. The smell of roasted frogs and overpriced portion bread was enough to make Cal’s stomach rumble. His mouth practically drooled when he watched an old woman stir a pot of mushroom stew while grilling a green vine snake over tin cans of coal and poorly lit flames.

Close to the old woman and her stew were two Twi’leks bickering in their native language over a canister of pod fuel. One had skin dark coal-like skin and the other was purple, both of their thick headtails that sprouted from the skulls swaying with their movements. The market was loud, full of life and had a commodious feeling attached as if everyone lived as one big family; almost as it was for Cal back on Bracca in his scrapper days. He always recalled the nights him and the other scrappers and technicians would go to the town near the scrapyard and get a few drinks under the dim yellow lights of the cantina. Although, Cal was still a year short from human adult age and was forced by his older friends to sip on Meiloorun juice while they enjoyed a glass of Spotchka.

After turning many corners, a few shifty-looking stall workers trying to coax Cal with anything from overpriced clothing to a brothel subscription, enduring sand and dust kicked up into his eyes and the ripped soles of his boots, Cal reached a substantial looking bar. It was quiet inside and the only noise was a quiet guitar duo in the back using crates for a stage. There was also the occasional clinking of shot glasses when a lonesome drinker would slam it on the table.

“What can I get you, handsome?”

A young man, presumably the bartender, leaned over the splintered bar once Cal was able to sit down on the barstool after faltering over his steps. BD-1 shook the sand from his little joints onto Cal’s back and Cal set his metal water canteen on the bar.

The bartender had a tattoo on the left side of his neck of a square and ink black hair split into a middle part. It so heavily slicked against his skull one would think it was wet. His facial features were thin and hard, with hollow cheeks and an angular nose, sharp and thin cupid-bow lips and extraordinarily slim, bright turquoise eyebrows. He had a black coat hung loosely over his salient shoulders and a black glove over one of his hands. As far as Cal could see, most of his clothing was dark a monochromatic other than the luminous green scarf wrapped tightly around the bartender’s elongated neck.

“Uh, just water.” Cal said.

“Thirsty, eh?” The bartender winked as he filled the canteen with water before handing it to Cal, who fervently grabbed. Water spilled over his hand and pants in his quest to bring water to his lips as fast as possible. Cal gulped down his water and set his canteen on the bar, wiping away his mouth with the back of his hand and contently sighed. The bartender filled the canteen again and this time Cal rolled the cap back on and clipped it to his belt next to his lightsaber.

“Never seen you ‘round Nefit before. You stayin’ a while?” The bartender seemed interested in Cal, leaning against the bar and his head cocked to the side, cheek resting on his gloved hand.

“No, I’m just passing through. My ship is broken out on the dunes. You don’t by any chance know someone who might be able to help with a broken hyperdrive processor?”

“You seem to be in a hurry. Got someone special waitin’ for you?”

The bartender used his free hand and attempted tracing his finger over Cal’s delimit, yet boyish arm. He pulled away and gave a half smile, not really wanting to engage the bartender in a specific manner.

“I just need to find a hyperdrive scrap or someone who sells them.” Cal pronounced coolly.

Finally, the bartender sighed and dropped his flirtations. He looked around, his eyes getting a little wider each time and carefully peered behind Cal then behind himself. He gestured Cal to lean in close once he was sure no one was listening; although it didn’t seem like the few heads in the room would care either way.

“There’s only one guy you can get that kinda stuff from ‘round these parts. Hyperdrive’s not cheap these days.”

Cal kept quiet and looked at the bartender intently.

“Toka,” The bartender whispered. “Pretty good smuggling biz out here  if you lookin’ for that kinda stuff. They got ‘em ship scraps, but a hyperdrive? That’ll be a bargain.”

“So how would I get a scrap from them? Someone I can make a deal with?”

The bartender grew pale and his hands went clammy. He drew a thick cigarra from his pocket and popped open a spark canister, lighting his cigarra and clamping it between his wiry lips.

“The boss. Never seen him before, not many people have, but heard ‘round he’s pretty tough. Gotta try and make it worth his while ‘less you willin’ to pull some tricks.”

“Where can I find Toka?” Cal’s brows furrowed and side-eyed the bartender keenly.

The bartender took a long drag from his cigarra and blew a puff of sour-smelling smoke near Cal’s face. Cal scrunched his nose.

“West of Nefit there’s a big warehouse. Most of their imports come through there, so I bet you can figure it out.”

Cal nodded and stood up, supporting himself with the poorly sanded down bar. The bartender looked around once again and cleared his throat before putting out his cigarra and busying himself by wiping down a damp shot glass.

BD-1 hopped off Cal’s back once they were outside again, scanning all around him. Cal looked around too, then crouched down next to BD.

“What you doing there, bud?”

Cal extended his arm and BD scampered up, perched himself on Cal’s shoulder and beeped eagerly. BD-1 projected what he had scanned; a nearby hologram map he was able to tap into. Westside Nefit was close but it seemed the warehouse was heavily guarded from the amount of red zones marked.

“Nice work, BD.” Cal stood up and continued to study the map. “Look’s like we’re gonna have to find faster transportation than just walking if we’re gonna get there before it’s dark.”

Unfortunately nightfall hung upon the Jakku sky and Cal was unable to find sufficiently discreet transportation to the Toka warehouse, forcing him to work his way on foot. He was used to doing almost everything on foot, but he thought if he could score a quiet pod he would be able to rest his feet for a bit. The torn soles of his boots didn’t help his commutes either with all the sand, rock and weed roots that would get stuck there and how he could feel the blisters on his toes every time he took a step. At least BD-1’s stims were able to numb the blistering pain until Cal could properly take care of them.

Cal crouched on the roof of a sanded concrete building that stood at least six stories tall. By the more secluded and quiet area the building was in, it was most likely a residential area for the more credit rich people of Nefit. BD scanned the area and warehouse below them. It was well guarded with six guards on the West entrance, six on the East and twelve at the main import access door. They all wore the same dirtied magenta fabric pieces wrapped around their upper arms to signify their union.

“Whoever this boss is, he sure didn’t want anyone getting in that warehouse.” Cal squinted his eyes in the dark, searching the warehouse roof for any sort of skylight. “See any shortcuts, BD?”

“Bee-boop.” BD beeped.

BD-1 pulled up the hologram map and Cal zoomed in with his fingers and swiped around to look for any marked entrances he could use without having to take down any guards.

“Wait, what’s that?”

Cal saw there was a breach in the warehouse. An area where the wall was much thinner and beginning to crumble.

“If we could get through that it could be our ticket in. Just one problem...we don’t know where it leads to.” Cal bit down on his thumb nail and continued to look at the marked breach on the holomap. “Hey bud, you think you can get through the breach and scan a bit inside? You’re a lot less noticeable than me.”

“Bee-beep!”

BD-1 scampered off Cal’s back and down the side of the building. He hopped around on the ground before making his way up the side of the warehouse and using the high ground to get around the guarded entrances unnoticed. Cal switched from his perch to sitting on the roof of the building with his arms resting on his bent legs. He looked up at the sky which had progressed from the orange and blue of the sunset to midnight black. Both moons were in full view and hundreds stars twinkled against the youthful night sky.

Cal wondered what it would be like to travel the planets for fun instead of what he was doing. He often spoke of travel with Prauf back on Bracca and sometimes when the yard master was out on business, Cal would sneak into his office and nab a few books on Galactic Culture. Above most, he favored the rich culture of ancient Pitallo and the myths of the Dark Prince Avonine.

Of course traveling for the sake of the Jedi Order meant everything to him, but he thought about getting his own ship and hopping from planet to planet, studying ancient cultures as Cordova did and enjoying the local spoils like food and architecture without being worried about whose hands his life will be in next. Hell, he’d even like to meet someone someday and perhaps even travel together.

Cal really never had any romantic relationships considering how young he is and even younger when he was a scrapper. The only thing he’d ever come close to was with Munoa, a fellow scrapper he met on Bracca when he was fifteen, however, it didn’t help that she was ten years his senior and the attraction was completely one-sided on Cal’s part. She taught him how to rewire the generators when turning on a broken ship’s lighting function and saw him, unfortunately, as a younger brother.

“Bweep!”

BD-1 returned and balanced himself on the ledge of the building Cal sat on. He projected the hologram again and Cal took a closer look on what he scanned.

“It looks like the breach leads right into a boiler room and goes to the storage units. Good job, buddy. Let’s go get that hyperdrive scrap.”

Cal jumped off the building and used his force abilities to slow down his decent, allowing him to hit the ground safely with minimal impact. The outside of the warehouse was run down with many limestone ridges on the walls, making it easy for Cal to latch on and climb up to the warehouse rooftop. Him being on the lighter side helped quite a bit too, as it wasn’t very difficult of a climb. There was the occasional crumbling limestone from the building that made Cal lose is grip once or twice but he was able to safely make it to the rooftop.

Cal ran across the roof and back down the exterior wall near the Northern side of the building unnoticed while BD-1 swiveled his head every now and then to look around. The breach had a larger break from BD-1 squeezing himself through beforehand. Cal looked to his left and right before running his bare hand over the wall to gage how thin it was. Either ripping away at the crumbling limestone or letting his lightsaber do the work, both would make a good amount of noise and attract the guards. Taking the bargain, Cal thought his saber would be the best bet as it would make quick work of breaking down the breach.

Emitting his saber from its hilt, Cal carefully observed his surroundings to make sure he had not attracted anyone to his location. Once he was sure he was safe, he cut a large enough hole for him to duck through, as the larger it was the more conspicuous he thought it’d be. BD hopped off his back and staggered through first with Cal following close behind, holding up his saber and using it as a light source in the dark, dingy boiler room.

“BD, can you pull up that map again?”

Cal took one last look at BD’s scan and double checked he knew where he wanted to head to get to the warehouse’s storage units. He quietly opened the boiler room’s metal door to a cold, empty hallway just as dark as what laid behind him. It was so silent after he had shut the boiler door behind him, Cal couldn’t even hear white noise– just a soft ringing in his ears and an occasional unsettling drip from a distant leaking pipe.

He continued to hold his saber up, illuminating the outstretched hallway with a hauntingly fluorescent green as Cal made his way down the naked, doorless walls. At the end there was a set of double metal doors. BD-1 hopped on the door handle and his scomp link connected with the rather large lock. With the crackling fry of the security system and little sparks flying from the lock, the doors popped open to reveal what seemed to be a whole other separate warehouse from the size of it.

There must have been dozens upon dozens of crates either stacked or lined up. There was also a little transport pod parked near a closed entrance; probably where Toka brings in imports. The unit smelled of stale soil and hot metal; the kind of smell when you fall and scrape your knees as a child and you distinctly remember a bit of blood. There was no ventilation as far as Cal could feel from his skin burning underneath his clothes and his tongue salivating for another sip of water.

“Alright, we just get what we need and get out.”

Cal’s jaw clenched as he waved around his saber to illuminate the room. He craned his neck to look back at BD-1 who was still balanced on his back. 

“Can you unlock a few of these crates, buddy?” Cal asked BD.

BD-1 beeped and hopped off Cal’s back and put his scomp link to work on multiple imports. Cal lifted the lid off at least two crates and dug around, still holding his lightsaber above his head for light.

“I can’t find anything. You got something, BD?”

“Beep!” BD shook his little square head.

Cal sighed and continued digging through a few more crates. If he wanted to find a good hyperdrive scrap in all these crates it’d take forever; especially since they were unlabeled as far as he knew. Cal’s hand grazed along a large button-like item deep into his fourth crate search. He grabbed hold of it and held it close to the green saber glow and identified a symbol he hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was only a bit larger than a button and was plated in gold that flaked away, revealing the rusty carbonite underneath. Engraved in the button was the old republic symbol that Cal’s old training ship used to brandish along the walls. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it and his mind began to wander to the memories of the Clones– his friends– wearing the symbol with pride as they shot down his people. He was falling deep into archived thoughts he wanted to somewhat keep away from for as long as possible. Cal didn’t even notice the tears falling down his flushed face as his eyes glossed over as he began to feel the echo; the events the button endured passing into Cal’s mind through the force.

It was painful. Cal could feel the button fall from a young boy’s pocket as he fell to the ground, a lofty man standing above the boy and a group of other young children. The man’s hand tightly gripped the hilt of a blue lightsaber and his eyes were irritated and red like he’d been crying, but the irised were yellow.

Cal exhaled a rough, sharp breath as he was brought back to reality and stumbled back over his feet.

“Bweep?” BD-1 looked up at Cal from atop a crate lid.

“I’m okay, bud. Just didn’t expect this to have an echo.”

Cal tossed the button back in the crate and kept looking for a hyperdrive scrap, trying to be as quick as possible before someone noticed the breach in the boiler room.

“Looks like somebody’s havin’ a bit of trouble.”

Cal jumped and held up his saber, looking around. He heard speaking from the left of him but couldn’t locate a person.

“Better save yourself the effort. Them imports ain’t yours for the takin’.”

The voice surely belonged to a woman. She had a distinct, unmistakable accent. Her R’s were heavy and burred, words drawled out and the way she sounded was sleek and lustrous like what you’d expect from well groomed hair.

“Whoever you are, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just getting a hyperdrive scrap for our ship and the rest of the cargo is yours.”

Cal heard a heavy drop of boots against the concrete floor and a swoosh that only heavy clothing would make. She must have been sitting atop a few heavy crates, as Cal was able to loosely identify the movement of a person dropping from substantial height. BD-1 hopped back onto Cal’s back and slowly dipped his head behind Cal’s shoulder, shielding himself and beeped while looking up at Cal.

“A lightsaber? You picked off a body?” she asked.

Cal’s stomach wrenched and his throat felt swollen. He couldn’t blame the woman for assuming he nipped his saber from someone, but it made him feel sick as he remembered the body of his master laying still as he clutched onto this exact lightsaber.

“I worked hard for this score, you best move along if you know what’s good for you.”

In the green light, Cal could see the shadow of her body moving closer.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you, I just–”

By now reasoning was useless. Cal doubled over when the wind was knocked out of his gut by a hard kick. His lightsaber had slipped from his hand and the blade retracted, eclipsing the room in complete darkness yet again which made it hard to identify his attacker if she came in close range. His eyes could only see the vague figure of her every now and then.

He was kicked again, but this time down onto his back against the concrete and BD-1 skidded across the floor behind a crate. Cal laid there for a moment and wondered how the woman was able to make moves like this so quickly and precise in the dark. His thoughts were cut short as he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving down to his face. The woman had attempted to knock Cal out with her boot, but he was able to dodge and use the opportunity to feel around for his lightsaber on all fours.

“Bad move.” she said.

She threw herself at Cal and knocked him back onto his back with her on top of him, one hand pinning down one of his arms to his side and restricted his movement while her other arm was raised above with a fist. Before he could react, Cal was punched straight in the cheekbone and his head was knocked against the concrete ground. It hurt like hell, like someone had hammered his brain against his skull.

He was able to block the second attempt of a punch with his hand and thrashed his head forward in attempts to bash his forehead against his attacker’s. He was successful when his head experienced a new kind of pain, instantly turning into a migraine. The woman leaned over to the right in a weakened moment while emphatically cursing out Cal. He used his free hand to flip the both of them over so she was on the ground instead with him over her. He pushed himself off and stood up with wavering steps.

“Please,” he said, out of breath and wincing, “Maybe we can help each other out.”

He could hear her sitting up and groaning, but before Cal could get any response or reaction out of the woman, there was a blunt smack on the back of his head. He could no longer feel any pain, just the slow descent of his body as gravity took full control of him and the darkness of the storage unit became nothingness. Cal lay there, cold against the hard floor and unconscious.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost” Part 1

Bane’s wife is a mystery to everyone, including her husband. Ghost also happens to be The Joker’s little obsession, not that she ever pays attention to him. Maybe that’s why The King of Gotham should stop messing around: when you push too much, you might get more than you bargained for.

“Boss,” Frost makes his presence known in the VIP room. “Ghost is here.”

“Don’t make her wait,” The Clown growls and Jonny nods in acceptance, aware the woman’s infamous temper might create some unwanted trouble if she gets delayed from her schedule.

The Joker passes his fingers through the neon green hair, not that it needs fixing; he also unbuttons another button from his purple shirt, only two of them holding the garment together now. A quick glance to the other man present here: still on the couch facing the windows depicting the busy night at the club; earbuds in while listening to an important cell phone message received a few minutes ago.

Might as well take advantage of the situation.

You part the sparkly beads and enter the premises, immediately positioning yourself on the loveseat across from The Joker’s without any invitation.

“Hi Mister J,” you flatly greet without any trace of emotion.

“Hello Ghost,” The King of Gotham checks out the guest since he finds the creature totally fascinating.

I mean, why wouldn’t he be captivated? You have white hair shaved on the left side that’s meant to expose the skull tattoo you got after you’ve met your husband; smoky, dark red eyeshadow and glossy lips. You always wear black, tight skin leather suits and boots; not high heeled because it’s not your style: more like the heavy military kind, custom ordered to match your spouse’s.  

“I have a business proposal; name your price,” The Joker grins and you give him a cold stare.

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to kill Bane for me.”

“Why?” you tilt your head in annoyance.

“I can’t stand him,” the honest response prompts retaliation from the guy that finally realized you’re there and just took his earbuds off:

“Stop hitting on my wife!” Bane huffs, displeased with J’s nonsense.

You’re not a big fan of The Joker either, yet you attempt to avoid useless conflict.

“I’m going to get me a drink. HB, want one?” you address your husband and he signals for his favorite.

“Triple shot of whiskey, no ice.”

“Be right back,” you announce and prepare to leave but tonight’s host is not happy with the outcome:

“I want a drink too.”

“Ask your girlfriend,” you cut J off and he underlines:

“She’s not here yet.”

“Too bad and so sad,” Y/N grumbles while vanishing from the VIP room.

Bane can’t hold in a very amused chuckle and choses to start something for the heck of it:

“Imagine being with a strong minded woman that does what she wants.”

J is far from receptive about Bane’s insinuation, definitely mad you brushed him off:

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Did you ever hear the expression: jerk to the world but not to your girl?” Bane’s distorted tone amplifies today’s advice. “You might want to apply that to your fragile relationships.”

“Spare me your wisdom, HB!” The Clown Prince of Crime emphasizes the initials, deciding to counterattack. “B is from Bane, obviously,” he thinks he found something to make fun of. “H Comes from… Herbert? Hugh? Hedwig?”

Your spouse would love to wipe out J’s almighty smirk with a punch; savoring the aftermath of telling him the truth is infinitely better:

“HB comes from Handsome Brute; my wife calls me that.”

The Joker doesn’t have time to comment though: Y/N returns with the drinks and positions herself on Bane’s knees, helping him taking off his mask so he can enjoy his whiskey.

“Hey Ghost, how come you don’t smile or laugh?” The King of Gotham continues to be obnoxious, still upset you didn’t indulge his request for a beverage.

“I do,” you reply and guzzle down half of your drink at once. “HB makes me laugh all the time; he’s hilarious.”

J glares at the couple with his mouth slightly open; it’s fair to say you are probably the most serious people he does business with. I mean, sometimes you have this expression on your face that could pass as a grin in disguise and your husband…well, the way he looks makes it impossible to imagine him cracking up about anything.

“Duly noted,” The Joker scoffs and Frost suddenly yells loud enough to be heard from outside the VIP room:

“Sir, the truck is here!”

J gets pumped up and rushes out, urging his companions to follow. “Come on, let’s see if it was worth the wait!”

But Y/N and her spouse don’t oblige: Bane finishes his drink in one sip and you place your glass on the small coffee table nearby, casually mentioning:

“I’m late.”

“No you’re not,” he’s fast to disagree while pointing at his wrist watch. “You’re always on time.”

You place his hand on your tummy and it clicks.

“Oooh,” Bane gulps and his wife has to add the necessary info:

“Just a little bit over a week, might be nothing. I’ll have to check it out.”

“Oh my God…” he zones out since the possibility of becoming a father sounds exciting and terrifying all at once. “We might have created a tiny Ghost.”

“Maybe, but I have to let you know I have no idea how to be a mom.”

“Me neither,” his witty answer makes you snort before bursting out laughing like crazy.

The Joker is on the hallway and stops, confused: he’s returning to the VIP section to see why you didn’t follow him, yet the contagious snickering coming from inside baffles his mind: are you two laughing?!

“Bane!! Ghost!! Are you coming or not?!” he shouts and the chuckle slowly dies out as you help your other half put on the mask. 

“Yeah, coming!” the pair joins The Clown towards the exit leading to the private parking lot behind the club.

“What were you talking about?” J curiously inquires.

“Personal stuff,” Bane gives an elusive explanation and opens the emergency door, firmly halting The Joker’s movement. “Ladies first!”

“For God’s sake,” J puffs and waits for you to pass by.

“Where are your manners, hm?” your husband scolds since he doesn’t approve of the host’s behavior.

“Would you give it a rest?!” The King of Gotham impatiently speeds up, fed up with Bane’s bickering.

As you walk towards the truck, you notice something you don’t like: the new muscle hired just a week ago is smoking without a care in the universe. You stomp towards him, yank the cigarette out of his fingers and step on it, aggravated:

“No smoking around my husband; you know the rule!!!”

The crew knows this is law simply because Bane has breathing problems but Lenox decides to mumble a thing or two to himself regarding the feisty woman. That’s too bad: your spouse doesn’t like it one bit. You don’t even have a chance to react to the observations since the goon is slammed against the nearest SUV by a very enraged husband.

“My wife’s a Goddess, you fucking asshole! You’re lucky if she blinks your way!”

The man is trying to escape the tight grip, the elbow forcefully pushing into his Adam’s apple not budging.

“I’m s-sorry boss,” Lenox struggles to speak and the noise of broken bone brings the quarrel to an end.

“You’re fired!” are the last words the henchman distinguishes as his limp body falls to the ground.    

The Joker’s girlfriend sneaks up and grabs his hand, uneasy about what she just witnessed.

“Elected to show up?!” J growls, instantaneously criticizing her lack of coordination. “I told you to be here at 7pm sharp!”

“Sorry baby, there was a lot of traffic on the freeway. What happened?”

”Ugggh,” The Clown scoffs, unwilling to describe the events. “Clean up the mess!” he orders and pushes her arm away since he’s not in the mood for cheap affection.

Kara sighs, upset she can’t squeeze any type of intimacy from him except for the instances when they sleep together. The Joker abandons her, more interested in Ghost because she’s already digging in some crates lowered from the truck, not even phased by Bane’s performance.

“Did you find items that strike your fancy?” he hovers over your boxes.

“Yeah, this gun, “ you show him the pistol decorated with skulls. “ Matches my motorcycle.”

“Very nice,” he praises your option and leans to whisper: “One of these days I would love to sink my teeth in you. I bet you taste good.”

Such an inappropriate remark would usually prompt a punch or a bullet from your part, yet you are dealing with the dreadful Joker: he’s not worth the trouble. Instead you lift your tight sleeve higher, exposing skin that you take directly to his lips.

“Go ahead then: take a bite, this way we can all go on with our lives.”

In the meantime, Bane is talking to his mercenaries, instructing them to load the merchandise he’ll pick in the trunks of the bigger cars.  

“Ghost!” he calls out. “I need you to lead the convoy afterwards!”

Apparently you have your hand up to The Joker’s mouth: did he blur out some crap again?! Definitely.

Yet you abandon your problem-project, waving at your husband.

Kara approaches also, not understanding what she saw from a distance.

“Hi Ghost,” the woman sadly acknowledges, jealous The Clown’s unwanted flirting might interfere with their already frail arrangement.  

“Hey,” you elegantly reject more dialogue, pretending to be immersed in your task.

“I’ll go see what else we received,” J groans and shamelessly discloses his thoughts with his girlfriend standing right there. “When you get bored with Bane, maybe you’ll allow me to make you my Queen.”

Kara’s heart sinks at his indifference regarding her hurt feelings; Ghost certainly has no patience for his shenanigans.

“I’m already someone’s Goddess and I’d rather die than settle for less!”

The Joker smirks, groping his girlfriend in the process. He hops in the truck, starting to search the containers, entirely ignoring Kara and your reply to his proposal.

She sniffles after the humiliation on having her man utter such aberrations straight under her nose.

“You have to keep him in a leash; he sure loves to bark a lot,” you feel the urge to add, irritated she’s such a pushover. “I’m not interested in his rubbish,” you take pity on her pathetic demeanor. “He’s totally howling at the wrong tree mostly to exasperate you and my husband.”

Kara nods a yes, unconvinced her boyfriend’s reasons are the same with the ones you’re illustrating; she tried to unsuccessfully befriend you for a while now, her desire linked to J’s twisted interest in another guy’s wife. Her logic is not the greatest: if you believe getting close to the woman your partner has a special attraction for will help your case, then you should recheck your priorities.

Ghost never gave a damn about becoming Kara’s buddy since she doesn’t tolerate people to begin with. Except Bane. He’s special.

“Mmm…” The Joker’s girl fusses with her minuscule purse,”do you happen to have a pad? I thought I had an extra one in here.”

“Nope, but my husband does,” you serenely admit.

“Huh?” she hums, completely baffled.

“HB!!!” you get his attention. “I need you for a sec!”

He comes to meet you at the end of the truck, lowering himself so you can reach his heavy vest. One of the many pockets contains the required product and you can’t help but soothe his disappointment:

“No worries, it’s not for me,” you wink and he exhales, relieved.

As soon as Bane returns by his side, The Joker has to say it:

“You often carry feminine hygiene articles inside your gear?”

“Ghost might need it,” your spouse marvels at J’s question. “You don’t do that for your girl?!”

J doesn’t like to be put on the spot, yet your spouse grills him on regular basis as a payback for The Clown’s numerous offenses.

“I have no space,” he wiggles his way out of it.

“You got pockets attached to your fancy suits, correct? I’m sure you have enough anatomy knowledge to understand such matters and how simple it is to improve your woman’s life with such a small thing.”

“Would you give me a break?!” J interrupts Bane. “Nobody cares to hear about how perfect you are.”

HB doesn’t appreciate the irony in The King’s tone:

“You’re so hopeless,” he justly deduces, raising a massive crate with ammo he finds useful for his team. “I’ll take half of everything,” Bane changes subject, actually bored with teasing The Joker.

**************

The convoy is exiting the parking lot following your lead: you usually ride your motorcycle in front of the vehicles, scouting ahead when necessary. You never know when there’s a road blockage or accident where cops will be patrolling the area; it’s wiser to steer clear of redundant trouble.

Your husband is driving the first truck behind you, followed by four more vans and six SUV’s. He wouldn’t have it any other way: Bane’s addicted to the nice view of seeing Ghost mounted on her customized Harley Davidson: skulls painted against a shiny, clear background to match her tattoo, a gift from him for your four year wedding anniversary.

“Your butt looks very nice on that bike,” he compliments and you giggle through the mike in your helmet. “I can’t wait to…”

“Boss,” Eric cuts in. “You forgot to switch the frequency to the other line; we can all hear you.”

“Goddamned jerks!” Bane groans and pushes the red button on his walkie-talkie, vexed he forgot to switch the channels.

Again.

You laugh at his frustration, finding it priceless this keeps on happening.

“Yes, I know you can’t wait to get home,” you snort and accelerate. “Me too; it’s been a long day and sex is bound to do the trick and wind us down.”

Watching Ghost’s long, white hair flying in the wind makes Bane even more impatient.

“We might need to pull over, not sure I can make it.”

“You have to,” his wife advices. “Otherwise we’ll be late and we might bump into traffic coming from 205 Southbound.”

“Shit…” he reckons you’re not wrong. “I’ll try my best but I can’t make any promises.”

************

After two hours

You ignore the first knock. The second and third also.  

“Jesus!” you moan, disappointed with the interference.

Bane continues to kiss your neck, making his way down your cleavage: he sure adores the red, skimpy little bra you’re wearing.

More knocking.

“You must be kidding me!” you grind your teeth and get off him, leaving a disappointed husband hanging by a thread.

“If it’s one of the boys I’ll bash their brains in!” he threatens and you tug on the door handle, prepared to lash out when the sight of Kara catches you by surprise.

“Yes?...” you roll of eyes at the unwelcomed visitor while wrapping the bathrobe around your frame.

“Hi Ghost,” she swallows her tears and you can see she is fighting to stay calm. “Is J here?”

“No.”

“He’s not answering his phone,” she gulps and nervously bundles in the thin coat she’s wearing, unconsciously attempting to cover her ripped skirt.

“Well, he’s not here,” you make it short but something about her strange behavior causes a small investigation. “What’s wrong?”

She chokes and suddenly bursts out crying, struggling to articulate the sentences. 

“J l-eft me at the c-club to wait for him and o-one…one of the bouncers tried to rape m-me.”

You’re silent for a few moments before inviting her in your home. No wonder security let her pass: they recognized The Joker’s girlfriend and assumed she was expected.

“This way,” you guide her towards the living room, gesturing for one of the chairs. “Sit!”

She can’t stop sobbing and you pour some bourbon in a glass, encouraging her to drink.

“Finish this!”

Kara sips the alcohol and her shaky hands almost drop the container.

You take a blanket from the sofa and cover her with it, immediately snatching your cell from the table.

You touch the screen and it rings just once.

“Hello there.”

He sure picked up right away.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?!”

“I just did.”

“Your girlfriend is trying to reach you!” Ghost mutters, literally pissed at his conduct.

“I’m busy,” he takes the easy way out and you are instantly fired up:

“If you would pay attention to Kara instead of wasting your charms on a married woman maybe the idiots working for you wouldn’t assume they can take liberties without any type of consequences!!!!”

J is stunned you’re screaming like that, yet he wants to find out what’s going on.

“What do you mean?!”

“One of your bouncers at the club tried to rape her and you won’t even answer her calls!”

The King of Gotham is dumbfounded and speechless for once since someone would dare such an affront.

“Lemme talk to her,” he requires and you hand over the phone to the horrified girlfriend; she has a difficult time telling him the details of her scary experience and how she barely escaped the attack.

You keep on gazing at her, Kara’s misfortune striking a chord within your soul: her situation reminds you of your past, although the circumstances were quite different.

Five years ago, Y/N survived her faith; the man responsible for creating the Goddess she is today saved her and didn’t ask for anything in return, not even for a name.

Although she told him once.

And he decided there’s nothing better than a mysterious Ghost, except being loved by one.

Also read: MASTERLIST

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[balladserial]

Episode 1: Part 4

“Alright,” says Captain Warring, placing both hands firmly on the handrail that guards the ledge she’s standing on, above the rest of the crew.

It’s an unseasonably cold night, and the wind rushing by the ship doesn’t exactly help matters, but Captain Warring looks unfazed as always. The cold wind doesn’t even seem to rustle her hair as she speaks. Cold as ice.

I put down my bow and lower my fiddle to my side, and the rest of the crew assembles. Clairvoyance is here, in a hulking squarish body built for muscle over anything else, along with Gratitude (clutching his wool cape around him for warmth), Mikael, and Athens. It’s hardly the warmest place for a crew meeting, but hey. I can’t say I don’t appreciate the gravitas.

“Alright?” Athens echoes, her tail whipping just a bit from impatience.

Apparently, the captain has been no less cryptic to her first mate than to the rest of us.

“So,” Captain Warring continues, unfazed, “I’ve touched base with one of my contacts inside the Guard, and they confirmed, more or less, what was on the note Joane recovered during yesterday’s…hubbub. There is, indeed, a transport vessel by the name of the P.A.S. Condor docking in West Compassion at the end of the week. I wasn’t able to get a good report on what, exactly, the Condor is carrying, but it appears to be ammunition of some kind, headed for the capital. Whatever it is, the haul could be worth a killing. No word on what kind of security we’re looking at, but I know the Principality. The possibility that someone might intercept their secret shipment probably hasn’t even crossed their minds.”

Clairvoyance leans forward a bit, resting her chin on the back of her hand.

“You want this to be our next job,” she observes with a hint of a smile in her voice.

I don’t blame her. I trust the captain and all, but I think we can all tell we’re in desperate need of some profit.

“If it’s only munitions, I suppose it’s not so bad,” muses Gratitude out loud, his discomfort plain for all to see. I nudge him a bit, and he shoots me a glare.

“Well,” I chip in, “I, for one, think it’s a great plan. And Captain, if you’re open to it, I think this could be an excellent time for me to get in some real ground work-”

“Absolutely not,” says Captain Warring flatly, and I wince.

“Captain,” I say softly. “I know I’m still, uh…in trouble, but I was the one who got the intel in the first place, and I really think I’m ready-”

“You also got yourself hurt and got separated from the rest of the crew,” she points out, unmoved. “Joane, we’ve discussed this several times, and I still don’t think you actually understand why you’re in trouble.”

Despite my best efforts to keep my cool, I can feel hot blood rushing to my face. My grip on the neck of my fiddle tightens.

“With all due respect, Captain,” I say slowly, between clenched teeth, “I wouldn’t be such a liability in the field if you ever actually gave me the chance to hone my skills.”

“Tal,” Gratitude interjects with an air of detached politeness that makes me want to leap out of my skin, “I think perhaps what the captain is saying is that your problem is not your inexperience, but your abject recklessness in the face of danger and your complete inability to plan ahead.”

“Fuck off, Gratitude,” I snarl. “What do you know, you grew up in a convent.”

“A better upbringing, I’d say, than living amongst the gutter trash.”

My hand balls into a tight fist, but before I can slug Gratitude in the face, a firm grip closes around my wrist. I glance up.

Athens is standing there, her usual cocky grin replaced by an air of thick disappointment. One hand is restraining my punching arm, while the other maintains a tight grip on Gratitude’s shoulder. If looks could kill, hers would be drilling a coin-sized hole through the center of my skull.

“Actually, Captain,” she says sweetly, turning her attention up to where Captain Warring is standing, massaging her temples. “I have a much better idea of how to deal with this situation, if you’ll allow.”

Captain Warring looks up, and the dark circle under her eye is more visible than ever.

“I’m listening.”

“Fuck this,” I moan, pulling the brim of my Principality Navy regulation hat down over my face. If the other night was unseasonably chilly, midday at the docks of West Compassion is overbearingly muggy. If Arcadia V really does have a living spirit, as some claim, clearly She missed the memo that it’s supposed to be September.

“Language,” Gratitude mutters next to me.

Not that he’s in any place to judge. He’s doing no better than me, judging by the irritated way he keeps tapping his foot on the rough cobblestone of the harbor. His Navy uniform is a tad ill-fitting; the shoulders hang a bit loose and the double-breasted jacket doesn’t quite sit right. I imagine mine doesn’t look all that good either, if the tightness around my hips is anything to go by, but I suppose that’s what you get out of last-minute disguises.

West Compassion is a small city, only about a day’s trip from Greater Mercy. By and large, it’s a trading outpost, and few people aside from an odd collection of merchants, traders, and those who make money off travelers actually live here. But the view from the harbor is extraordinary. Even with the sunlight beating down in waves on both our heads, it looks just as lovely glinting off the clouds below the jutting, stone docks, making the sky below shine just like I imagine the real ocean might. And all along the way, rows and rows of airships line the docks, ranging from small birding vessels to enormous, hulking freighters. And in front of us, an iron-sided freight ship, held aloft by a large and unwieldy balloon, with its name stamped in regulation type on the side.

The P.A.S. Condor.

“Welp,” I say with as little enthusiasm as possible. “We better climb onboard. We’re going to miss orientation.”

Gratitude swallows and pauses to adjust his head covering (the ornate veil swapped out for a simple blue bandana) before stepping forward onto the dock. A long moment passes where there’s no conversation but the faint sound of feet on stone, the cries of cliff-dwelling birds and the whistling of the wind.

“I imagine you’re also mad at me over this Hellfire business,” Gratitude says finally.

I frown.

“No,” I reply. “Why would I be?”

Gratitude gestures vaguely in the air, as if grasping for the words he needs floating around his head.

“You...haven’t exactly made a secret of your disdain for me, and given our…incompatible faiths, it seemed pretty obvious that you would side with Athens on the matter.”

I roll my eyes.

“Gratitude, I don’t not get along with you because I’m Jewish.”

“That-” He stumbles over his words quickly. “Tal, that is not what I meant. I just thought that-”

I smirk a little and shove him, making him windmill a little to avoid falling into the guardrail. He exhales in a little puff of irritation.

“I understand,” I say. “You figured that because I don’t share your religious beliefs, I’d be totally gung-ho to jump in on ‘bash the Exodist’ hour. Rest assured, buddy. I don’t care even a little bit about Hellfire except that I’d prefer not to get killed by it. Hell, there are places where fire is really important to Jewish worship. So like. Keep your weird magic god fire, I really do not care.”

“It’s not my-” Gratitude mutters. “It’s not like I can summon it-”

He clamps his mouth shut as we finally approach the gangplank at the end of the dock. The Condor looms above us, and I find myself correcting my posture instinctually. There’s something about a ship like this that really makes you wanna play soldier. Luckily, that’s exactly what we’re here to do.

We stand at the foot of the plank for what feels like forever until we finally hear the unmistakable sound of heeled boots on metal approaching us. Out of the shadows, we can see a figure climb down the ramp and set foot, finally, in front of us.

The figure is a woman, seemingly, tall with light skin and amber eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her long, sharp nose. She looks in her early thirties if I had to hazard a guess, and her sandy brown hair is swept into a neat style at the back of her neck. Her clothes look...decidedly unlike the standard naval uniform of the Principality: a slightly open white button-down shirt with an unbuttoned brocade coat that sweeps behind her as she walks. Her trousers are high-waisted and adorned with brass buttons that look...pretty expensive.

“You two the ballast we’re picking up here?” she asks flatly, fiddling with a toothpick in one hand. “I gotta say, real weird that the Principality is sending its goons to babysit us, but as long as we get the paycheck…”

I glance sideways at Gratitude, who is already glancing at me. I shrug.

“Um,” I say eloquently. “Yes sir. I’m Ensign Lee Mirage, and this is Ensign Merriment Sign-Your-Agreement-Eternally-Binding.”

The woman raises one thin eyebrow.

“I’m, er, I’m a medical officer, sir,” says Gratitude. “Here are our papers, they should check out alright.”

Gratitude hands the woman a brand new set of fakes, which she scans quickly. She exhales, seemingly satisfied.

“Sir,” I venture. “I apologize, we were under the impression that this was a Principality naval vessel.”

She laughs out loud and hands our papers back to Gratitude. The sun glints off something shiny in her mouth- a single gold tooth.

“Aw, sweetheart,” she says with a hint of glee. “They really don’t teach y’all anything over there.”

She sticks out a hand, and I shake without thinking. The enthusiasm in her handshake nearly pulls my arm out of its socket.

“Mirage, Merry, it’s good to meet you. My name’s Adonis Fleetfoot, but that’s Captain Fleetfoot to you.” She grins. “Welcome aboard the Condor, and welcome to my privateering crew- the Last Stand of Dignity!”

Gratitude and I shoot each other another bewildered look.

This is gonna be a long mission, isn’t it.

[Episode 1 Part 3] - [Episode 1 Part 5]