#every spot in their skin is like a tally mark of the sorts is what I mean and them finding each other over and over again AADBWEW

[ohitslen]

AAAAA Vashwood soulmates/reincarnation concept in where you look the exact same way as the person you loved deeply in your past life as a memory of them, it’s like a cycle. (I.e.: Vash loved WW so he will look like WW, same idea for Nick. Next life Vash will look like himself again, and so on and so forth,, does that make sense????)

ANOTHER IDEA

Now. For every time they reincarnate they will get a new spot in their skin until they get to finally FINALLY be together living a happy life without them being so tragically separated from each other.

Fast forward to Vash trailing Wolfwood’s moles that are all over his body and Nick always taking his time to kiss “every and each one” of Vash’s freckles on his face

[a-ikuoliver]

happy birthday to the man!! — katsuki sees your sex toys once and is haunted by what you look like using them

pairing: bakugou x f!reader w/c: 1.5k warning/s: nsfw 18+, m! & f!masturbation; sex toys, i think that's everything notes: this is a bit short BUT i had to get something out for the man, this took me like 2 weeks to write but hopefully now i'll be out of my slump a little bit! pls enjoy c:

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

fuck… he really doesn’t know when the lines started to blur between friend and fantasy, from wanting to hang out with you to wanting you, from talking to you about your day to being bricked up hearing your voice. yet, here he was, hot water streaming down his neck, plastering damp hair to his forehead; the water pouring over his head nowhere near enough to wash his mind of you.

he’d been plagued by you, morning to night, even in his damn dreams since he tried to find a phone charger at your place.

it’s not like he was snooping, he wasn’t trying to find that sort of thing, bakugou was only trying to find your spare charger, he’d seen you put it in one of these drawers before, how was he meant to know you left your spare chargers right below all of that?

he’d slammed the drawer shut the absolute second he realised exactly what he was staring at; the bedside drawer stuffed to the brim with bright, phallic toys, a collection of smaller, rounder vibrators, something that looked awfully similar to a gag, and he heard the telltale metal clinking of at least one pair of handcuffs against the wood when he slammed it closed. embarrassing heat crawled up his neck, burning his cheeks and setting the very tips of his ears alight. stuck in the same spot, mouth half opened dumbly, his eyebrows creased in the centre of his face, all blood rushing from his brain down to his half-hard cock already straining against his pants, the need making him ache.

every hour since that, he’d spent thinking of what your wet cunt looked like swallowing the toys; so pretty and drippy, how it looked tensing around nothing when you came from the buzzing of your vibrator, how you’d look writhing and moaning handcuffed with that gag in your mouth, how your drool would stain your shirt, sticking the fabric to your skin. god, it was just so lewd, even under the purifying water, he felt dizzy, sticky, hot, sweaty, the image of your toys burnt into his retinas, no matter what he tried to distract himself with, he always saw your toys at the forefront of his mind, the perverted imagery refusing to budge from its newfound home.

bakugou groans, a deep, rough sound drowned out by the even buzzing echoing in his ears, the sound slowly building, kicking to a new level when your whine drowns it out. you always start nearly silent in his dreams, just tiny gasps escaping your parted lips when you’d nestle the toy right against your clit. you only get louder from there, your eyebrows scrunching together like his own were, marking two little tallies in the middle, tilting upwards at the centre as you pulled your lip up between your teeth. the motion did absolutely nothing to muffle your sounds, your whimpers and moans only growing louder with every heave of your chest, every passing moment with the vibrator pressed to your pulsing clit making your hips jolt into it.

you reach between your thighs with a whine that sounds all too similar to his name torn from your lips, dipping your fingertips in your slick cunt, collecting all the cum gathering at your trembling hole without even taking a breather from humping your vibrator like your life depended on it. your movements grew jerkier and jerkier the longer the intense vibrations were held to your drooling pussy, your eyes fluttering closed with a breathless shout of his name, shaky, wet thighs squeezing around your hand, even as the vibrator slipped from your grip, falling forgotten onto the sheets beneath you, the constant stimulation growing too much for you—

“fuck.” he really couldn’t help it, his hand travelling lower down his abdomen, trailing behind droplets of water still running down his torso to his hard cock, the tip already leaking from the thought of you. wrapping his fist around the base of his cock, he squeezed once before twisting his wrist, slowly jerking his cock, wondering if you were in your shower doing the same, fucking yourself on one of your toys imagining him in its place just as he wished it was your warm cunt squeezing around his dick instead of his hand.

“katsukiii—” bakugou can feel you beside him, your figure displacing the dense steam surrounding him, a heavy, thick silicone dildo hanging from the glass wall of the shower, your figure slick and soapy from the shower, damp hair sticking to the soft skin of your neck and face when you bent at the waist, lining the tip of the plastic cock up with your drooling hole. the head of the cock would slide into your cunt all too easily in his fantasies, always greedy to watch you take more and more, inch by inch sinking onto it. your mouth falls further open the more you take of the toy, the pleasure too much for you to even hold your head up by the time your ass was pressed against the cool glass, your back arching with the tip of the dildo nestled deep inside your cunt. he wonders if the curve of it would rub on your g-spot at this angle, if it would drive you crazy grinding against the glass, whining when you can’t take it anymore.

bakugou’s head falls back thinking of you reaching for the shower head, his cock pulsing in his hand when he grips the base, his muscles tensing and relaxing while he tried desperately not to cum; the image of you playing behind his eyelids making that a near impossible task. even with his eyes squeezed shut, there you are at the forefront of his mind, switching the settings of the shower head to a concentrated stream, aimed directly at your aching clit, your broken moan jolting his hips forward into his hand, stroking the length languidly. your voice wavered, repeating his name again, the stimulation inside and outside your cunt just so overwhelming.

bracing against the tile with your spare hand, you lift yourself back off the toy, the base suctioned to the glass remaining stuck as you grew quicker in your movements, starting to bounce and roll your hips in a smooth tempo. he matches the pace of your hips with his fist, his breath coming out in nothing but deep huffs. his uneven groans were nothing compared to your sweet chorus of moans and whines, an endless symphony playing in his head of “ah-ah-ah”’s and “mmmng”’s the closer you got, your cum coating the toy just like his pre was smearing all over his fist.

he can’t help the guttural sound that escapes him next, a garbled, broken version of your name when your thighs tremble, your knees only moments away from buckling from the pure bliss; the water is still aimed at your clit, even when you can’t bounce on the dildo anymore, wave after wave of pleasure drowning you until your eyes rolled into your skull and your cum gathered in a creamy ring at the base of the toy, your ass flattening against the glass as you greedily took more of the toy, intensifying the euphoria wracking through your body. he knows your toy fills your cunt so perfectly, knows how you’d hump the air to get more and more of the water aimed at your clit, unrelenting in chasing your orgasm, jolting and jerking until your knuckles turned white against the tile wall, until your voice was so high and loud it didn’t even sound like you anymore.

he wonders if you’d ever screamed taking the fake cock, if you’d ever been so overwhelmed you squealed, your pretty cunt clenching around the toy, milking the poor plastic for everything it can’t give you, or if he’d be the first to make you cum so intensely.

“ka-aa-ki—” you can’t even spit his name out, your name the same mess on his plump lips, caught so hard between sharp teeth he worries he’ll split the thin skin. all his muscles tense, his abdomen clenching low on his stomach, the veins stretching along the underside of his cock throbbing with the need to join you in the throes of pleasure, to cover your cunt in milk white cum you desperately tried to squeeze from the silicone.

your name is a choked mantra tumbling from his lips, over and over again, dark crimson eyes rolling into the back of his skull the longer you bounced on the toy, pinching sensitive nipples between your slippery, soapy fingers, dragging your orgasm out as long as you could, as long as he would, until your knees were weak and your couldn't even manage to dumbly spit out his name anymore.

“fuck.” he damn near whines, a mess of cum covering his fingers, coating his knuckles as he kept fucking his fist through the waves of his own orgasm, shivering even with the hot water running down his body, cleaning his hand even as he continued to stroke his cock, relaxing his muscles as his toes still curled, his knuckles stark white against the tile.

his head fell forward onto the cooling tile, a temporary relief for the haziness swirling around in the steam.

shit, how was he meant to look you in the eyes after this?

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[luminnara]

Victor Zsasz x Reader NSFW | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey/DC

I don’t see nearly enough BOP!Zsasz appreciation here, so I’m determined to change that. Reader is fem, but if there’s interest I can definitely write stuff for male or nb! The reader also has a whole backstory because I’m way more into world and character building than I am reader inserts so this is practically a little OC fic lol

This is sort of set pre-Birds of Prey, don’t worry about it too much, it’s just fun

Warnings: Violence, Zsasz being Zsasz, reader is an assassin who unalives people, light smut

This is short because I’m testing the waters! If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2!!

Requests are open!

When Roman announced that he was hiring a new girl, Victor was less than thrilled. He liked what they had going--Roman was the money and the brains, and Victor was the muscle, the devout follower, and the one who loved to spill blood. They didn’t need anybody else, especially not a new hitman, and especially not a girl.

You had grown up in Gotham City’s East End, a district that was infamous for harboring all sorts of crime. You knew every street, every dark alley, every burnt out shell of a once-great building. The East End was a far cry from Gotham’s nicer neighborhoods, with their shining skyscrapers and big fancy department stores, but what could you say? The East End was home. It was dark and gritty and dangerous, but you loved that about it. 

Besides, it’s not like you could really go anywhere else. 

You had developed quite a reputation for yourself over the past few years. Places like the East End have a tendency to breed criminals, and you were no exception--as soon as you left home, you followed right in your mother’s footsteps and became a gun for hire. Thanks to your family name, you had no trouble taking on the odd merc job here and there, working for mob bosses who didn’t mind the mess you tended to leave behind. Silent, sneaky kills weren’t really your thing, but you never really got into the whole...artistic thing that a lot of other killers did. You didn’t sit there and fuck around with the blood and guts, you just...weren’t very tidy. You were quick, but you weren’t clean. If somebody wanted their enemies taken out quietly, they knew not to even look in your direction, because you were not the girl for the job. 

If somebody wanted to make a statement, though...

You were more than happy to crush some skulls and splatter some blood across the sidewalk for the right price. 

Of course, so much killing got to be exhausting after a while, and even brutal assassins like yourself needed to relax every so often. So, that’s how you found yourself finishing up a job and heading back to your modest little apartment, hopping in the shower, and scrubbing all the blood and dirt off your skin as if you had just spent a long day at the office. It was all normal for you--the killing, the shady bosses, the weirdos you worked with--and you treated it the same way any of those prim and proper office people in Old Gotham treated their day jobs. It was a way to make ends meet, something to pay for groceries and take care of the bills...only, in your case, you were generally paid fully in cash, and sometimes that cash had some suspicious stains on it. 

But hey, work was work, right?

That night, you headed to a club you had yet to check out. Done up in a little black dress and wearing some very expensive pearls you had nabbed off of a target a few months back, you took a cab and found yourself entering The Black Mask.

It was a nice spot, the booths and bar all packed with socialites and crime lords. Waitresses and shot girls flitted around, there was a band playing on the stage, and the atmosphere seemed to be cheerful. Honestly, it wasn’t what you had expected, given what you’d heard about its owner.

Roman Sionis was a businessman, as he liked to call himself, who had been steadily growing his empire. He practically owned the entire East End now, and word on the street was he was looking to expand further into the rest of Gotham. You had never met the man, but you had enough mutual connections that Roman knew exactly who you were the moment he spotted you at the bar.

“Zsasz, go get her,” he said, gesturing towards you with a gloved hand.

Zsasz followed his gaze and tilted his head slightly. “You got it, boss.”

You were minding your own business, ordering yourself a gin and tonic and elbowing drunk men out of your way as you carved a little spot for yourself at the bar. They were rambunctious, leaning towards you with wide grins and beady eyes that told you they were hoping to get lucky tonight.

As you were getting ready to throw another elbow, the men suddenly scattered, vanishing into the crowd as if something had scared them off. The bartender set your drink down in front of you, and just as you raised the glass to your lips, the scent of musky cologne filled your nose and you looked up to see none other than the notorious Victor Zsasz standing before you.

“Boss wants to talk with you.” He said simply, his voice rough and hoarse.

But you were too busy taking in his facial features to really listen to his words. His short hair was the lightest blonde you had ever seen, almost snowy in color, a stark contrast to the black stubble that covered his jaw. He was wearing a silky dress shirt the color of red wine, or dark blood, the kind that was thick and coagulated and dripped off of knives so beautifully.

As he stared right back at you, you saw the scars that cut into his face, straight, meticulously carved lines that you were sure he had given himself. After all, just as you did, Victor Zsasz had a reputation, and while you had never met him, you had heard plenty about the sadistic assassin who kept tally marks of all of his victims.

Part of you wondered just how many he had.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his. “I only just got here. I haven’t even paid for my drink.”

“On the house, courtesy of Mr. Sionis.” Zsasz said, regarding you with heavily lidded eyes as he looked down at you.

Just as you knew of him, he knew of you. Even though he was pretty much locked in place with Roman now, Zsasz heard plenty about everyone else in the East End. You practically ran in the same circles, and he had to admit, he was a tiny bit curious about the lady assassin everyone was raving about. He almost admired the messiness of your kills, but he also thought that you were sloppy and too quick, never taking the time to truly appreciate what you were doing.

Now, as he glanced down at the swell of your tits as they practically spilled out of your dress, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you, or fuck you, or both.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Zsasz.” You teased as you caught him.

“It’s rude to keep the boss waiting.” He shot right back.

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing away from the bar. “Lead the way.”

He offered his hand and you took it, holding onto him gingerly. The crowd parted for Zsasz in a way that they never would for you, smoothly and easily, club patrons giving him polite, frightened nods as he pulled you past. His grip on your hand was tight and harsh, squeezing as if you might try to run, but in all honesty, you were marveling at how warm his skin was around yours. You didn’t hate the way he led you over to his employer, and you knew that he was being gentle, or at least his version of it. 

When he brought you before Roman Sionis, he immediately let go of you, moving to stand next to his boss. Roman himself was sitting in a booth, sinking into the lavish red velvet upholstery as he held a drink in his gloved hand. He regarded you with a calm smile, immediately gesturing for you to take a set across from him. 

So you did, and the rest was history.

Roman Sionis had heard of you, and when he realized that you lived in the East End, in his East End, he had to have you. He had to own you. So, he did what he always did with people, and he bought you. All you had to do was complete one little, simple job for him, and he would keep you around on a regular salary, giving you all the benefits of joining his tiny little family. You passed his test with flying colors, taking out your target faster than Roman could have hoped for, and the next thing you knew, you were spending your days lurking around Roman’s penthouse. 

You stayed quiet and obedient, not wanting to give Roman any reason to get rid of you. It was a good, steady gig, one you didn’t want to pass up, but you could tell that Zsasz wasn’t pleased. He scowled at you, always waiting for you to trip, always ready to watch you fall. You got the feeling that he viewed you as an intruder, someone who was messing up his life even though you gave him more than enough space. He would raise his lip in a sneer whenever you passed, showing off gold teeth in a maddeningly handsome way that always had you hoping and praying that he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks sometimes flushed. He never seemed to care, as he never made any other moves. Maybe he was under strict orders not to fuck with--or just plain fuck---you, or maybe he legitimately didn’t want to. 

You didn’t know why you had started to care so much. 

You didn’t know about the way he watched your ass when you walked away from him, or the lewd way he sometimes palmed himself right out in the open. You never heard his pants and moans as he got off to the thought of you wrapped around him, and you never got to hear your name rolling off his tongue as he spilled into his hand, hips rocking of their own accord. 

Yeah, Zsasz was pretty much head over heels. He was fucked. 

He didn’t know why he liked you so much. There was just something about you, something about the way you walked and talked that always made his cock hard. He had reached the point where you would enter a room, and his pants would grow tight. Did you even know? Could you possibly fathom the torture you were putting him through every single day in Roman’s penthouse? Zsasz wanted to grab you and bend you over something, anything, hike that cute little skirt up and just go to town on your cunt. He dreamed about it at night, he wanted it, he craved the taste of your pussy...

But he couldn’t have it. 

Not yet. 

He would wait. He could be patient. After all, Roman came first. Roman always came first. Zsasz needed to focus on keeping his boss calm and happy, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted, no matter how much he wanted to press you up against the windows and fuck you so that the entire East End could see who you belonged to. 

No matter how badly he wanted it, Zsasz would wait. 

[3mmafr0st]

Remember Me Part 2

Previous Part <——-->Next Part

Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: SMUT and everything that comes with it, Talk of death and murder, violence, guns, brainwashing, sleazy billionaires (eat the rich)

A/N: I have had so much fun with this, give your opinions in the comments

They lied, there was no new mission tomorrow. I stayed locked in that dark little cell that they called my room. It was somewhat comfortable, they had to keep me Poole that so I would be able to keep myself in peak shape. A soldier is no good if they’re sick and in pain. There were sparse books, guides like The Art of War, or the vile words of Mein Kampf. I didn’t like the second one at all. The views were absolutely disgusting, but It made some sort of sense that it was there. I remember vaguely hearing about how Hydra was part of Nazi Germany. Although I couldn’t quite remember what that was, I knew it was bad, because that was what the book itself was about.

The walls were made of cement, the floors lined with corrugated metal. There was a metal bed frame in the corner, with a mattress, pillow, and blanket. Just enough to keep me comfortable. There was a desk in the other corner, simple metal table and chair, but nothing on it or in it. It was simply a place to fill out my mission reports. In the back was a door that lead to a small shower, toilet, and sink. Finally, a punching bag hung from the ceiling on the same side as the bed. I had been in this room for so long that I had memorized every inch of it.

It was difficult to tell how long I had been in here. The only clue to how long was the wall of carved tally marks, at least 20,000, give or take. They never actually gave me a calendar or anything to keep track of time, instead, I tracked it on mealtimes.

It had been about three weeks this time, complete with twenty two new tallies added to the wall. They pulled me out of the room after breakfast, restraining me by walking me with each of my arms held still. I had hope that he would be on this assignment, and as the door opened, a wave of relief hit me. My expression stayed stoic, unreadable. His face was the same, no emotion, no hint of what he did or did not remember. I was pushed into the seat next to him. He didn’t look at me, simply looking forward at the metal desk in front of us.

Pierce finally walked in the door. This must be a high profile mission if he’s here. Two folders were placed in front of us. We each opened our respective files, detailing the mission, even though Pierce began to explain.

“The two of you will be going on and undercover find and kill mission. You will be attending a charity gala for Rosenthal Industries, a former business partner of ours. Caleb Rosenthal will be attending the event. Your job is to get him alone, inject him with the neuro-agent, and make sure he’s dead. Your covers are listed in the file.” I nodded that I understood the mission, and so did Bucky.

The two of us were monitored during the car ride. We were meant to stay in the back while someone else drove the car. The entire ride was silent, the two of us trading glances at each other as we went over our respective files.

We were yet again set up as a couple, but we were meant to have some sort of agreement, an open marriage sort of situation. They were sending me to seduce the young Rosenthal, and get him alone. It was something that I had done millions of times it felt, but this mission was different. There was a more important objective at play, escape.

The minute we were given a room, we looked everywhere, analyzing and checking every item of the room for bugs or cameras. Once we confirmed there were none, I walked over to Bucky.

“What do you remember?” I asked, looking him dead in the eyes. I watched as the facade melted away from his face, the emotionless and cold look being replaced with a smile and adoring eyes.

I pulled his face down to me, pressing my lips to his. I tried to keep control, but it didnt last for long, as an arm snaked around my waist, the cold metal pushing up my shirt slightly to make contact with my skin. I gasped from the sensation, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

I felt the strain in my lungs, and broke the kiss, looking right back up at him.

“I know its been three weeks, but we only have three hours till the charity gala, and we both have to look presentable.” An idea popped into his head evident by the smirk appearing on his face.

“I mean, we definitely should take a shower first,” He said, hands moving up and down my sides.

“It’s probably a bad idea, but you are too good to pass up.” I yelped as my legs were sweeped out under me, Bucky carrying me through the air into the hotel bathroom.

Since we had to have a higher profile for this mission, the hotel room was much nicer than usual. The biggest excitement had to be the massive shower, more than big enough for the two of us. He put me down on the marble sink countertop, practically ripping his suit jacket and shirt off. My hands reached for his chest as he began to undo the buttons on my maroon dress shirt. Once the offending fabric was gone, he moved on to the rest of my clothing, ridding the both of us of any clothing that we had been wearing.

I whined at the cold as he left to go and start the shower, making sure that it was the right temperature. I didn’t want to wait for him to come back over to me, so I walked over to the shower, wrapping my arms around him from behind as he tested the water. I wanted to stay like that forever, simply cuddling myself into his back, the warmth of his body in contact with my cold skin. He began to turn and face me, and i loosened my grip so I could keep my arms around him.

“Doll, are you going to let go or are the two of us going to have to shuffle out way into the shower?” I pouted, but complied as he pulled me into the deliciously hot water.

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” His hands grazed their way down and up me like they did before. I tangled my hand into Bucky’s hair, pulling his lips onto mine. I had no patience at this point, and neither did he, the kiss rough and passionate as I was backed into the wall of the shower. His mouth began to move from my mouth, trailing lower and lower. I felt the warmth of his tongue swirling around my nipple, and a gasp broke free from my lips. The smooth of his metal fingers toyed with the other, making me throw my head back into the tile of the shower.    

“Fuck, keep makin those noises, doll.” His mouth moved away, trailing even lower, leaving kisses on my hips. He looked up at me, his eyes once again scanning mine for any hint of hesitation. Even through everything, he was still so kind, so sweet and concerned for me, it made me fall in love with him all over again. I was so distracted by my own sappy thoughts, that Bucky got the jump on me, licking one broad stripe up my pussy, nearly knocking the wind out of my lungs with how much I needed him. My hands flew to his hair, tangling into the long locks and pulling him closer. He moaned, sending vibrations straight to my clit, which only made me cry out and pull harder.

“Fuck, Bucky, please!” I could feel that knot that continued to tighten in my stomach. My hips began to try and move on their own, but Bucky’s hands pinned me to the tile wall so I couldn’t. I was pulled out of my trance as I felt two cold fingers slip inside of me.

I screamed his name out as his fingers began curling and pressing against the sweet spot inside of me, the combination of both his mouth and his fingers finally pushing me over the edge.

Buck held me down, helping me through my orgasm, holding my hips so I wouldn’t fall, and licking up every drop of my cum until he was satisfied. He finally stood up, making sure to hold me up so my legs wouldn’t give out from under me, his flesh hand pushing my chin up so he could look at me. My hands reached out to grab his cock, wanting him to get something out of this too, but he pushed them away.

“Not today, Doll, we gotta actually shower now, like you said, remember?” I groaned, but I knew that he was right. We had a mission to prepare for, and a plan to enact. Still holding me up, he moved me into the jets of water coming from the shower head. The hot water hit the back of my neck nicely, as Bucky squeezed out some of the soap into my hand. It felt like his hands were everywhere, assisting me with washing every bit and piece of me. Once I was finally able to stand on my own, he moved to get the shampoo, telling me to turn around and step out of the water.

He stood behind me, his hands in my hair, making sure that every single bit had been properly shampooed. I couldn’t help but sigh as his fingers worked the bubbles into the roots of my hair. Once he was finished, I stepped back under the water, as he aided in the washing away of all the shampoo and suds for one last time before the two of us switched places.

Although I knew that we had to go quickly, we, more like I, needed the time to get ready for the gala, but how could I not take the chance that I had been given to enjoy what he looked like, being able to simply move my hands over his chest, spreading the now foamy soap across his body. I moved my hands across every part of him, making sure he was perfectly clean for the gala. Once I got to putting the shampoo in his hair, I noticed a bit of a problem. Although I wasn’t the shortest person in the world, Bucky was still much taller than me, which created a bit of an obstacle when trying to wash his hair. I got up on the balls of my feet in order to reach the top of his head, collecting all of his hair in my hands to make sure everything was washed and clean. I felt as his muscles relax, as if he didn’t even know that they had been tensed, as my fingers worked at his scalp. If I wasn’t allowed to touch him in the way that I wanted, I would make him feel good in any way I could. He turned back around and into the water, rinsing all of the shampoo out of his hair.

I looked in front of the large mirror that lined one side of the bathroom. As I looked at myself, my thoughts wandered away from me. In all the time that I had been a soldier, the only women that I had ever come in contact with were doctors and nurses whenever I would get hurt on the job. They were extra careful with me, maybe it was because my face was valuable, or some bullshit like that. Other than that, I had never once seen a woman in any facility I had been in. I thought about this as I looked at myself, as the supplies and wardrobe given for me for the mission simply could not have been picked out by the type of men that I had met as a soldier. The makeup was high quality, clearly expensive, with perfect matches in color and shade in comparison to both my skin tone and the dress that I was given. The floor length black dress hugged my body in just the right way while also hiding the shiny silver of my leg. My hair was styled and put up and out of my way, both appropriate for the situation and the mission. I smiled at this woman that I did not recognize in the mirror. This was not me, this was Rose Castellan. I liked her, she wasn’t turned into a soldier against her will, experimented on and tortured for as long as she can remember.

I turned around, breaking away from my little pity party to see Bucky behind me, clearly struggling with his hair and tie.

“Help?” He looked so confused, and I smiled. I knew he didn’t tend to go on these types of missions, at least never by himself. He always struggled with his metal arm and trying to tie his tie, as well as never knowing what to do with his hair.

“Sit down, I’ll help with your hair first.” He sat in the chair that I had pulled into the bathroom from the desk. He complied as I began to fix his hair.

“So, any new memories in the last few days?” I asked, picking up the hairbrush and pulling it through his hair to get out all of the knots and tangles.

“There’s this one name that keeps repeating itself in my head, Steve. I know it’s important, I just can’t quite put my finger on who it is or why they are important.” I nodded, noting the information in my head.

“I am having the same situation. There’s a B rattling around, and I can’t quite get the rest of the word, but the B is there.” My hands gathered as much hair as I could in my hands, pulling it up to the top of the back of his head. “I have some parts that are solid progressions of time, but then it simply stops, sometimes for months, other times for years, is that like that for you?”

“Yeah, I can remember some missions that come in order, but then it just stops, and then starts back up later.”

“They really did a number on us the last time it worked when the tried to fry us, I could have sworn that I knew where all that time was going.” I pulled the elastic from my wrist, pulling it over the bundle of hair that I had gathered into a small top knot that kept his hair out of his eyes. His eyes scanned over his reflection in the mirror, clearly not used to the different look.

“Did I do ok”

“Of course, doll, just going to take a bit of getting used to.”

“You know you don’t need to keep it.”

“Yeah, but I liked it when you did it.” My eyes drifted to the ground for a moment as a blush spread over my face.

Bucky stood up from his chair, standing facing towards me. Taking the tie in my hands, I moved the fabric in and out of itself until it formed the knot that it was meant to. Finishing it off, I buttoned the front of his jacket, completing the look.

Glancing over at the clock, I saw that it was almost time to go. Luckily enough, we didn’t have to get into another car with another random driver, the Rosenthal Building was right next to our hotel.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” He asked, as the two of us began to get our things together to leave.

“After we complete the objective, instead of returning to the hotel and checking in with Pierce for extraction, we disappear, find somewhere off the grid that we can hide out for a little while so we can recover more memories,”

“Sounds like a good idea, we can’t plan too far ahead, we weren’t given schematics of the building or anything.” We looked at each other, nodding, before he offered his arm out to me, escorting me out of the hotel room.

I picked up a drink off of the small tray that was held by one of the servers in the ballroom. I thanked him, and Bucky did the same. Swirling my finger in my drink, I looked at the polish on my fingernail to see if it had changed color. It hadn’t. The drinks were clean.

The room was exactly how you would expect, with the fanciest furniture and decorations that money could buy, the guests all in the finest and most up to date fashion, everyone talking about their recent business ventures and lavish trips around the globe. There was an anger burning in me, but I had no idea where it came from. The two of us scanned the room, looking for the target.

I looked over to see the target, Caleb Rosenthal. He was young, maybe in his mid twenties, with a pretty face and a lot of money. It was clear to see that this man had never met any sort of opposition or struggle in his life, always given everything he had ever wanted. I looked at Bucky for a sort of confirmation that I should start, and he nodded. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the small group that Rosenthal had been talking to. I sauntered over, getting his attention.

“And who might you be?” His voice was unbearable, the entitlement and ego dripping off of his words.

“Rose Castellan of Castellan and Stowe Law, we haven’t met formally.”

“I would have remembered a face like yours, what’s your deal?”

“We mainly work in company lawsuits. We’re the guys that save your ass if you do something everyone will regret.” He laughed at the comment, before shooing the rest of the crowd around him away.

“Would you like to dance?” He offered his hand to me, and I smiled sweetly at him, taking it as he led me to the dance floor. His hands were sweaty and wet, but I suffered through it. The two of us danced for a while as the soft and slow music played in the background. I glanced over to see Bucky watching us with a laser stare.

“So who’s the guy?” Rosenthal asked, gesturing towards Bucky.

“My husband, but don’t worry about him.”

“Oh, and why is that?” His voice had that air of suggestiveness to it that made me want to throw up in my mouth. I leaned into him, getting my face close to his ear.

“Let’s just say the two of us have a bit of an arrangement,” I made the underlying tone of the sentence all the more apparent as I moved his hand lower down my back to rest on my ass. He looked surprised at how forward I was being, but it didn’t take long for him to lean into my ear.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Lead the way.” Rosenthal took my hand and began to lead me away from the party.

The two of us walked the hallways, as Caleb tried to find an appropriate room in his own building. I looked behind me, and in the darkness of the hallway, hidden well by the shadows lurked Bucky, watching to make sure that nothing would go too far.

Once he found an office that he deemed suitable, he swung the door open, looking both ways down the hall before opening the door and letting me walk in. He locked the door behind him, and his lips were on mine, pushing me into the desk. I sat myself on the desk as he began to move his gross and sloppy kisses down my neck. I pulled the small patch out of the secret pockets of the dress, perfectly designed. As I moved my hand around his neck, I pressed the patch into his skin, watching as the material disappeared into his flesh.

It only took moments for the toxin to hit him. He stumbled backwards from me, holding his head in pain, uttering a weak “I don’t feel so good,” before hitting the floor. I checked the man’s pulse, confirming his death, before stepping over the body and unlocking the door. Bucky was on the other side, waiting for me.

“He’s dead?”

“Are you really going to question it? I know what I’m doing!” I said, punching him in the shoulder, the attempt at comedy trying to cut the edge of the situation.

“Let’s go.” Bucky began walking down the hallway behind me, as we tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. There was always a garage door when it comes to facilities like this, and thats what we were going to go to, getting into the elevator and pressing the buttons for the ground floor.

Once the doors closed, Bucky pulled me in and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, soft and sweet, a comfort.

“What was that for?”

“I just want to make sure I did that, no matter what happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen, this is the perfect plan.”

That was when the elevator doors opened into the ground floor, and a man was standing there.  He nodded to us, before getting into the elevator as we got out. The two of us looked for some sort of lab, anything labeled as such. I couldn’t believe how lax the security was, but I didn’t say anything, that wasn’t our concern. Finally we found where we needed to be, a large garage, that opened up. I opened the door as Bucky watched for people around us. The entire situation felt off, like this was too easy.

Suddenly, agents began bursting in through the doors, none of which I recognized. I looked to Bucky, and he simply yelled, “Run!”

I did as I was told, sliding underneath the door and running into the street, witnesses everywhere as I ran as far as I could. People looked confused, and understandably so, a girl dressed like a debutante running through the city as fast as she can in heels. My heart pounded in my chest, as I kept looking behind me for Bucky, where was Bucky? He had to have made it out, he was a better soldier than me, he was a stronger soldier than me.

20 blocks, at least, thats how far I ran, before I finally stopped. I took so many turns that they would have had to have lost them, but there was no Bucky. I waited in that spot for a little while , an alleyway occupied by a small population of homeless people.

Bucky had to have gotten out, he had to. He just must have gone a different way, yes, that’s it! He had to have just taken a different route, ended up in a different part of the city. We would find each other later.

I looked down to what I was wearing, the clothing too distinctive. I scanned my surroundings, seeing a girl, roughly my age and size.  I went up to her, surprising her slightly.

“Hey, do you think I could trade clothes with you?” She looked at me funny for a second, but then quickly nodded. The two of us walked into the privacy that the shadows of the alley provided, shucking layers of clothing off of us, trading what one had for the other.

As I zipped up the sweatshirt and jeans given to me, I looked at the girl, still confused and concerned as to why I had asked her to take the clothing.

“You’re gonna be able to get at least 2,000 for this at a pawn shop, don’t let it get damaged before the morning unless you plan on keeping it.” Her eyes went wide with excitement and nodded, going back to the corner that she had come from.

I left the alleyway, and once again began to move, trying to find a different place to camp out for the night. I had no money, so a hotel was out of the question, and it wasn’t as if I knew anyone that I could stay with.

I was lucky that one of the things that I had gotten real good at during my training, was pickpocketing. No one was the wiser, as I moved flawlessly on the streets, anyone who dared walk next to me was subject to the loss of their wallet. I continued like this until I found myself another homeless camp, huddling in with the mass of smelly bodies.

I turned to one of the people huddled around a small fire, warming his hands. “What city is this?”

“We’re in New York, you really must have taken something strong.”

[wanderinginksplot]

Warriors in Red Armor

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Chapter Five

Kai II

"Does everyone understand the mission?" Ransom stared hard in Kai's direction.

Kai scoffed. Just because her attention had drifted off a time or four didn't mean that she was going to be totally lost. "Who needs a debriefing? We're going to do the same thing we always do. I'm going to flirt with everyone until they give me information or get distracted. Ark will slice into their systems and get hard copies of the information we need. You'll be here, masterminding the whole thing."

Ransom stared at her hard for a moment, but Kai met her gaze with ease. Eventually, Ransom gave a little sigh and said, "Yeah, that's pretty much it. But be careful. We've got to get this job right. The merchant's guild has paid us a lot of credits for the information we need. Plus we stand to double our profit if we complete the mission on time. Maybe we should go over the plan again."

"Nah, I've got it," Kai assured her.

Ransom's eyes were like a med-scanner as she used her gift. Kai had always said that Ransom could spot a lie from five klicks with strangers and twice that with friends. Eventually, Ransom must have decided that Kai was telling the truth and nodded. "Fine, but be careful. Are you sure these layout schematics are up-to-date?"

"I'm insulted," Kai jokingly scowled. "Are my schematics ever outdated?"

"No," Ransom begrudgingly admitted. "Even I don't know how you find some of that information."

Kai beamed at the rare praise from her boss.

"You know," Ark started. Kai tensed - there was only one subject that could put that tone in Ark's voice. "We could really use you out in the field on this one, Ransom."

In half a heartbeat, Ransom was as on-edge as both of the other women. "You know that's not an option, Ark." She gave a forced-looking smile and shook her head. "Besides, you don't need me. You're both the best in your respective fields. This mission will be a total success."

The drastic change in mission outlook warned Kai that Ransom was ready to snap. All antics should be cut off immediately.

"Ark and I better go get ready, huh?" Kai said. "Sounds like we need to look the part."

"Comm me when you're ready and I'll activate your earpieces," Ransom said. She always could snap back into professionalism as naturally as taking a breath.

"We will," Kai promised, pulling Ark toward the door. "Ark, bring your outfit to my apartment, would you? You're better at doing hair than I am and I could use your help getting mine to look right."

As soon as they were in the turbolift, Kai puffed out a breath, trying to sound as non-judgmental as possible. "I don't know why you bothered asking her. She never reacts well to it."

Ark looked a little embarrassed. "I was going back over some of her old case files and I just- I got carried away. She was a legend. An actual one. There were stories about how good she was, and she didn't need to divide jobs like we do. She could flirt, slice, get everything she needed, and get out before anyone even realized there was a breach."

"I know, I've read the files, too," Kai reminded her friend. Ransom had been incredible back in the day. Granted, she was impressive now, but before she had stopped going out on jobs? She could have easily run Red Squad alone and made ten times what they were earning now... And then she would have no one to split profits with. "But you're starting to be a bit of a legend yourself… Ghost."

Ark's pale cheeks reddened with the compliment. "I don't even know how that one got started. And it's not good that people know about me at all."

Kai huffed out a breath at her friend. Ark was slender, pale in every sense of the word, and silent. She was also one of the fastest slicers Kai had ever seen… the fastest if they weren't counting Ransom. 'Ghost' was a natural nickname for her. Kai was only jealous that the nature of her designated task meant that she could never get notorious enough for a nickname. Being recognized would be the end of Kai's usefulness to Red Squad.

"Enjoy it, Ark!" Kai encouraged, squashing her own jealousy. "It's a compliment. Speaking of compliments, how is your trooper?"

"You mean Thire?" Ark asked, blushing a bit darker.

Kai chuckled. "Do you have another?"

"No!" Ark shook her head, smiling despite her apparent exasperation. "We talk a lot. Thire is a great guy."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"I'd like to," Ark admitted. "What about you and Thorn?"

"Thorn?" Kai asked, a bit taken aback. "No, nothing going on there. I had fun with him - you know, drinking, watching people on the dance floor, so on - but I don't think there's much of a future in it."

"That's disappointing," Ark said with a frown.

"No, 'disappointing' will be when we aren't ready on time and Ransom kills us both."

A little less than two hours later, both women were ready to go. There was a strange sort of line they had to toe in order to do their job well. Ark had to be dressed to blend in while Kai worked to stand out. All the attention had to be on Kai so that Ark could get in and do her job before anyone noticed what was happening. They had to arrive separately as well. Kai called two different speeders to her apartment, scheduling the second to arrive later than the first.

"So, who hired us again?" Kai asked when she was ensconced in a droid-piloted speeder.

Ransom sighed heavily through the earpiece. "Seriously, Kai? This is why you need to pay attention during briefings."

"The Bespin merchant's guild hired us to find out if the Felucian merchant's guild is spying on them," Ark informed her. Judging by the muted background noise from Ark's earpiece, she was just leaving Kai's apartment.

"They hired spies to see if the other guild hired spies?" Kai asked, chuckling.

"Merchants," Ransom said simply, sounding as if the word had been accompanied by a shrug.

"Arriving at location now," Kai reported. "Estimated entrance: two minutes."

"Two minutes, mark," Ransom replied.

Kai straightened her clothes and took a deep breath before she stepped into the guild hall. It was ornate and overdone, but that was fine: it matched everything she had done with her appearance.

There was a noticeable lull in conversation when Kai stepped inside. She wrestled her smirk into a pleasant smile as she accepted a glass of expensive wine from a serving droid. The form-fitting, low-cut dress floated around her, revealing shapely legs and the most delicate high heels she owned. Her versatile hair was done in a flattering updo. While her makeup was bold, it was tasteful enough that it didn't look overdone.

If Kai was honest, the hardest part of every mission was the pretending. She had to avoid all of the things she actually enjoyed in favor of appealing to onlookers as a sexual fantasy. She had to sip delicately at wine rather than guzzle hard spirits, she could only eat small bits of food that would be sure not to stick in her teeth or ruin her lipstick, and the tightness of her dress meant that she couldn't take a full step… or a full breath.

Being the bait was a nice ego boost, but everything else about it was kind of awful.

Even as Kai mentally tallied the negative aspects of her task, an older, orange-skinned Felucian gentleman sidled up to her. Kai vaguely recognized him as Ollo Set, the head of the Felucian merchant's guild. She continued giving her pasted-on smile.

"Good evening." Considering the height of Kai's towering heels, Set only just reached her chest. Undaunted, the Felucian put on a smile he clearly meant to be charming. "How can such a lovely woman be here alone?"

"Oh, I'm here with someone," she said, doing her best to sound both flirtatious and confused. "He was supposed to meet me here, but I haven't seen him yet."

"Well, whoever the lucky man is, he's a fool to miss even a moment of your radiant company," Set oozed. He took her hand so he could bow - very shallowly - and kiss the back of it.

Kai felt a rush of revulsion. She hated when they touched her. Still, she was a rather incredible actress, if she did say so herself, so she pasted a delicate smile on her lips. "Thank you, sir. It is comforting to find such kindness here, even if my date is later than I would have hoped."

Set patted her hand in a way that managed to be both fatherly and lecherous. "If he does not arrive shortly, I shall show you around myself. Your careless date should not cause you to miss meeting these incredible people."

"I may take you up on that offer! I'm Saro," Kai lied.

"Ollo Set," he returned, adjusting the jeweled cuffs of his jacket. "Leader of the Felucian Merchant's Guild. Pleasure to meet you, Saro. I must leave for a moment, but ask anyone to point you in my direction and you'll have no trouble finding me."

"Oh," she murmured, trying to sound impressed as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Set watched her for a moment, looking stunned, then turned to meet with a group of well-dressed Felucians. The whole gathering shut themselves in a side room, leaving the party raging on without them.

Under the pretence of adjusting an earring, Kai activated her earpiece. "Meeting of the big guys - metaphorically big, anyway. Ark, what's your ETA?"

"Speeder trouble," Ark said, sounding irritated. "ETA: four minutes."

"Four minutes, mark," Ransom confirmed.

Kai circled through the room, chatting and picking at morsels of food while she kept an eye on the entrance. At least she didn't have to be subtle about it - her cover story allowed her to openly watch the new arrivals without looking suspicious.

"I'm right outside," Ark's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Are they still in the meeting?"

"Yes," Kai breathed, managing to work her answer into the conversation she was having with a drunk Felucian female.

Ark made her entrance seconds later. She wore a mousy brown wig and a tan dress tailored to disguise her slender figure. Carefully applied makeup had lent her colorless skin the appearance of more life. As a result, she didn't stand out overly much from the other humans in the room. Ark glanced at Kai, who subtly tilted her head toward the still-closed door.

With that, Ark made her way toward a hallway. According to the detailed schematics Kai had provided, the hall held both the refreshers and several data access points. At the last moment, a serving droid moved into Ark's way, intending to offer her a glass of wine. Ark, busy double-checking the door, tripped on the droid and flailed to recover her balance. Her small bag fell to the floor, spilling her slicing materials onto the carpet as the service droid beeped around frantically, trying to offer help. Kai watched with more than a little horror as the door to the guild meeting swung open. Ollo Set stepped out first, then paused and frowned over at the commotion caused by the serving droid.

Kai rushed over toward him. "Mr. Set!"

His pale orange gaze swung toward her instead, for which Kai was forever thankful. She had seen Ark starting to gather her tools, any one of which was recognizable as being part of a slicing project. Now, Kai simply had to hold the attention of Set and the other guild members, and she knew exactly how to do it.

Tugging at her dress in apparent distress, Kai revealed a bit more of her chest than she had previously been showing and forced tears to well in her eyes. When she reached Set and the accompanying guild members, she leaned down to speak with him. Her posture allowed the best vantage point for Set to see both the tears and the cleavage.

"What's wrong, my dear?" Set asked, looking first at her chest, then the tears, then her chest again.

"I just received word that my date isn't coming after all. He's stood me up!" she told him, letting one of the tears slip down her cheek. "Is there any chance you're still willing to accompany me this evening?"

"Why, Saro," he oozed, "I would be absolutely delighted. May I introduce the other leaders of the Felucian Merchant's Guild?"

Kai chanced a glance backward as she straightened up once more - leaning down in such a tight dress was killing her spine - and was pleased to watch Ark disappear safely down the hallway. Kai relaxed slightly and put a tearful smile on as she turned to be introduced to the other Felucians.

"Wait, I- I recognize you," one of the Felucians, this one a yellow-skinned female, said haltingly.

The smile slipped from Kai's face, but she had rekindled it a moment later. "Are you sure? I don't think we've ever met."

"I've seen your face somewhere before," the female insisted.

"What are you prattling on about, Ethoda?" Set asked, striving for a tone of boredom and achieving one of irritation.

"She's someone I know, and not in a good way," Ethoda insisted. Kai's stomach gave an odd little twist at the thought that someone had finally recognized her. The Felucian female at last said, "I'm fairly certain she's a prostitute!"

Well, that was unexpected. Kai gaped. "What? I'm not a- I am not a prostitute!"

"That's just what a prostitute would say," one of the other males muttered.

"Which is more likely: a beautiful human woman being interested in Ollo or that she's a prostitute?"

"That makes more sense than anything else I've heard tonight."

"I'll notify the Coruscant Guard," Ethoda offered, rushing away.

And that was that. Admittedly, the mission had been to keep attention away from Ark in whatever way was necessary, but Kai had never expected this to be the outcome. It wasn't the proudest moment of her life, but Kai sat quietly and waited for the Coruscant Guard. The only move she made was to 'fix her hair' and activate the earpiece.

"I can't believe I'm getting arrested for prostitution," she muttered. Ark and Ransom's frantic questions and sounds of outrage provided entertainment until the Coruscant Guard arrived.

A clone trooper in red and white armor marched into the room. "Commander Thorn. What's going on here?"

---

Thorn I

"This woman is a prostitute!"

Thorn was always the first to admit that he wasn't a lighthearted trooper. The laughter and jokes that came easy to his brothers weren't part of his repertoire. Still, even Thorn had gotten a kick out of the accusations that were being thrown Kai's way. It had taken him a minute or so to recognize her - especially with a group of Felucians insisting that her name was Saro - but her look of dread at his entrance had been a solid clue.

He had taken down the eyewitness details of the incident with care. Keeping his voice level was tricky, but no one could hear the mocking he knew was clear in his expression. When the long-winded Felucians finished talking, Thorn closed the document so he could place binders on Kai's wrists and lead her to his cruiser.

"I'll take her to the precinct," he told the Felucians.

He had to shut down the external speakers on his helmet when the leader of the group - an orange-skinned male who had introduced himself as 'Ollo Set', followed them outside. As he fixed Kai with a stern gaze and he said, "Let this be a lesson to you, young lady: there is no substitute for an honest day's work", Thorn laughed aloud.

Rather than risk reactivating his speaking and giving away the game, Thorn had nodded to acknowledge Set's thanks. He steered Kai into the back of the cruiser as soon as he could and settled into the front seat himself. They were in the air waiting to enter traffic when he finally thought it was safe to remove his bucket.

As he reached for the familiar plastoid curves, Kai snapped, "This is ridiculous. You know I'm not a prostitute."

Thorn broke the seal that had formed between his blacks and his helmet before answering. "Of course I know that. Do you think I leave the code to my binders in the backseat with every perp?"

"Oh," she said, ire deflating as she grabbed the scrap of flimsi and awkwardly typed the written code into the binders. "Then why-?"

"If I hadn't brought you in for a false claim like prostitution, they may have come up with something more difficult to fight." He met Kai's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Like industrial espionage."

There was no answer from the backseat and Thorn abruptly found the whole situation less amusing than he had previously. Industrial espionage was a nasty business, and he wasn't thrilled to find that Kai was wrapped up in it.

"Care to explain what you were doing at the headquarters for the Felucian merchant's guild?" he asked.

She sighed, looking conflicted. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. As long as it's the truth. I don't like listening to lies."

"Hey," she said, leaning forward with an offended look on her face. "I don't lie."

Thorn snorted. "You want to try feeding that line to the crowd of civvies back there who told me all about 'Saro'?"

"I lie at work because it's literally my job," Kai snapped. "I don't have a choice there, but I do everywhere else. I am not a liar."

"So your job is to lie and you wear revealing clothing while you do so," Thorn mused. "Are you sure you're not a prostitute?"

"I'm on an information securities team called Red Squad," she told him irritably. "We were hired to get intelligence from the Felucian merchant's guild."

"And they sent you in alone?" Thorn asked with an unfortunate chuckle.

"No, I wasn't there by myself," Kai admitted. "But I couldn't stay, not after having attracted that much attention. I don't even know if the mission was a success or not."

"Another private sector success, then," he said, sarcasm thick in his voice. "I take it that jobs don't always end this way?"

She snorted. "Believe it or not, this is the first time I've ever been arrested under suspicion of being a prostitute."

"It's a small and glorious club," he said. "It also signals the need for a career change. Ever thought about doing anything else? This espionage thing may not be your strong suit."

She grew quiet and Thorn saw her turn to stare out of the window. His heart skipped a beat. Stars, don't let her start crying... He felt an unusual wave of pity wash over him. Kai's day had clearly gone wrong and here she was being taken away from a formal event in the back of a police cruiser. Plus, Thorn's vode had always told him he could be abrasive, so chances were good that he wasn't helping matters.

"Hey, I'm not going to charge you with anything. Why don't you give me your address and I'll drive you home?"

"You can just drop me off here," she said frostily. "I can find my own way home."

"The kriff you will," he shut down immediately. "It's almost midnight. Coruscant isn't safe for civvies dressed like you are at this time of night."

"Maybe at the next intersection," Kai suggested, pretending she hadn't heard him.

"Maybe I'll take you to the precinct after all," Thorn threatened. "That way, I won't be responsible if you end up attacked or killed for walking through dangerous parts of the planet at night, looking like a-"

He cut himself off and Kai leaned forward, a challenging look on her pretty face. "Like a prostitute?"

Actually, he had been about to say that she looked like royalty, but her tart response knocked some sense back into him. "Yeah," he agreed instead. "Something like that."

"You're impossible," she told him, sounding tired. "Just… take me home."

She gave him the address, but Thorn could hardly hear it over the pounding of his heart. Kai probably hadn't meant for her words to sound inviting - far from it - but they had caused a pang of something long-buried in his memory. The feeling of home hadn't been one emphasized in flash training or any day since, but he had always imagined it would be the way he felt when he had heard Kai's request.

Still, he forced his mind back to his duty and plugged Kai's address into the navicomputer on his cruiser. Shortly afterward, they had arrived at a plain-looking building. Kai still hadn't said another word to him, which frustrated Thorn for some reason. They may not have exchanged comlink info like Thire and his girl had, but Thorn and Kai had gotten along at 79's. He couldn't remember a time he had laughed harder than when she drunkenly told an equally drunken Nikto that he had "scored a perfect 30" on the dance floor.

Deciding to make things right once and for all, Thorn shut off the cruiser and got out to open Kai's door.

"Thank you, Commander," she said stiffly. "Drive safe on your way back to the precinct."

"Hold on, let me walk you inside," he offered, injecting enough suffering into his tone that she would think it was a punishment. She didn't say anything to encourage him, but she didn't say he couldn't accompany her, either.

So Thorn found himself following Kai down two flights of narrow stairs to her housing unit. When they arrived at the door, he noted an odd lock keeping it closed. Still, he thought little of it until Kai also frowned and made a confused little sound.

Every instinct Thorn had demanded that he act. In half a second, he had grasped Kai around the waist, spun to place her behind him, and drawn one of his blaster pistols. He ignored Kai's questions and focused on the area, but his HUD wasn't showing any signs of potentially hostile lifeforms. More importantly, the strange lock wasn't bringing up any warnings.

"What's on your door?" he demanded, still scanning their surroundings.

"It's a lock," Kai explained slowly.

"I figured that," Thorn's response was dry. "What kind of lock and who put it there?"

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Body language, tension, and observation, now focus," Thorn commanded. "Who put that lock on your door?"

"Probably Ark," Kai admitted with a sigh. "It's for me to practice slicing."

The answer was so far beyond anything Thorn had been expecting that he actually let the barrel of his blaster drop toward the floor as he turned to face her. He repeated, "Slicing?"

"Yeah, I'm over-" Kai stopped her sentence halfway through. "You know what? I don't want to explain this to you."

"Do it anyway," Thorn advised. "Because I'm not leaving, otherwise."

She crossed her arms, kicking up her chin. Right as Thorn thought he would have to press her again, Kai said quietly, "I'm sick of being the bait. I want to do something useful, like slicing, but I'm not very good at it. Ark is trying to teach me and she's big on practice. She bought me this lock and said it would give me motivation to learn."

"So, she put a practice slicing lock on the door to your apartment. You would have to use your new skill to get inside," Thorn summarized. It sounded like something that his vode would do. He silently supported the endeavor even as he mentally noted the implication that Kai and Ark worked as some kind of team.

Still, Thorn holstered his blaster and gestured at the door. He took a step to the side so she could access the lock. "Well, go ahead. Slice."

Kai looked at him, eyes severe. "I'm not any good at it and I'm tired. Do you know anything about slicing?"

"Not a thing," said Commander Thorn of the GAR, official head of the department overseeing arrests and difficult extractions that often included slicing.

"I could get a hotel room for tonight…" she mused.

Thorn rolled his eyes. She was as dramatic as Hound. "Or you could just try it. Your friend wouldn't put an unsliceable lock on your door, would she?"

"Probably not," Kai agreed with palpable reluctance. She sighed and pulled a small set of tools out from behind a potted plant in the hallway as Thorn watched with growing amusement.

Kai placed the scramble key on the back of the lock, but it was backwards and wouldn't work. "What are you doing?"

"Unlocking the door? I'm pretty sure," Kai told him, poking at the lock. "I don't know why the key isn't registering, though."

"Explain the process to me," he invited.

She turned to stare at him, seeming shocked. "You want me to teach you how to slice?"

"Why not?" Thorn asked. "Teaching a skill is one of the best ways to see if you've learned it."

"Fine," Kai huffed. "First, you attach the scramble key to the back of the lock… oops. That's definitely backwards. Anyway! Once the system has registered the key, it can start running possible combinations. Then your only job is to keep the security systems from booting you out."

Thorn watched the process, trying not to smile as Kai clumsily shut down security checks and shutdown attempts. Her methods weren't pretty, but they were effective, and the lock dropped from the door after a few minutes of work.

He retrieved the lock and the scramble key for her, taking a moment to study the key close-up. Thorn hadn't seen anything like it before. That was impressive, considering how much of his job revolved around slicing attempts. The key was homemade, like all the best scramble keys were, but on a level that told him how well the maker understood the process of slicing.

"Interesting key," he commented, hiding his interest. "Where did you get it?"

Kai glanced at it, unimpressed. "Ark gave it to me. She said it was trustworthy."

So Ark was a slicer. If she had been the one who made that key, she was kriffing good at it, too. Thorn made a mental note to ask Thire about the woman he had been spending so much time talking to. A moment later, that and all other coherent thoughts left his mind as Kai turned back and asked, "Do you want to come inside?"

He stared at her, dark brows furrowed. "You don't like me."

"I don't like when you mock me," she corrected. "But I like you just fine. Plus, you aren't arresting me when we both know you could. I think that's worth a cup of caf. Maybe even a cookie."

"Maybe even two cookies," he joked, following her into the apartment.

Kai gave a teasing scoff over her shoulder. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

---

A/N - Poor Kai. That would have to be a pretty hefty blow to your ego! Good thing Thorn was the one to respond - even if he did lie about knowing how to slice. On that note, do you know who knows nothing about slicing? Me. So if anyone is an expert about the process and this reads poorly, I'm sorry! I just started playing Republic Commando and did a lengthy skim on the Wikipedia page about slicing, but that's the extent of my knowledge.

[aberrantshrink]

[TEXT ID under the cut!]

[Pale, cool green text in Times font on a stark black background. It reads:

"My anger is now clean

& I hold it unbothered within my chest, silent in

my throat like a strange, quiet frog:

a croak that never comes

& no one who tries is allowed to tell me otherwise.

He holds my tired cheeks with scarred & shaking hands

tired in equal measures, for all the same reasons;

he’s weathered all the same weather, though his skies

are violent greens and brilliant, terrifying blues

& mine are stark reds, dripping like blood,

crusted brown under the hide of my brittle nails,

like lover’s ash from Pompeii and their earth pigments

smeared haphazardly, though with artistry,

on harshly-cut polygons of hidden cave walls.

Closing in the negative space between us he tilts his head

kissing my neck, kissing the ugly raised flesh of my scars,

loving the white beasts that rear their terrible heads in

rough waters, loving the sea, loving her because she washes

his skin with care & treats his wounds with salt & bathes

his olive and brown in dizzy spells of drunken moonlight.

He leans in and kisses me, pressing soft wetness to my lips

& pulls the shredded flesh from the gaps in my molars

like a parasite, symbiotic, like a fish and I am a shark

I can smell the blood pounding & pulsing in his neck

& I long to bite and rip him apart & he knows this,

still he loves me, still he wants me, still he’s soft

& bares the supple, untrained flesh of his belly before me

he has been beaten & bitter & jaded & so have I but still

we lie, soft & tender and we dare to be so brave & human

tiny creatures falling in the cracks & crooks

of each other’s arms.

He lies out the strips of flesh in a line for me on rocks

in the sand & we point and count them in a rhapsody of

bitter iron and crayon tally marks. They stink like jerky

& sulfur and he laughs sort of meanly when I tell him that.

I fall in love with the sound. I hold it next to the anger in

my chest and they dance, one dressed in black and power

& the other in silk and satin and ribbon and pearl and iridescence

& I think I am blinded and starstruck by this & maybe

I will never see the same again—he is a dark spot

in my vision, he is the numbness in my crippled toes

and I cannot walk without the dual comfort and insanity

that is the thought of him.

They think that as time goes on, the effects of gravity start

to change within a black hole: they mutate,

these undeniable facts & laws of nature change and twist

& matter less than they did before. Science is not a rigid

beast. It is merely an observation of a world that at every

chance will find a way to hide itself from the common

thought. It is madness. It is the study of a creature who has

made its purpose to not be known.

I take your hand in mine. It’s clammy, but that’s okay.

It’s a little thing. You can forgive me.

I take his hand in mine, & together we walk

both at once overwhelmingly afraid &

utterly and stupidly unbothered

and we walk brave-faced into the gently overtaking embrace of the sea."

/END ID.]

this is some of my prose/poetry. it might not get any notes but i was really proud of myself for pumping it out and i hope someone out there at least reads it and maybe identifies with it. it's unnamed right now, & feel free to make your own interpretation. these kinds of feelings are big and tricky, and that's what makes them beautiful to me.

[drjackandmissjo]

float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3 

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must’ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most  uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”

[roleplay-central]

One for Me (Berkova Blog)

The cleansing Rite went well, painful as usual in purging any taint from her. Yet still...Vanya couldn’t escape from the heady essence of vampire in her skin, and in her mind. Fortunately, she was skilled enough in her Gifts that she could hide any lingering scents or undead elements from her family’s sharp senses. Even her mother.

“I need not remind you, Vanya, what is at stake here. What has always been at stake.” Darina Berkova stared out the lime washed arched window from the third floor of House Berkova. The stygian queen of her gothic castle. Lightning flashed across snow covered mountains and illuminated her sleek silhouette.

Vanya only had a view of her back, but she was sure of what she would see if her mother had been facing her. No emotion, with molten coals burning in her deep sea gaze. Passive displeasure. As if Vanya’s presence was nothing more than an inconvenience. An expression she knew all too well.

“Do not think I am unfamiliar with the unwanted advances of greedy men. Every woman has a tale they must bear. You are no different. You cannot avoid him forever, skŭpi moĭ. You made this promise in blood by the witness of his Church, and our spirits. To go back on that pact is unforgivable.”

She placed a slim hand against the window pane as sleet pelted it from the outside. The heat from her touch fogged up the glass as she continued in her icy tone, “I expect you to hold your tongue, and your Rage. To do what you have been trained for. Taking orders. You know better than most that war and battles take many different forms. I taught you that.”

She paused as if to gather her next thought, “As unpleasant as this one is, to physically fight back would mean your death. By my own hands. Do you understand? Worse,” She finally turned around to pierce Vanya’s numb existence with her burning gaze, “harming the Child of Lazarus would put the rest of your family at risk with the Society of Leopold. I certainly need not remind you of the history of the Inquisition. Their vengeance is fueled by dangerous zealotry. It often comes swift and recklessly, burning everything in its path.”

Vanya did not move from her spot, the tight pull of her Dutch braid the only relief to the ache forming behind her eyes, “I will meet with him.”

Darina bared her teeth, “More than that, you will do whatever you can to keep him happy.” She turned back around, loosely holding her hands behind her back, “He and his Provincials still want something of ours. I do not intend to ever give it to them, but you will make sure he believes we will.”

“I understand.”

“If you fail me again, Vanya. There will be no more exemptions. Even if you are my blood.”

Vanya bowed although Darina wouldn’t see it. Without another word, she turned and left her mother’s library.

The cold stone of Vanya’s private quarters stung the warmth of her naked soles. She stood in front of her vanity mirror in a simple white night shift. The antique wood carvings that framed the mirror matched the embroidery of her gown. Intricate thorny vines. No flowers.

She tilted her head, the heavy braid swinging to the side. She tilted her head again to swing it the other way. An old memory resurfaced. That’s right, she used to do this as a child, staring at her unfamiliar image.

“You used to do that when you were younger. And then you stopped looking at yourself in the mirror.” The familiar slithering of a man’s voice echoed through her chamber. All too intimate. “I wonder why that is.”

She didn’t bother turning around, knowing who it was just by the scent that wafted in from the hallway.

Her heavy iron door shut behind him with a soft click.

“We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we? Do you remember the games we used to play?” Tap. Tap. Tap. Each hard click of his metal capped cane on the stone floor knocked against the thick hide of her numbness.

“You were only human in those days. Just Kinfolk child to your family when you were promised to me. But I think even then I knew you were special.” He came up behind her, touching her braid, pulling it over her shoulder with the slightest caress to the crook of her scarred neck as they both stared at her reflection.

“Tonight, we will play different games.” The Russian in his voice thickened, “Go to the bed.”

The tempest of her cloudy gaze brightened with electric flashes of her Rage.

“No.”

Their eyes finally met in the mirror and his amber glare glowed in return with searing golden magic. Fiery and intent. In the flames of his scrutiny she could see the tormented ghosts of the souls he’s ever burned alive. Turned to ash. Each weary line of his face like a tally to mark every supernatural being he crushed beneath his righteous boot, evil or not. No mercy. No remorse.

He was a formidable beast all his own. To think her strength was superior would underestimate his experience with hunting creatures like her. It was enough to make an eager Garou pup squirm.

Yet all she could think of was the handsome vampire and his deep scarlet stare. Wild. Half manic. Unpredictable and sometimes cold in its branding intensity. Her small body shuddered at the memory of their last encounter...the taste on her lips, then her tongue. More. She wanted more of that. Of him. Not...this...

“I hate to ask a second time, little wife.” As if sensing the forbidden trajectory of her thoughts, the sorcerer’s face grew tight with prideful anger and impatience. “I said...get on the bed.” He struck his cane hard on stone.

The next thing she knew, she was laying across the mattress on her back. She pulled her arms in, only to find them restrained by thick iron shackles. Her ankles sported the same sort of accessories, bolted to the posts of her large bed frame. Danger, her wolf spirit howled. Trapped.

She narrowed her eyes when she couldn’t shift into Glabro. Or any form. The instinct to fight, defend, and Rage burned through her limbs as she calmly pulled on her new bonds. Magically reinforced.

So, he came prepared.

They would not last long. If she tried. But the whip of her mother’s voice became yet another shackle on her retaliation.

“The innocence between those legs. I may not be a wolf, but I can smell it.” He inhaled deep with his eyes closed, brushing gloved fingertips against his nose as if he was close enough to taste.

Her knees involuntarily pressed together, shoulders cramping with tension. Yet she would not allow her mask to slip.

He suddenly disappeared, reappearing up on the wide mantel above her fireplace. He stood there, looking down as he pointed the raven skull of his cane at her, “Already in your thirties, and still untouched. God has continued to spare you for me. Another gift that blesses our reunion. But do not worry, little wife. I will not deflower you tonight. Or the next. That will come when you are ready. When you come begging me for it.”

He spun his cane around to hold it like a bow. With his free hand he pretended to load and pull back the string. Magic converged between his fingertips, manifesting into the shape of a golden arrow made of whispering flames.

“How about a new game, little wife? If I hit you, I will set one shackle free. But every time I miss, I get a kiss. Anywhere I like.” He let the magic arrow fly. It screeched through the air in a flash.

She didn’t flinch when it struck the mattress between her thighs, narrowly missing pale flesh, but the hard pounding of her heart rushed through her ears.

He grinned and drew another magic arrow, “One for me.”

[foxtophat]

here’s chapter 4!!! it’s been about a week and a half, two weeks since John Seed reappeared, and now nick is ready to take his vengence!  by... having john do basic tasks to repair the homestead.  hey, this isn’t eden’s gate -- what do you expect, skin flaying and long-winded religious diatribes?  (weird, that’s exactly what john expects, all the time, from everyone!)

i really love this story and am so thrilled that other people seem to enjoy it too!!! it’s fun to write, and since i know it’s just full on self-indulgent bullshit, i don’t feel guilty for not being ~~realistic~~ about the whole thing.  fuck it! nick is a pacifist now!!!

i’ve included today’s chapter under the cut so you don’t have to leave tumblr if you don’t want to.  if you’re enjoying this story, please consider reblogging so your friends can also enjoy my hellscape! or, you know, do what makes you happy, it’s not like i can force you to ruin your aesthetics blog on my behalf. stay frosty my dudes, i’ll see you in 2 weeks!

Well, John doesn't die. Despite that being the only good thing the man could possibly do, he manages to hang on through the first night, looking better before the week is out. It's a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Nick no longer feels like he's serving a skeleton its last meal; on the other, it means that John is more than likely here to stay. Every time Nick goes to give him food, he finds the room just a little bit more lived in, the tarp turning into a makeshift bed as John struggles to settle in. Just yesterday, Nick had noticed a short series of tally lines scratched in the wall, marking each day of his sentence as though he were confined to solitary.

Nick should probably be happy with how smoothly things are going. He should probably be glad that John is keeping quiet and politely recuperating without so much as a snide remark. It's what he wanted, after all — for John to wave a white flag and agree to an unconditional surrender. And yet Nick can't help but feel short-changed, as if John owes him at least one opportunity to punch him in the face for being an asshole. It used to be something Nick dreamed about doing; he'd fantasized about beating him to a bloody pulp even as John had ripped his skin from his chest. Now, he's not willing to deal with the guilt that would undoubtedly follow.

Nick wishes he could go back to his "fight everyone" thirties. Being a mature adult sucks.

It's bright and early one morning when Nick decides it's past time to do something about the ceiling, which is warped and sagging beneath the nursery. Nick suspects it's a cracked joist, but considering his lack of carpentry skills, he doubts he can do anything to repair it. Right now, all he can do is try to support the weight of the second floor with something other than a wish and a prayer. Thankfully, he saved some of the posts when he dismantled the back porch — now if only Kim weren't going to be busy all day with Carmina, they could actually get some work done.

Except, maybe not!

John has been looking a lot better these past two days, since all he's been doing is resting and regaining his strength. Nick's heard him rummaging around at night, and he's been making himself something of a nest out of the crap left with him. Nick's even heard him talking, although it's anyone's guess who he thinks is listening. Considering how quiet and withdrawn he is when Nick brings him his meals, he doesn't seem interested in what real people have to say.

Honestly, if Nick hadn't been an integral part of John's survival for the past week, he'd think the whole thing was some kind of ploy. Nick's not sure what John would be planning with this act for sympathy, but he isn't going to make the same mistake he did all those years ago and write him off as some rich, coked-out jackass with no thoughts to his name. He's not going to let John sit around and finalize whatever evil machinations he's got brewing in his mind. He's gonna work that sad-sack until the only thing John's thinking about is collapsing from exhaustion.

Nick doesn't reveal his plans until after breakfast. He doesn't want to ruin his favorite meal of the day, not when he can rest aimlessly beside his family around the table, eating ham and eggs while Kim brews coffee. It's the closest they'll ever get to the way life used to be, and Nick can pretend that everything is back to normal as long as he has a cup of coffee in hand. Hell, it's not like watching his eight-year-old daughter methodically clean the family rifle during breakfast is all that weird for Hope County, with or without the apocalypse.

It's probably a good thing that Carmina is distracted. If she realized today was the day John would be seeing sunlight, she'd refuse to go anywhere until her curiosity was satisfied. They've told her as little as they can get away with, given that they're keeping a man prisoner across the hall from them. Mostly that he's a very sick stranger who could make little girls very sick too. She'd bought it for the most part, but Nick's afraid that she won't be able to contain her curiosity for much longer.

"Think I'm gonna get some stuff done while you're gone," he tells Kim, glancing significantly towards the stairs while Carmina isn't looking. "We need to deal with the second floor sooner rather than later."

"Are you sure?" she asks, raising her eyebrows meaningfully back at him. "Is this something you can do on your own?"

"Better to not put it off anymore," Nick replies. "It'll be easier if I have the place to myself, anyway. Less, uh, confusion."

That said, he puts the chore off for almost half an hour after Kim and Carmina head out. He tries to prepare, but there's not much he can do to close off the exits, and it only takes a few minutes to drag all the necessary supplies into place. All he can do at this point is hope that John is only strong enough to help, and not strong enough to run at the first chance he gets. If he does that, Nick's going to have no choice but to shoot him.

Nick does his best to hide his nerves as he unlocks the door. It feels weird to knock so he doesn't, pushing the door open slowly enough for the hinges to creak. John should just be thankful Nick bothers to try giving him any sort of head's up.

John, ungrateful bastard that he is, sleeps through Nick's entrance. He's found the cheap wool guest blanket that Nick would never dream of actually offering to guests, which seems fitting. His shirt is crumpled next to him, leaving Nick with the unfortunate view of his bare torso.

Nick's seen John shirtless a few times now, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach. His skin is stretched over his jutting shoulder blades, clinging to every sharp, bony angle of his spine. Nick knows there's not much else for it to cling to - he's seen the way John's stomach sags, too much skin with not enough meat to hang on to. It's all been eaten away from months, maybe even years , of malnutrition and inactivity. The only thing left of the man Nick remembers is a goddamn shadow. Looking down at John, Nick's left to wonder how he had survived at all.

Nick nudges John unkindly with his boot, ignoring the grunt of discomfort he gets in return. "Come on," he snaps, "It's morning. If the sun's up, you're up — this isn't the goddamn Hope County Hilton."

John groans, biting his tongue against whatever snide comment might come to mind. That's too bad — Nick would love to start today off with an ethically-sourced beat-down.

Even though he wants to, Nick refuses to look away as John sits up, revealing all of his tattoos and scars. The tattoos are nothing new, and some of the scars look pre-Collapse old, but John obviously didn't let the bunker curb his self-mutilating tendencies. Some of the tattoos have been ritualistically carved out, leaving flat slabs of scar tissue behind. Others have been scratched out less completely, seemingly at random. The worst part is seeing the ten deep, half-moon gouges in his shoulders, leaving behind raw, fresh scars. Nick can only imagine what led to their creation, but he would really rather not.

"Put your shirt on and eat quick," Nick tells him, setting the plate near enough to John before retreating to wait by the door. The more space he has between them, the better. If John is going to pull something, Nick wants to have room to grab his gun, or at least to brace for a fight. And anyway, John still eats like a mongrel and it's uncomfortable to watch.

"Time to put me to work?" John asks skeptically as he drags his shirt over his torso.

"You bet," Nick replies. Should he be a cagey dick about it? Part of him thinks so, out of spite, but realistically he should temper John's expectations. Nick isn't going to be capable of putting John through the kind of torture he's probably expecting. So, he points out the dipping corner and says, "This whole floor is gonna give out if we don't do something about it. Well, I say we , but I mean you ."

John regards the spot with more skepticism. "That's it?"

"You haven't even seen how much of the house you're going to be digging out of the dirt," Nick points out. "Come on, hurry up already, I don't have all day."

——

Despite being sick as a dog, John's strength is still something to be reckoned with. Nick watches uneasily at first as John makes short work of clearing space for the beam to stand, heaving shovelfuls of dirt out the open window without regard to his wasted muscles. If John decides to come at him with that shovel, it's going to be Nick's reflexes that save him, not his brute strength. Nick's reflexes aren't exactly the best these days, so Nick hopes it doesn't come to that.

It doesn't seem like John is interested in fighting, though. Nick sets him to work with the shovel and he takes it up without so much as a snide comment about Nick trying to order him around. He slings dirt silently, practically zoning out over the manual labor as Nick watches from his side of the room. It's almost like he's in a trance or something, and it's only broken when the shovel scrapes against the wooden floorboards. He comes to a sudden stop, staring at the floor in surprise. He looks up and around, fixing a sour glare at the wide-open back porch that Nick is standing guard in front of before finally looking at Nick himself.

"That's it?"

"Hell no, it isn't," Nick sighs, gesturing towards the beam that he'd dragged in from the woodpile outside. It doesn't rain much nowadays, so it hasn't gone to rot, and it should be just about level with the supports in the ceiling. Plus, it's already got the right hardware attached, and most of it even survived the nuclear blast.

"Come on," he tells John, "You're putting this up."

Still no backtalk, not even as Nick gets his own hands dirty and helps John prop the beam up. He remains silent as Nick fastens it in place with the only three-inch bolts left in America. It's a temporary solution, but Nick's proud of it anyway, and he steps back to admire the work. He has to admit, even if John is planning something, at least his plan involves actually being useful.

"That should work for now," he says. He scratches the back of his head as he regards John — what does he do with the guy now? It seems like a waste to just... jam him back up there. He's obviously capable of working, and that's what Nick said he'd do — break his back with manual labor, right?

"Well, now that we're done with that... I guess you can get to work shoveling the rest of this dirt outta here. It's been pretty low on the list, but it's not like you've got anything better to do."

"No, I suppose not."

"Hey now, what happened to just saying yes ?" Nick grins, feeling mean but still pretty funny for it. John scowls, but he's just not the right audience for the joke, so his opinion doesn't count.

" Yes, sir ," John replies. He's probably just being a dick, but the way he says it roils Nick's stomach on impact.

"Hey, none of that shit," Nick snaps, even though he probably should lean into the boss role while he can. "Just — don't be a fucking weirdo about this, okay?"

John frowns and doesn't respond. He doesn't need Nick to instruct him any further, returning to work with the shovel as though he's forgotten he ever stopped. Nick keeps an eye on him as he has lunch, waiting for John to drop the weird, quiet obedience act that he's been putting on. It has to be an act. John's just using their mercy for his own ends, using them for shelter and food while waiting for the opportunity to strike. To take the house and the guns, to take control of everything that he'd felt so obligated to eight years ago.

An hour goes by in silence. John works steadily, almost meditatively shoveling down to the floorboards, dumping shovelfuls of dirt out the nearest window to him. He's lost in his thoughts, so much so that he doesn't seem to notice as he clears out nearly half of the living room, the shovel scraping against wood like the beat of the drum that's distracting the poor motherfucker.

Eventually, Nick can't help but point out, "You don't talk as much as you used to."

John doesn't so much as look at him, which is more irritating than Nick wants to let on. What, is he supposed to shut up now, too? Forget that !

"I mean, you used to never shut the fuck up. Guess even you couldn't stand listening to yourself for eight years solid, huh?"

John grunts in response. He doesn't look so hot; his face is pale and drenched in sweat, and he seems to be relying on the shovel to steady himself. Nick squints, trying to figure out whether or not the guy is trying to pull a fast one on him — it's exactly the kind of thing Nick would do, if he were being held captive — but John doesn't seem to notice Nick's scrutiny at all. He seems miles away from the house, from himself.

Goddamn it. The more Nick watches, the less comfortable he becomes. "Alright, come on," Nick sighs, exasperation masking his discomfort at seeing John near-fainting. "That's enough for one day, now sit down before you fall down."

It's a toss-up which of those options John takes, but moments later he's flopped backward into the mound of dirt. He leaves streaks of mud across his face where he wipes away the sweat. Nick watches, waiting for the asshole to spring his trap, but John looks sincerely too beat up to try wrestling the gun away or making a break for it. His hair, thick with dust, clumps over his face, dropping into his eyes no matter how many times he tries to smooth it back.

To his personal horror, he finds himself offering John his canteen. He should leave John to drink his own spit with their fresh water supply as low as it is. It's what the man deserves. But they've wasted too much time and supplies on John to be stingy with the water now.

"Don't get too comfortable lying in the dirt," Nick points out, "I'm gonna put you back before Kim and Carmina get home."

John nods without complaint. He takes careful sips of water, like he's trying to mind how much he's taking, which is a fucking riot coming from the guy who did nothing but take, take, take for years.

"It's the nursery, isn't it?"

Nick stares down at the dirty bastard in confusion. "What?"

"The room," John repeats with a suspicious lack of irritation. "It was going to be the nursery."

Nick scowls. "Yeah," he says. "Not that it ever panned out."

John holds the canteen out for Nick to take back, which he does. "No," he admits, "It certainly did not."

"No thanks to you." Nick takes a thirsty swig of water. "None of you got a chance to raid our bunker, but there were a lot of other people who weren't so lucky. Lots of people didn't even have a house to hide in."

"Yes," John sighs, "I know."

The nerve John has to brush aside the damage he's done momentarily overwhelms Nick, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's chucking the canteen at John's head in a vicious game of dodge-ball that John just barely wins. "No, you don't know. You managed to find somewhere to survive for eight years, while good, honest people were left to rot away on the surface and suffer through nuclear winter because you burned down their houses, you stole their supplies, you ruined their lives! You destroyed everything before the police ever showed up! You sorry assholes kept talking about the Collapse while all of us were already living through it! Because of you ! You know ? Fuck you!"

Nick reaches his hand out to grab John, to — to strangle him, to shake him , anything to stop him from sitting there and staring cow-eyed up at him. Waiting for Nick to exact a physical price for all the anguish that he's caused, waiting for the inevitable retribution that he deserves.

But eight years is a long time to carry so much righteous anger. Nick must've set it down somewhere along the way; now that it's time to resume that bitter loathing, he finds himself coming up short. Honestly, he's too goddamn old for it. He's too tired. Eight years of fatherhood and living past the end of mankind has run the rage right out of him. The idea of expending that much effort just exhausts him. What would even be the point? John isn't even worth it.

"Just — get up," Nick sighs at last. "Kim'll be back in a while and I... don't want to look at you anymore."

John slumps into himself as he stands, shoulders caving in as he avoids looking higher than Nick's boots. He proceeds without complaint or comment up the stairs; despite that, Nick still braces himself for a surprise attack, his hand clinging to the holster. He stops at the doorway behind John, waiting for some trap to spring and feeling oddly put out when nothing happens.

"I'll bring you dinner later," Nick tells him. "From now on, you're only getting a second meal on days you work."

John nods in response, falling into his makeshift bed with as much grace as he had the dirt pile downstairs. Nick's not sure he's gonna be awake the next time he checks in, but that's probably for the best. Nick doesn't like watching the guy eat, and he hates having to interact with him.

When John fails to say anything, Nick uses his silence as an exit and quickly locks John away. He'll probably sleep until dinner, which means he'll spend all night muttering to himself again. That's just what Nick needs.

There's still time before Kim gets back with Carmina. Nick drags the dining table into the living room, taking a minute to marvel at the amount of dirt John managed to clear out. Maybe tomorrow, Kim can take Carmina on a hike or something so that he can have John do the rest of the room. Once the dirt's all cleared out, they'll be able to build proper doors for the back porch, instead of leaving it open to the elements and potential prison breaks. After that, who knows? Maybe they'll be able to string lights up in here like they did back at the Spread Eagle. They could actually find a use for the generator. Hurk was on the radio recently, boasting about party liquor and gasoline — maybe they could barter for fuel?

Thinking more than a year ahead is jumping the gun a little, especially considering they have to get through another winter without heat, but this is the first time Nick's let himself imagine that far. Kim is already prepping for next year, of course, but Nick's still a little stuck on bunker time, where everything felt like a tightrope walk to survive and keep sane. But now, well — there's floor space, and Nick's even stacked plates and silverware on the kitchen counter for dinner. It's progress that he can't miss, and for once he breathes a sigh of relief and actually feels relieved.

Kim and Carmina come back before dusk with three rabbits and, in Carmina's case, a turkey so big that it nearly drags on the ground as she carries it on her back. "Shot it herself," Kim tells him, dropping the rabbits on the table. She does it almost without a second thought, wrapping her arms around Nick before realizing, "Oh, the table's back!"

Nick grins. "Figured we could use the extra space. Look at you, kiddo!" Nick turns his attention to Carmina, who still has the turkey slung triumphantly over her shoulder. "That is one big bird."

"Yeah," she says, trying to look as casually confident as her mom. She can't help but brag, "It was coming right at us. I had to do something. "

"That's my girl," Nick says, "I need somebody to protect your mom whenever I'm not around."

"Hey," Kim protests, playfully shoving out of her supposedly loving husband's grasp, "I can protect myself, you two. Carmina, take that thing into the kitchen and start plucking."

Heaving a very exasperated sigh she must have lifted off of her dad, Carmina drags the limp poultry away. Kim watches her go with a satisfied smile, telling Nick, "She's got great eyesight. I didn't even notice it in the grass."

"Thank God. Can you imagine if she needed glasses out here? We would be royally screwed. So! What do you think?"

Kim looks back at the clear floor and the table with four legs on solid ground. "I admit, I'm impressed," she says. "I expected to come back to a funeral pyre. But look, you even got the support in!" She furrows her brows at him. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Nah. Actually, it was... uh, painfully easy. He didn't put up a fight or anything."

"Hmm."

Nick's not sure what Kim's thinking as she eyes the progress that's been made. Maybe she's wondering what John's endgame is, the same way Nick wonders. She's probably worrying about how to explain it to anyone who might ask about it — Grace, mostly, maybe Jerome, if he'd ever come out this way. Nick's sure he can just take credit and leave it at that, but maybe she's seeing some hidden angle that he hasn't caught on to yet?

"If we string some lights up in here," Kim points out thoughtfully, "We might actually be able to use the bottom floor, instead of camping outside all day."

"Hey," Nick laughs, "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Am I supposed to pluck this whole thing myself ?" Carmina exclaims in horror from the kitchen.

"I'll be right there, honey," Nick calls, offering Kim a chair at the table. She takes it with a grateful smile, leaning into his hand as he briefly strokes her hair. "Not bad for a day's worth of work, huh?"

"Not bad," Kim agrees. Nick heads for the kitchen, unable to keep from humming some old-world song he can't remember the words to, happy to put aside his doubts about John for a couple of hours yet.

[mlmdarkfiction]

Relaxing Sauna 

For a friend who wants to keep Anonymous

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Ship: Reynar/Everyone (OC/Canon, OC/OC)

Description: Reynar goes to the Sauna every night to relax. Others join him there. First Dimitri, then Ingram, Othello and Caspar at the same time, and then finally Balthus and his debt collectors.

Note: All OC’s in this story belong to me.

Content Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Humiliation (in a sexual sense) see the AO3 Tags for more Specifics.

Read Below:

The whole situation is absolutely ridiculous. So much so that Ingram almost decided against checking it out.

No one would ever willingly whore themselves out like that, the scenario was far too fantastical even for the horniest of men.

It all seemed like something out of one of Luis’ stories. He seemed like the only person capable of imagining a scenario like this.

So when the Noble entered the Sauna to find exactly what the rumors had promised he found himself surprised.

Pleasantly so.

More surprising than someone willingly offering their holes up for the men of the Monastery to use as they please was who exactly was allowing themself to be used.

Reynar was an incredibly proud man, hardworking, and a bit of a prude. Truthfully Ingram had hardly ever spoken to the man himself, all he knew of him was common knowledge. He, like Petra, was from Brigid, and it was because of this fact that Reynar seemed to dedicate his entire life to protecting the foreign Princess.

To see such a usually powerful and serious man in this situation is insanely erotic. Although Ingram had truly only come to see if the rumors were real (at least that’s what he’d told himself) the sight of Reynar, a 6’5 man made of solid muscle, being fucked like a regular street whore went straight to the Nobleman’s cock.  

It’s the Crown Prince of Faerghus who’s currently using the Brawler as his personal cock sleeve, but it’s clear he’s not the only one who’s used him today alone.

Ingram’s easily able to take note of the cum staining his back, and sticking to his long red hair.

“You know,”  The words are already cruel, before Ingram can even finish, it’s just who he is. “I don’t think this is what Petra meant, all those times she told you to relax.”

Neither Dimitri nor Reynar seemed to have noticed up until that point that Ingram had joined them.

The words alone were enough to cause the larger man to cringe, but all they really did was turn him on even more.

He can’t imagine how his liege would react if she were to ever find out what he did in his free time. Perhaps she wouldn’t care, or perhaps she’d be disgusted entirely by her retainers actions.

“I-Ingram I,” It’s not Reynar who comes to defend himself for being caught in a compromising position, but Dimitri.

“Not to worry, your Highness.” Although there’s still some sort of aggressive judgment in the other man’s voice, he seems to have a softness for the Prince, at least enough so to actively avoid hurting his feelings.

The closer Ingram gets the more he realizes just how used up Reynar really is. A small puddle of cum, and other bodily fluids below the larger man on the ground. He tuts at the sight, despite the obvious hardness in his uniform pants.

“You’re quite the slut aren’t you?”

Reynar doesn’t answer. The only noise leaving his mouth a low moan as Dimitri’s next thrust hits his prostate directly.

“Answer me, when I speak to you.”

Ingram shows no sympathy for the blissed out larger man, grabbing his face roughly, to force him to finally face him.

There’s five tallies drawn on the man's cheek, and it’s easy for Ingram to realize what exactly it’s for, especially as the aggressive rhythmic slaps of skin on skin from Dimitri slowly crawl to a halt, and he grabs a marker to add a tally to Reynar’s ass.

“Open your mouth.” The demand is punctuated by a soft squeeze to his jaw.

Even as Reynar opens his mouth, allowing for Ingram to slip just the head of his cock past the other man's lips.

“Don’t- You won’t-” Dimitri’s fumbling to put his own cock away, watching Reynar begin to suckle on the tip of Ingram’s dick. “Ingram you aren’t going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

Despite his confidence up until this point Ingram was a virgin. Even the simple pleasure of his cock in the other man's life is overwhelming.

He only responds to Dimitri in the form of a thumbs up.

After all even from the very beginning he’d had no intentions of putting a stop to these sexcepades, he’d simply been curious about their existence in the first place.

Almost like clockwork, as soon as Dimitri leaves, two others approach.

It’s clear to both Ingram and Reynar who the approaching men are, neither man is capable of speaking in a hushed voice.

“...Was that Dimitri?”

“Oh absolutely.”

Both men are instantly recognizable; Othello Proulx, and Caspar von Bergliez. They bond in their similar height, temperament, and their inabilities to remain quiet, so much alike that Ingram finds himself unsurprised they both would happen to be the type to partake in something like this.

“I want to break Reynar’s nose again while I ride his-”

Othello cuts himself off as he enters the sauna, getting a front row view of Reynar taking Ingram’s full length deep into his throat. Instead of continuing his sentence the Blue Lion simply begins to laugh in a cackle.

“Oh no...Looks like his face is a little preoccupied!”

Caspar gives a small laugh of his own at the comment, but doesn’t seem deterred at all, already working on undoing his belt.

“Sucks to be you then.” He taunts the other man, going straight for Reynar’s ass, and giving it a firm spank which in turn causes him to jolt, and choke on the dick currently in his throat.

“Don’t you always tell me it’s not polite to talk with my mouth full?”

Once again the humiliation, the taunting, it only goes to turn the larger man on even more, it’s especially hot to hear his own words of cautionary advice thrown back at him now.

Thrown back at him when he’s no longer recognizable as his prudish self.

Caspar spanks him again, putting full force behind the swing. He likes to watch the way red blossoms across the man's tanned skin, and the way Reynar’s ass still jiggles despite it’s musculature.  

“Four already?”

Othello takes the other side behind Reynar, taking in the sight of his spent, but still eager hole. The way it twitches desperately, some of Dimitri’s cum starting to dribble down his crack and onto his thighs.

“You’re going to fuck him right?”

The question gets a nod from Caspar, who’s too busy roughly groping and spanking Reynar with the intention of leaving marks. Any moans or possible sounds of protest are drowned out by the cock erratically beginning to face fuck him as Ingram nears his end.

Othello grabs the marker, and adds a line across the four already present on his back, making it a solid five tallies.

“I want to watch.” He says after.

“At least until Ingram finishes.”

And Ingram finishes soon after, his hands having knotted themselves in Reynar’s long burning locks, tugging him further and further against him, not stopping until Reynar’s nose is brushing up against his teal pubes.

He’s held against the others pelvis for so long that Reynar was actually worried he was going to pass out.

Thankfully before that happens Ingram cums.

The first hot spurts hit the back of Reynar’s throat. He can feel the warm cum as he swallows it down.

Ingram has other plans though.

He feels an animalistic urge to mark the other, allowing his cum to join that of other men that was already mingled and cooled against Reynar’s skin.

“P-Pent up?”

Reynar asks between weak coughs as spurt after spurt of cum begins landing on his face, and in his long hair.

A shot lands dangerously close to his left eye, and he’s forced to close it entirely.

“Get out of the way!”

Othello doesn’t even wait for Ingram to put his dick away, roughly shoving the Golden Eagle back, and taking the spot in front of Reynar.

“I was preparing for this, you know? I got myself nice and wet beforehand!” He is so excited, in fact, that his fake accent seems to drop for a moment.

“Onto your back now.”

Reynar licks his lips, tasting some of the salt of Ingram still on his lips, but does as he’s told, moving from a position on his hands and knees to that of laying flat on his back.

He decides he’ll finish up soon.

After Caspar and Othello.

He’s far from satisfied, but everytime he does this it seems like he needs more and more pleasure to actually be considered satisfied.

But satisfied or no, Caspar and Othello tend to play hard, Othello almost maliciously so.

One round with them is more than Reynar can take.

Caspar’s grown bored in the time he’d had to stop assaulting Reynar’s cheeks so the man could flip over, and is instead now grinding his hard cock against Reynar’s.

The redhead is, just like with the rest of their physique, bigger than the other brawler. It’s not that his penis is small, in fact, Caspar is above average for most Adrestian men, his cock becoming a solid 6 inches once he got fully hard. Not Caspar’s not small, Reynar just has an obnoxiously large cock for a bottom slut.

Anyone would look small in comparison to the Brigidian man’s 7 ½  inch monster cock.

Being smaller in almost every way doesn’t stop Caspar from taking control of the situation though. He’s sat atop Reynar’s hairy thighs, cock roughly grinding against the bigger man’s.

Poor Reynar is leaking precum like a faucet, and said precum is then just used as lube as Caspar grinds their throbbing erections together.

Othello has made himself at home on Reynar’s face in the meantime.

Although Reynar’s doing his best to keep up with Othello, desperately trying to tongue fuck the mans pussy while using his nose to bump his clit, Othello really doesn’t give him much chance to.

He’s grinding his dripping cunt against Reynar roughly. The pleasure coming more from the rough sensation of flesh on flesh, than Reynar’s actual attempt at eating him out.

Just by looking at the Tricktster, you’d think he was fighting to stay mounted atop a thrashing steed. His hips thrash and buck wildly against Reynar’s stubbly face.

The aggressive younger male has broken Reynar’s nose before, being this rough.

Othello had been at the peak of his orgasm, a moment away from orgasming, and when he’d landed against Reynar’s face, his nose pressing against Othello’s clit in just the right way to send him toppling over the edge.

He’d heard a nasty CRUNCH but didn’t give much thought to what the sound could be, too lost to the pleasure.

It had been so good in fact, that Othello had squirted.

His cum had dripped down the Brawlers face, beginning to mix with the blood from the now broken nose.

That’s exactly what Othello wants now. He wants to fuck Reynar so hard he breaks.

“Your...Your cocks kind of useless, you know?” Caspar is laying atop Reynar, head resting on one of the larger man’s pecs, suckling on his nipples in between words.

“It can’t cum unless you’re getting fucked in the ass!”

More precum drips from his cock, smearing against Caspar’s own.

Reynar mumbles weakly against the folds of Othello’s pussy, but it was utterly unintelligible, and Othello had no intentions of pulling away to allow the redhead to speak.

“Why’d you have to have such a big dick anyway?” Caspar asks tauntingly.

“I’ll show you how to use it.”

Yes, Caspar and Othello both truly were the textbook definition of rough power bottoms.

By the time the dynamic duo finish with Reynar he’s not only been on another time, two new tallies added for the uses of his throat and ass, but he’s also covered in blood.

Blood dripping from his nose, bleeding swollen lips, and the violent hickeys covering every inch of his body.

He had been safe to assume that the two should be his last takers of the night, after all he was now thoroughly exhausted.

Still...He wasn’t given much as a choice as just as he was beginning to leave he ran into a widely smiling Balthus.

“Ah! Where are you going buddy?” His arms slips around Reynar’s shoulder, forcing him back into the sauna.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night!”

Despite the situation and the exhaustion on Reynar’s face, Balthus seemed chipper and completely unaffected. “I even invited a group of guys I own money to.” He explained. “Figured a few hours with you, and they might take it easy on me. That’s okay with you, right?”

Reynar hesitates. He’d already redressed, done his best to clean the cum out of his hair but…

Just the thought of more cocks.

Of being thoroughly fucked over by a group of men and relinquishing control.

His response is a nod. “Of course, Balthus...After all, what are friends for?”

[dirtyahs]

Happy New Year. Tate Langdon x Reader

This was requested by @stellaholland, thank you for the request bby!! drunk tate is super fun to write lmao 

@1-800-bitchcraft bc you wanted me to tag you <3

Warnings: Underage drinking, first time sex, talk about insecurities from reader POV

It was about 11:45 PM. You were at a New Years party with Tate and his group of friends. There was about 15 people there and it was pretty laid back, but it was super nice. Tate wasn't a big party person so this sort of kick back fit him well. You and Tate had been kind of a thing for a few weeks. Not exclusive necessarily but neither of you were hooking up with other people. You two were extremely flirty and had kissed a few times, but for as often as your mind wandered to thoughts of his body, you two had never been sexually active.

"(Y/N)!!!" You felt Tate sling his arm over your shoulder, a drunken smirk plastered to his face. He planted a sloppy kiss on your temple. He had twelve tally marks on his forearm. Tate didn't drink often but when he did, he went all in. "Hi Tate." You grinned, looking up to meet his eyes. "Baby girl, you are way too sober." His words were slightly slurred. Normally you'd be concerned for him, but it's New Years and he seems like he's happy. You'd be there to take care of him tomorrow morning.

 You shrugged at him, cheeks flushing red from the pet name he gave you. Before you had time to decide how drunk you wanted to get, one of Tate's friends came up with a shot glass in one hand, a bottle of raspberry vodka in the other. His friend was yelling something about how he'd never forgive himself if you were sober when the clock hit midnight. He did his best to pour you a shot, giggling as he poured most of what was supposed to be your shot on the floor. "Just give her the bottle! She's no bitch!" Tate yelled, snatching the bottle from his friends hands and immediately trying to pour it directly into your mouth. He was right, you weren't no bitch so you opened your mouth and crouched down to your knees. It wasn't long before you had several of Tate's friends surrounding you guys, cheering you on. Tate tilted the bottle upright again when he realized you'd downed about half of it. He crouched down to be face to face with you. "You're so fucking hot!!" He grabbed your face and kissed you messily, both of you tasting like vodka. You giggled against his lips, his arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance. You two stood back up, clinging to each others arms to try and stabilize while you're walking. "Everyone shut the fuck up!! It's 11:59!" The room was filled with everyone counting down to midnight. Tate's arm was around your shoulders tightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"5...4...3...2...1!" The cheering got louder and louder and Tate pulled you tight against his body, one hand moving to cup your chin, pressing his lips firmly into yours. This wasn't a drunk kiss, it was deep and passionate, sending a chill down your spine. His opposite hand met your lower back, holding you tightly. 12:01 hit, and he pulled away, lingering for a moment before flashing you that sexy smile he was so confident in. You couldn't hide the pink color rushing to your cheeks, which you knew was boosting his ego even more. The party went on for a little while longer, Tate staying by your side, one hand remaining on your back at all times. 

"Tate I'm going to go home I think." You said sleepily, your vision was blurry, the giggly drunkenness had passed and you felt yourself getting tired. "Just stay the night, please?" His eyes were locked on yours, fingers holding your hips firmly. You tried to tell him no, and with each denial he would pull you closer, asking you softly to stay the night with him. He clearly wasn't taking no for an answer, so he lead you upstairs to his bedroom. You sat on his bed, hearing him lock the door before he opened his closet. "What do you want to sleep in?" He asked, his voice was smooth and gentle, his giggly drunkenness worn off with yours.

"I can just sleep in my clothes." You said shyly, tying your hair up in a pony tail. "Listen, you look super hot in this outfit, but you can't sleep in jeans." He flashed you a smile, pulling a black v-neck t-shirt off of a hanger. He walked over to you, taking your hand to help you stand up. You looked up into his brown eyes - they looked sleepy. Fifteen shots and a keg stand will do that to you though. You took the shirt from his hands, blushing a bit before stepping away from him to kick your boots off. Your back was turned to the blonde haired boy but you could feel his eyes burning into you. You slid your top over your head, revealing a black lacy bra you contemplated taking off or not. 

You'd regret sleeping in your bra and you knew that, so your fingers traveled to the clasp on your back, black painted fingernails sliding the straps down your shoulders. You felt Tate's hands meet your skin, holding your hips, lips pressing into your shoulders up to your neck. "You're so beautiful, (Y/N)..." his voice was soft, breath hot against your skin. "Tate..." You whispered, chills covering every inch of your skin. Your body desperately wanted him, but your mind was not on the same page. His hands turned you so you two were face to face. He leaned down to kiss you gently, but you turned your face to avoid his lips. "Tate, I can't..." Your skin felt hot with embarrassment, you felt almost completely sober now. "Why not baby? I won't force you to do anything, just tell me whats wrong." He moved in and hugged you, his chin resting on the top of your head, hand stroking your hair softly.

"I just..." You started, breathing deeply to try and curb your tears forming at your lash line. "I'm not good enough for you, Tate. You're so much fun and you're so beautiful. I'm so average and I just feel like you deserve more than I'm able to give you." You were mumbling against his chest, voice shaking with nerves. His looked down at you now, hands holding each side of your face. "(Y/N), you're perfect. You're perfect for me. I love everything about you, I love your laugh, I love your high energy, I love that you make friends with anybody we meet." His nose was close to yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"You're so incredibly beautiful. I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight and got caught up in drinking and I didn't want to ask if I couldn't make it special." He kissed your forehead, sitting down on his bed and guiding you over to straddle his hips. "Since it's out now, will you be my girlfriend? I want you to be all mine." You still hadn't put his shirt on, but somehow you felt purely comfortable with him. Your heart was racing and your eyes finally met his. They were genuine. Your insecurities had been destroyed with his words, and you smiled shyly at him before nodding your head, his lips parting into a loving smile. His hands were making small circles on your back. He leaned in slowly, pink lips planting kisses all over your neck, forcing you to tilt your chin up, making more room for him. He made his way up to your ear, giving it a soft bite, "Just tell me if you want to stop." His voice felt understanding and you nodded. 

You felt his hands slide into the back pockets of your jeans, squeezing gently, earning a quiet moan from you. His lips traveled smoothly from your ear, down the side of your neck, nipping at your shoulders gently  before finally making his way to your breasts, his tongue slowly moving over your nipple, his free hand squeezing the opposite. Your hands were tangled in his blond curls, releasing a few breathless moans. He looked up at you and smiled as he felt you tugging at the neck of his shirt.

 He listened to your silent request and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. His hands wrapped around your waist again, pulling you down with him as he laid back on his bed. His lips returned to yours, hands working your ass firmly. It wasn't long before you impulsively slipped your tongue against his, making him moan against your lips. He returned the favor though, tongues playfully tangling with each other. His hands tightened around your hips before flipping you onto your back, him taking his place on top of you. His right hand moved to your chin, forcing you to look up, lips moving down your body once again, sucking a dark purple hickey into where your neck meets your shoulder. He kept his rhythm moving downwards though, fingers unbuttoning your jeans with ease, sliding them down your thighs, smirking up at you as you kicked them off, legs spreading out of instinct. His arms wrapped around your thighs, moving your panties aside to reveal the spot you needed him so badly. His dark eyes looked up from between your thighs, locked on you as he drug his tongue along your clit gently, making you gasp with satisfaction. He smirked against your thigh, nipping at it playfully.

He returned his tongue to your clit, batting at it quickly, your hands once again moving to tug at his hair. He worked your clit for awhile, never taking his eyes off of you, getting his own satisfaction just seeing how good he could make you feel. He stood up at the side of his bed, your eyes watching his body move as he unbuttoned his own jeans and slid them off with his tight black briefs. He noticed your eyes widen a bit as he revealed himself, taking no time to crawl over your body once again. "Have something to say baby girl?" He growled, forearms resting on either side of your head.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted you to fuck me." You groaned desperately, craving him now more than ever. With your words he flashed you that devilish smirk and slowly pushed his way into you, both of you moaning in unison. Your finger nails dug into his back, listening to him hiss your name into your ear. He gradually picked up his speed though, forcing your nails to leave red streaks down his back. You couldn't help but cry out as his length stretched you out with each thrust, feeling him snap his hips upward each time he got as deep as he could go. "Tate, I'm close..." You stuttered, looking into his eyes, lips parting as you let out another pleasured moan. With your words he grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs up so they were next to your head and began pounding into you relentlessly.

"Cum for me baby." He hissed, hips moving quickly, teeth clenching. You felt that tight heat in your stomach, spreading over your legs as they started to shake. Before you knew it, he had you over the edge, your body trembling as you arched your back against your legs, eyes rolled back into your head. Anything you were saying was not audible, he just felt so good. He fucked you through your orgasm, shortly meeting his own. He didn't slow down until after his orgasm and he pulled out, collapsing on the bed next to you. Both of you laid there, sweaty and breathless. Neither of you bothered getting dressed, you fell asleep with his arms wrapped around your body.

You woke up to see Tate slipping into some black sweat pants, light beaming in through the curtains. He looked down at you, a relaxed and sleepy smile on his face. "Good morning. I'm going to go make breakfast for us - see who's still here too." He chuckled, leaning down and kissing your forehead. "Also I set out some clothes for you, whenever you're ready to come downstairs." The door closed quietly behind him and you leaned up in his bed, looking around and seeing your clothes strewn across the floor, reminding you of what you two did last night. You stood up, stretching your back and walking to Tate's desk chair, sliding on the t-shirt and a pair sweat pants that were too small for him. You tied your hair up in a pony tail and made your way downstairs to the kitchen, seeing the few of Tate's friends gathered around the kitchen table. Tate's face was a bit red and everyone was laughing. 

"Good morning (Y/N)! We heard you had a wonderful night last night." One of them teased, flashing you a playful smirk. Your cheeks flushed and you looked up at Tate across the kitchen. "I guess we weren't very quiet." He shrugged, walking over and kissing your forehead again. "You guys were loud as hell, Tate has scratches down his back and- "(Y/N), you have a dark ass hickey!!" He yelled, pointing at you two. You both knew he was just teasing though.

"It's about damn time though, let's keep it real." He chuckled, watching as Tate hugged you close. "I agree." He smirked, once again making your cheeks turn pink. It feels like these butterflies with him will never go away.

[squiddybeifong]

Meeting the Sirens

Harley could honestly admit to never paying attention to how amazing plants were at camouflage. It made sense to a certain extent with the natural world, but when one mixed Raven’s darkness with Pam’s powers, it gave the impression that Hell could be nothing more than a jungle on fire.

Sapphire eyes watched as cacti scuttled closer and vines slithered along the walls, hidden by the usual shadows. Their leaves curled in on themselves before they aimed towards Raven and the shadows darted away, forcing the plants to scramble into better hiding as Pam tried to keep the upper hand.

Harley ran a tongue over her teeth and forced out a laugh, sliding in between her kinda-girlfriend and her kinda-niece and tossing an arm around them both. “Come on, you two!” She pulled them close until their cheeks touched, spinning to beam at Talia and Kitty, “We can all get along, can’t we?”

Three glares and one look of pure apathy greeted her suggestion. “It’s bad enough you brought her--” Selina started, not taking her glare off of the assassin.

Ivy continued her sentence, all but sneering at the teen, “But why the fuck would we ever trust a hero?” The botanist’s glare deepened, the vines shifting in preparation again.

Emerald eyes widened half an inch as Raven forced to vines to stay in place, the darkness freezing the walls around them. The two superpowered women stared at each other for a long moment, uncaring to how Harley sheepishly squeezed their shoulders.  

After an impossibly long minute, the clown started to squirm and the Titan shrugged, “Your grudges are fair enough.”

She lifted her hand and made sure that Poison Ivy saw the magic fall away from her palm. Raven silently lowered herself until she stood on the floor and crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her jaw once before offering an olive branch, “But from what Harley’s told me we both despise Zatanna.”

The redhead raised a brow, a humorless laugh escaping, “That’s it?”

“I’m also an empath.” Pam straightened her back at that information. Raven glanced at Catwoman out of the corner of her eye, addressing the green-skinned woman in front of her, “And I’d imagine that while I’m not as fond of her as you seem to be, we all don’t mind Harley dragging us away with her shenanigans.”

A pale hand raised from underneath her cloak, “That’s at least two things we have in common.”

Talia finally spoke up, “Three if you count having powers.”

Selina snorted at her interjection and Harley turned to them, her eyes brightening up as she tried to get her two friend groups to get along. Pam and Raven didn’t seem that close to killing each other, so she focused on getting Kitty and Talia from trying to glare each other out of existence, “And I bet you two have stuff in common too!”

Almost immediately after the words left her Harley sucked her teeth, wincing as she remembered the last time they had met. Raven shifted at the emotions in the room, letting out a silent hum as her shadows drifted closer to her.

Amethyst eyes flicked to Ivy as she let out a huff, “Not this again.”

The teen didn’t ask, but her question was loud in the air. Talia kept Selina in her line of sight as she shifted to explain, “We’ve had the same lover.”

Raven arched a brow, her mild amusement obvious even despite her hood shadowing half her face. She tilted her chin towards Ivy, “Batman seems to just attract criminals, doesn’t he?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yes,” Talia hummed, displeasure rolling off her in waves. “He surrounds himself with more and more incompetence after every switch.”

Harley emphatically nodded her head at the statement behind her words. She patted the assassin’s arm, “Oh, so Batman ditched you? That’s rough, buddy.”

Selina narrowed her eyes despite the haughty smirk on her face, her hands curling into fists as she shot out to the goth, “He ditched her for me.”

“Wait, so you were the rebound? That’s rough too, Kitty.” Harley seemed to catch herself, her head snapping back to Talia. “I, uh, I mean…”

The blonde glanced at Raven, looking for some emphatic help. When nothing came she rushed out, “That sucks, my gals who can hopefully be pals?”

Raven crossed her arms over her chest, “This is an awful conversation.” Violet eyes turned to the botanist and she inched closer, “I’m sensing at least four deaths that have taken place here in the past two months. Care to show me around?”

Her request was met with a curious stare. After a contemplative moment the vines seemed to relax around them, a tangle of flowered stems curling to make a sort of hallway near their feet. A lazy grin curled black-lipsticked lips.

“Sure,” Ivy waved at the mystic to follow and away they went. Green shoulders shrugged, “If Robin--no, he’s a different bird now, right?”

“Nightwing.”

“Yeah. If he asks, they were all eco-terrorists that went missing.”

Raven snorted, her face curious as Pam added, a lilt to her voice, “There’s also a bunch of mushroom patches over their graves. They’re just full of poison; you’ll love them.”

The demoness perked up at that, “Any death caps?” Pine eyes flicked to her and Raven amended, “You’re Poison Ivy. I’d expect you to have at least a few of this planet’s best.”

“I’ve got better than that. Look up there,” Raven followed her pointed finger, her eyes lighting up as she spotted a white patch clumped along the rusty rivets. Pam watched as she floated up a few inches until they were practically the same height. A rare smile curled the stoic’s face, “I didn’t know Gotham was humid enough to support destroying angels…”

“You don’t know a lot about Gotham just yet.” The redhead nudged her elbow, starting to walk again. She bit her lip and decided to give this hero one allowance; if Harley loved her and she seemed morally gray enough to mingle with Batman’s enemies, then Raven was not yet trustworthy but slightly okay in her book. “And you can call me Pam, by the way.”

Raven tilted her head, giving the siren a thin but genuine smile, “Pam, then. Shall we go?” She motioned to where the vines were laid out for them to follow, “Those spirits aren’t going to be put to rest otherwise.”

Her words got an ‘Aha!’ and a snap as recognition filled the redhead’s aura, “Is that why all of our stuff has been moving around when we aren’t here? I told Harley no one alive was stupid enough to keep breaking into our place…”

Harley watched them go out the doors with a pout, turning back to see Talia had a hand on her sword’s hilt and Cat was tense, poised for a fight with her claws unretracted, if curled into fists.  

Quickly skipping in between them, the blonde tried to stall.

Her hands clasped in front of her chest as she wiggled her shoulders, thinking of something, anything, to prevent the fighting before it really began. Not that she couldn’t take care of any brawls, of course, but her friends were supposed to be getting along, dammit!

When nothing came to mind, she thought of how she’d distract the Joker whenever he got in his funks. And while neither of the two villainesses in front of her seemed opposed to potentially joining her in bed (though that was more up Pam’s alley, honestly), the answer came to her: both Kitty and Tally Marks were awful when it came to withstanding annoyances.

Her eyes bright, the blonde spoke a single word.

“Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo--,” Harley held it for a few seconds, paused to take a breath, and continued on as long as she could, “--oooooooooooooooooo…”

A clawed finger jerked out to press against her lips, “Shut up.”

Talia tensed at the move and Harley twisted away to speak up again, “Right, right. Cool, cool, cool, this is so cool that we’re all meeting again like this.” Harley rubbed at the back of her neck as her eyes darted around the room, considering asking the cactus where Ivy and Birdie went off to.

But she was the bridge and she had to stall the inevitable fight (again). The clown clicked her tongue and spoke freely and impulsively, “So, you two both fucked Batsy then?”

Neither women moved but two green glares landed on her. Deciding that she had to out-tension them both, Harley flipped one of her pigtails over her shoulder, “Hey, at least y’all got something in common, amirite?”

She rocked on her heels, “I mean, jeez. Wanting to cuddle with raspy-voiced bats. I know that feeling.”

That got Talia’s attention. Her eyes didn’t stray from Catwoman, but her temple tilted towards her friend, “Are you in love with my Beloved as well?”

“Ugh. Gods, no,” Harley’s face scrunched up at the mere thought. Shaking her head, she puffed her chest and buffed her checkerboard nails on her shirt, “I’m more-a Fidget kinda gal, myself.”

When neither reacted the blonde looked between them, her eyes comically widening, almost in slow motion. Blinking rapidly, Harley let her astonishment fill her voice, “Please say you guys remember Fidget? He’s one of Disney’s best characters in one of their best movies. Of all time.”

Selina couldn’t hold back her snort and Harley waved her thinly-veiled mockery aside, answering the look of confusion on Talia’s face, “He was the bat in ‘the Great Mouse Detective.’ Great film, by the way.”

Blue eyes smugly bored into Cat’s face, “Waaaaay better than ‘the Aristocats,’ despite the lies Kitty may believe.”

Smiling, she strolled back to face her favorite evil heiress, “Now I wouldn’t so much as ever think of fucking him --y’know Kitty’s the furry of the group-- but I can see getting to know the baby. Maybe even plan a heist or three after Rati--”

Selina drawled out, “Don’t spoil her.”

Talia watched the way Harley’s face lit up, “So you have seen it!”

“Yes. You make us watch it all the time.”

“Well I didn’t realize you were so busy thinking of a different bat the whole time. I just figured you purring about milk was a feline thing. Sorry for assuming, Kit-Kat.”

Annoyed, an irritated sigh forced its way out of Talia. She rolled her jaw, her fingers drumming against the metal of her sword’s guard, “You two tire me in the worst of ways.”

A high-pitched laugh escaped Harley as she dove into a hug, her palms hastily wrapping around Talia’s waist to prevent the assassin’s sword from being unsheathed. Giggling against the taller woman’s shoulder Harley sighed into the air, “Ray Ray was right this is just awful. We can find a different connection besides Batman, right?”

Talia and Selina didn’t stop their glare-off but the blonde paid them no mind, her words coming a beat faster than usual, “Like how we all break the law! Or how you both really appreciate having me in your lives? Oh! What about how both your names end with ‘A,’ that’s gotta be worth something!”

Her nose scrunched as she kept thinking, the idea coming to her effortlessly after a few seconds of silence, “Oh! I got it!” She held out her hands, making a square out of her fingers and closing one eye as if painting a picture in the air. Harley’s grin was loud in her declaration, “Strawberry milkshakes.”

Selina let out a huff through her nose, “Neutral ground won’t keep us from wanting to kill each other, Harls.”

“You never know. That’s what happened with Tal and Rae and me. Oh!” Blonde brows jumped an inch above sapphire eyes as a place came to mind, “How about we go to that burger diner that the Bats sometimes goes to.”

Talia tilted her head to the side, knowing the girl’s connection to the city’s protectors. “I doubt Raven will agree to that.”

“She’ll agree. But it’ll be reluctant.” Harley pitched forward and aimed a finger gun to both, her smile widening to a grin, “Just like your truce.”

Two aggravated sighs came from her words and Catwoman’s lips tightened in annoyance, “Not likely.”

Talia glowered when the blonde clasped her hands above her collar, Harley’s growing pout accompanying her dilating eyes, “No. We’re not as susceptible as the other two to your looks.”

A lazy laugh slipped out of the blonde, “Something else y’all have in common?”

The assassin’s glower deepened at her words. And while she’d never admit to the troublesome way Harley’s eyes grew and her lower lip quivered, Talia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her resolve. Without putting too much attention on her rival, she knew Catwoman was doing the same.

Olive eyes rolled in annoyance and Talia sheathed her sword, grumbling out, “I won’t attack her tonight.”

Selina shrugged one shoulder and retracted her claws. She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced between the two, “These meetings only last the night, correct?”

“Yep!” Harley popped the ‘P,’ practically bouncing on her feet at the way the tension in the room was lessening. The clown looked like a kid in a candy store and both Bat-lovers rolled their eyes.

“Then I guess we can get along for a few hours.” The Cat glanced at Talia out of the corner of her eye, a tiny smirk quirking her lips, “For Harley’s sake.”

“Agreed.”

[whispersafterdusk]

The Master’s Apprentice - ch 7

Having seen the crown for himself gave him a clear understanding of why Kestrel's offer to him had been so black and white, and he found that any remaining anger or misgivings he had about her had been swept away by an underlying fear of what was buried under his feet. And now he understood too that until they figured out how to deal with the crown that it WAS in fact too dangerous to leave - they were dealing with a Daedric Prince...if someone wanted that information it wasn't going to matter if Onmund wanted to tell anyone or not because there were an alarming number of ways it could be forced out of him.

He couldn't help but notice that in the following days Kestrel seemed worried...somewhat distracted as she took him through his lessons; it could only be because of the crown, but was she worried about him trying to do as her last apprentice had?  Surely not...she'd seen how it had effected him and he had zero desire to even go near the damned thing. ((continued below cut))

But did she suddenly suspect him?  Had that lessened her trust in him?

That morning when he placed his tally mark (eleven months, twelve days - had it really been so long?) and waited for Kestrel to knock he couldn't stop dwelling on it...worrying that she'd now see him as untrustworthy, or a liability.  When the knock came and he opened his door he just barely caught the worried look disappear under a mask of pleasant politeness; he sighed heavily and she raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"What is it, apprentice?"

"You've not been acting like yourself ever since you showed me that crown.  Why?"

She blinked at him, looking surprised.  "Oh?"

"You've been distracted, I see how you look when you think I'm not looking at you.  I saw it just now.  Something's wrong, isn't it?  Or do you not trust me anymore?"

Kestrel rubbed her hands together idly, scratching her own knuckles; it was a fidgety movement and seemed out of place on her - she'd always seemed so confident and prim.  For a time she didn't reply and chewed on her lower lip, then huffed a small sigh through her nose.  "You are not as attuned to the magical flows of this place as I am - not yet.  You cannot sense the defenses, or notice if something is awry."

A pit of ice formed in his stomach.  "What do you mean?  Has someone found us?"

"Yes, and no.  Do you remember me saying there should have been no way for you to fall down here?"

"Well, yes."

"To me that meant that I had been found, without my knowing.  Someone or something was trying to get down here and had opened the way...a way I'd thought sealed and obscured, and that I thought I would notice if it suddenly wasn't."

"So...someone knows we, and the crown, are down here?"

She nodded, looking grim.  "That's what I suspect.  I've felt someone testing my wards - not the ones around the crown," she added quickly.   "The protective measures laid around this little compound.  No one should know I'm here.  There were NO natural caverns below Saarthal - what ones that existed in this particular part of the mountain were dug out and that is what Saarthal was built within...and yet so slowly that I never detected it someone managed to open enough of a way here for you to slip down."

The pit of ice turned into a sharp spike of fear as he looked at her.  "Master, I promise - I wasn't sent down here by anyone, I-"

"No, no, I believe you," she interrupted.  "Your coming here was by accident.  It is a benefit to us both that I do not need sleep as I've been awake and aware each time something taps against my defenses...but I haven't been quick enough to catch the damned skeever that's poking around."

Onmund swallowed hard as a terrible thought came to him.  "...this didn't start until you showed me the crown, did it?"

"Correct.  Or, well...the testing of the wards began then - I obviously never noticed someone burrowing in my direction.  The poking is... It's very subtle but I am always especially wary after showing someone the crown."

"So, it's possible someone sensed it in the instant you dropped your defenses to show me?"

"Yes and no.  I WAS hiding beneath the Eye's magical presence and that's now gone...ordinarily I'd say the odds are nigh impossible that someone would be looking this way at the perfect time but we're dealing with a Daedric Prince and I've no doubt he wants his artifact found and put to use, whatever its actual use IS.  My own power is leaps and bounds ahead of any mortal but I'm a single speck of sand on a shoreline against Molag Bal's tidal wave."

"...what do we do, then?" he asked carefully.  The thought that Molag Bal was scheming to open the way down here for someone to take that crown...it was deeply terrifying, especially considering that the way was already open ENOUGH if he was able to fall down here.

Still rubbing fingers across her knuckles Kestrel began to pace.  "-I am hopeful that the fact he hasn't directly intervened to retrieve the crown means that he is somehow unable to, as we'd both be easily crushed under his power...but his agents are certainly looking for a way in.   It seems a shift in your education is now required -- what do you know of battle?"

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

Thirteen months, five days.  Day after day of combat instruction and practice, ward strengthening, mental exercises, and tense evenings where Onmund's imagination liked to picture horrible, nightmarish things crawling about on his ceiling just out of his view.  There were some days that the fear made him angry more than anything - no sane person welcomed fear even if it was a handy survival instinct, and Onmund found he hated this...this formless, unknown fear more than anything else.   It would be different, he felt, if he knew exactly what was coming for him (for THEM) but not knowing left a gnawing anxiety at the edges of his focus.

Kestrel didn't speak much about further attempts to find gaps in her defenses; he knew it was still happening as she was still on edge, no matter how much she tried to hide it from him.  She tried to keep them on as normal a schedule as possible but there were scattered mornings where she was late coming to get him and he would meet her hurrying down the hall.

This was another one of those mornings; Onmund was already at the door to the Hall of Mirrors when she emerged from her room, and she followed him inside without a word.

These combat lessons - old battlemage techniques, she'd called them - had him utterly sick of this room; there were scorch marks, shattered places, melted places, uneven spots in the floor...so many signs of the rigorous training she was putting him through, day after day.  In their earliest lessons if he'd damaged anything in the room she'd fixed it without hesitation...she hadn't bothered with that in nearly two weeks.

"Good morning," was all he said as he walked out into the middle of the room, ducking between two monoliths.

He heard a mumbled greeting in return as he took his place and turned to her, ready to start the day with a spar as usual; Kestrel's image across the room was blurred - sort of like looking through a fogged glass.  At first he wondered if this was some new defensive technique that would be the center of today's lesson but...no - the whole room was sort of blurry.  

Glancing down to his hands he found he was blurry even to himself -- his outline was a swirling fog, a thin smoke rising from his skin and, as he watched, it was spreading out to coat his entire body.

"-what is this?" he asked - his voice echoed in his own head and an instant later he staggered at the sensation of something impaling through his chest...nothing was there that he could see but there was a distinct feeling of something lodged there.

And it was pulling.

His body was turning transparent as the hook-like sensation around his sternum intensified, and Onmund felt more than saw his feet leave the floor before his vision went dark; there was a rushing, roaring noise in his ears and the pressure in his chest became unbearable as he was ripped upward in total darkness.

It was over quickly; a blinding light filled his eyes as he struck stone hard enough that he bounced and rolled, all of the air blasted out of him and struggling to breathe.  Through the roaring in his ears he heard a faint "Onmund?  He- he's alive?!" and then there was nothing as the light went away, and so did he.

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

Beneath him was a straw mattress - it was poking him in several places - and over him was a light coverlet, and somewhere beyond the darkness of his closed eyelids he could hear voices talking.

"Are you certain?"  That voice was definitely Tolfdir's.

A woman's voice - soft and sympathetic, and unfamiliar - answered him. "Unfortunately I am, Master Mage.  He bears a mark - it's a common type of spell among those who keep slaves.  Given time I could free him of it."

"To think he's been someone's prisoner all this time...poor boy."

"Let's give him time to rest and come around, and see what he has to say for himself.  It might help determine just how ensnared he is."

How ensnared...?  His mind was very groggily processing what he'd heard but from what he understood...whoever that woman was who was speaking could tell he had a spell on him.  Kestrel's spell?  It could only be that.  How had she sensed it though?  Onmund had yet to reach a point where he could sense it and it was ON him - maybe that was purposeful...obviously Kestrel wouldn't want him figuring out how to remove it on his own.

But whoever that woman was COULD sense it, and she meant to remove it.

No, no no no... He couldn't let her do that - it was highly likely Kestrel could kill him with the spell at any distance and if she felt someone tampering with it...well, it would only make sense for her to kill him to keep the crown's secret safe.  He certainly wouldn't blame her but he definitely would rather remain alive.

Though at the moment he had to admit that death seemed rather attractive -- his head both spun and throbbed at every little movement, he swore he could feel his own pulse in his eyeballs, there was a very deep ache in his chest where the pulling sensation had been, and all over his skin felt...tight, or burnt; he didn't think it was possible to feel worse than he had after Kestrel had tried to kill him, but well...here he was.  However they'd managed to rip him out of Kestrel's care had really done a number on him and if he stopped existing for a little while he didn't think that would be such a bad thing.

He eventually drifted asleep and woke up later feeling only slightly better; the burning, tight feeling across his body had faded and the pain in his chest lessened, though the throbbing in his head was still just as terrible as it'd been earlier.  Very carefully he opened his eyes and, without moving his head, looked around as much as he could at a room he hadn't seen in over a year.

Everything he could see seemed to be exactly where he'd left it; very slowly, very carefully, he rolled to his side and leveraged himself up on an elbow, making a few feeble attempts to free his feet from the covers.  They'd only removed his boots but the sleeves to his shirt were rolled up - he definitely didn't remember doing that himself, and knowing that the runes of Kestrel's spell were visible across his chest and down his arms he had a feeling he knew why his sleeves were rolled.

The more he (carefully) moved the easier it became and finally he sat up on the edge of the bed with his bare toes just barely brushing against the cold stone floor; it was so strange to be back in this room again - bittersweet and a touch ironic, he thought.  He could still remember a time where he'd wanted, more than anything, to come back here...and now that he was, all he wanted now was to return to where he'd been.

How was he going to explain himself?  What could he safely tell them?  Would they leave him alone if he asked, or believe his explanation that it would kill him if they tried to take Kestrel's spell off him?

Movement at the door caught his attention; looking up Onmund found Tolfdir, Faralda, and another Altmer woman he'd never seen before peering in at him.

The woman was tall - much taller than Faralda next to her - and had shining black hair that hung freely to her shoulders; she wore a forest green, knee-length leather vest over cream colored robes, tied with a brown sash hemmed with gold thread.  Her face was softer, rounder - not as angular as Faralda's and definitely not like Kestrel's - and bright amber eyes were looking at him in a mixture of curiosity and something like pity.

Toldfir wore a similar expression though his was tinged with excitement and relief - in a way it was sort of...heartwarming, Onmund supposed, that the elder looked genuinely pleased to see him.  "Onmund, my boy...words cannot express how glad we all are to find you alive, after so much time."

"How are you feeling?" the Altmer (that wasn't Faralda) asked, wringing her hands.  "I'm relieved I didn't accidentally kill you...that spell isn't meant for living creatures," she added under her breath.

"I've felt better," Onmund replied, gaze moving between the three.  "How did you bring me back here?  Why?"

"Well," Tolfdir started, sighing.  "Your parents were adamant we return your remains, and - with the assistance of our guest here - we aimed to do just that."  

Tolfdir nodded to the tall Altmer who then politely bowed toward Onmund.  "Indeed... I wasn't expecting to be seeking a living man, only calling a lifeless object to myself.  If I'd even suspected you were alive there were many different precautions I would have taken, and you wouldn't be feeling as poorly as you do now."

He shrugged and stood, swaying a bit but finding his balance fairly quickly; his head pounded at the change in posture but he grit his teeth and carefully padded barefoot over toward the door, only to walk into something both solid and invisible right before he reached the doorway. "-ow, what-"

The tall Altmer woman rubbed a hand against her neck, looking guilty as she hurried to step back behind Tolfdir.  Onmund reached out a hand and again hit something solid but unseen - he knocked his knuckles against it experimentally and could just barely see a tiny ripple spreading from where he struck...whatever it was in front of him.  "What is this?  Why have you trapped me in my room?"

"That's, ah..." Tolfdir started, blowing out a long, slow sigh. "That's a precaution, is all."

"For what?  You can't honestly think I'd hurt anyone."  Onmund honestly wasn't certain if it was more worrying or insulting.

Tolfdir glanced to Faralda and then the nameless Altmer before looking back to him.  "It would seem you have some kind of magical mark upon you - a sign that you have been claimed by something or another.   We're not entirely sure about its true function just yet, but in the name of caution we would rather you remain contained for now."

Onmund frowned, fighting to keep his expression and voice even.  "I won't hurt anyone and I'm not under anyone's control.  I know what spell you mean, and uh-" he looked up at the black-haired Altmer woman -- he was fairly certain it had been her voice he'd heard before, talking about wanting to remove the spell on him.  "-trust me, the spell is the only reason I'm alive.  I will absolutely die if you take it off me."

The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, giving Tolfdir a knowing look; Toldfir nodded to her and looked back to Onmund.  "I'm afraid we aren't inclined to take your word for it."

He felt a little chill go down his spine.  "Wait, you mean you'd actually risk killing me outright?"

"I've seen these sorts of spells before, young man-"

"No, you haven't," Onmund interrupted the Altmer woman before he could stop himself.  It was the bare truth - she couldn't have possibly seen a spell Kestrel created in isolation - but he knew he couldn't explain it further than that...not without telling them far more than he knew he or Kestrel would want them to know.  "And I know you haven't because this spell is unique."

Again the woman gave him a pitying look before resting a hand on Tolfdir's shoulder.  "I think this only confirms my suspicions, Master Mage.  When he is recovered we can start our attempts."

"No, please - you have to believe me," Onmund insisted.  He pressed his hands against the invisible wall that kept him barricaded in his room.  "Please, if you remove it I'm going to die.  How do you think I survived the fall?"

"You tell us," Faralda replied flatly.  "You didn't have such a spell on you prior to your fall, and you would have needed to survive in the first place for anyone ELSE to have placed it on you.  Speaking of, WHO placed it on you?"

Onmund paused, gnawing on his lower lip.  "...there's another mage trapped down there," he said slowly.  It wasn't technically a lie, and it didn't give them more than they needed to know.  "She found me, and placed the spell on me to save my life.  I am going to die if you remove it."

Again the Altmer woman gave Tolfdir a knowing look, then sighed and walked away muttering under her breath.  Tolfdir echoed the sigh and gave Onmund a strained smile.

"We will do what we can, Onmund.  I just hope you can understand our need for caution.  Get yourself back into bed and rest up - we'll have a meal sent up soon, and then we can all talk when you're feeling better."

With a quiet growl Onmund banged the heel of his palm against the invisible barrier.  "Tolfdir, please - you have to believe me.  I really, really do not want to die.  You can set me free, I'm not under anyone's control and I'm not going to hurt anyone, but please, just leave the spell alone."

Tolfdir nodded idly and turned to leave without another word; Faralda's look was one of mistrust and unease, but there was an underlying concern there as well.

"Do you feel injured?" she asked.

"I... I feel like someone tried ripping my ribcage out in one piece, then threw me into a too-hot bath."

Faralda frowned, rubbing at her chin.  "I'm sorry... I'll fetch a few things to help with the pain.  I can't cast through the barrier on your room so we'll have to make do with potions and teas for now."

"Please tell me YOU believe me?  Or at least don't want to kill me?   Hey - wait!  Faralda!" He smashed his face up against the barrier, struggling to keep Faralda in view as she walked away, ignoring his shouted questions.

"Oh so happy to see me one moment, eager to murder me the next," he muttered into the silence that followed.

The longer he stood the more his head throbbed, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded and dizzy.  He padded back over to his bed and climbed into it; it was like sleeping on stone compared to his bed back-

...back home.  That's really what that place had become: home.  He lived there, studied and learned there, and had a purpose there too...moreso than he'd had when he'd been here at the College, and now he was endangering all of that.

He didn't for a moment think Tolfdir or the others would stoop to...to torture, or anything like that, to drag the truth out of him about where he'd been the past year -- but who was the black-haired Altmer woman?  She seemed like someone important; with a sinking feeling he suddenly wondered if she was the new Arch-Mage...no, that was stupid.  She hadn't been here before he'd fallen down to Kestrel, and there's no way a stranger would have climbed the ranks in such a short period of time.  And yet...with how she and Tolfdir had interacted she was clearly more than another apprentice or initiate, and she didn't dress like a Thalmor either.

Who was she?  What was her purpose?

And...how strong was she?  Would he have a chance to escape while she was trying to pry Kestrel's spell off him?

[discordandglory-blog]

The Spoils Of War || Cat and Wally

On their latest attack against the Roman enemy, the Greeks cause greater damage and bring up a higher body count than the last time they raided. For Wally, he’s had to hit harder, last longer and save more people than the last time. It comes with a cost he isn’t ready to pay.

“It’s the butterflies that are worst for me,” Wally says to a son of Aphrodite. The man next to him looks like he’s never been in a fight. He fits what might be a stereotypical mold for the son of the goddess of love. A lean build with perfectly chiseled features and clear skin. Wally can tell that no matter how long that helmet stays on for, when the guy takes it off his hair will have beared no damage. Wally easily notices how scared he looks though. A lot of people do, even those who have been in the past wars. “Every time I go in to fight I get nervous. It’s natural, ya know? Even if we’re meant to have that kinda nerve in our blood, I still get scared like hell. But, don’t worry, okay?” The other guy looks like he’s too frozen in place to even blink. “You’ll be okay.” Wally stares ahead as they approach their target, wondering how bad this fight will be, and if they’ll be able to return . . . The battle lasts for hours in Wally’s mind. He spends equal amounts of time fighting off Romans and hiding between wherever he can find to wait and restore his energy. This fight has gotten him into smaller areas than he thought possible. Crevices and in between structures where he’d be totally stuck if not for his powers. Wally has been letting out curses, hexes, spells of all kinds. In the beginning he was just trying to slow down the Romans. He’d make a few of their eyes so puffy they wouldn’t be able to see, or switch their legs with their arms. But as they got started to push back, the magic began getting darker. He felt, somehow, that it wasn’t really his decision to down a harsher path with his spells. Coming back out into the battle, Wally froze when a pissed off looking Roman, one who’d got him good last time, rounded the corner.

The battle was unexpected, Cat didn’t want to say that she saw it coming. She didn’t. It was a bold and brash attack and for that she gives credit to the Graeci, a strong plan of attack but they’re able to recover, and within three hours the Romans have ground back at least half of the territory that they lost. However, she knows that this attack comes from the fact that the Greeks were able to recover their key strategist and she can’t believe that they let Annabeth go. She holds a key point, surrounded by Romans who she has trained personally and a swell of pride at their ability to fight. She wonders if this is what being a parent is like. Leading her troops around a corner to set up a new position, she spots the blonde Greek that had attacked her convoy. “Shields,” she orders her Romans and they respond to her command with a shout of Latin and the clang of tall boards locking together. “Your move Graecus,” she spits in his direction.

“Eh’great,” he breathes out. Wally keep his sword sheathed and strapped to his waist. He can handle a one-on-one with a weapon, but this fight with five legionnaires and their pissed off centurion will be a lot more fair with some sorcery involved. Fearful of the power she sprung on him last time, Wally’s placed a charm over himself so that he doesn’t go mad like he did last time. Pulling out a glass orb from his pocket, he launches it at the two closest warriors. One is able to jump back and miss the blasts radius. The other isn’t so fortunate and the pig bombs hit takes. While the smoke clears, they hear what is the clattering of armor against the ground. As the legionnaires rush past their hammy companion, Wally puts out a volley of magical blast, keeping them just far enough away while he thinks of another quick attack. One of Cat’s soldiers gets close, and Wally raises a simple shield that evaporates the moment its forced upon. Wally catches the legionnaire off guard, a sneer across his face. Magic sweeps the man off his feet and carries him right into Wally, before being forced back and over a ledge, falling a dozen feet then landing into a shallow pool. Three more and a feline, he thinks. I got this. As the remaining trio of grunts form around him, Wally gathers the mist around his arms, shouts in ancient Greek and unleashes a quick surge of winds, knocking them all off their feet. “Is this all?” he asks her, feeling more confident than he probably should. “You can’t ruin my raid, shoot me a couple of times then send this weak ass pack of shitheads to me.”

-

Gritting her teeth, Cat had to admit that she was far from pleased to see some of her best soldiers get so easily dispatched by simple magic. Wally wasn’t skilled enough to do this without magic, or if he was he wasn’t bothering. She made a mental note to find someway to dispel magic, because she was sick of it being used as a trump card against her. Swallowing, she watched him deal with the three soldiers she had left before grunting. “Why do I have to do everything myself?” she asked before charging him. Springing over the prone form of some of her soldiers, she leapt towards Wally, jabbing her pilum at his eyes, hoping to move fast enough that he wouldn’t have a chance to use magic to defend himself.

-

Wally knew that he’d have to pull out some more talented tricks if he wanted to get Cat immobilized. Unfortunately for him, but good on her, she was really fast. Wally barely dodged the pointy end of her stick going into his eye. His hand flew up to grab at the edge and push it away while his face moved to the side in the opposite direction. He lifted his leg up and kicked her in the chest, knocking himself back since he wasn’t in a balancing stance. Wally ran through his choice of spells and settled on forming a bubble around her, something that would keep her locked up. As he shaped it, a Roman soldier came down from above, landing on his feet behind the blonde. Wally had to stop his casting to fight the costumed gladiator. Luck being in his favor this time around, a few more Greeks began piling into aid him. Wally and the Roman had fallen to the ground, wrestling. This guy seemed to know Wally’s M.O. as the man grabbed both of Wally’s hands and started to squeeze. Wally let out a vicious scream and let his eyes rake over the man, trying to find some sort of weakness. This guy wasn’t your average legionnaire. He had a modified armor, different from everybodies, even Cat’s. And there was a not-so-subtle insignia on his shoulder plates, made up of tallies that Wally could only assume was a body count. As the Greeks rounded them, Wally screamed for them to get him off of him.

-

Cat was knocked back for a moment before leaping back to her feet and charging forward, she drove her spear through the chest plate of a Greek before raising her shield to catch a crossbow bolt that had come streaking her way. Swallowing, she watched as a gladiator dealt with Wally, at least for the moment, giving her the time to duck and weave through the Greeks. Three of them surrounded her, but as a wild grin spread across her face they started to realise what their mistake was. Summoning her powers, she allowed blinding flashes of light to cause chaos and sow discord within their ranks. Dancing forward, she drove her spear through a stomach, before wrenching it free and slashing it across the throat of the poor bastard she’d just skewered. Drawing her pistol with her spear hand, she allowed the Pilum to clatter to the floor before firing off a single round that caught a Greek girl in the left eye socket. The back of her head exploded in brain matter and gore, coating the wall behind her before the Greek slumped forward. Glancing over to Wally, she saw him still occupied by her fellow Roman. Good, they’d gut him together. She just had to get rid of the last Greek.

-

“Frrru, fuck you.” Wally curled his lips in then spat out spit onto the man’s face. The strain his fingers were under was agonizing. This man had gone right for Wally’s most sensitive and vulnerable area, an area he hadn’t even really thought of protecting all that much. Wally was kicking for all his worth, trying to think of some charm or hex that could get him out of this. A helpless squeal came out when the man put more strength into his fists, about to put Wally out of commission without even doing much damage. His eyes panned over just at the wrong moment. The son of Hecate caught Cat in her moment of glory, killing a Greek soldier, like it was the easiest choice she had ever made. A silent ‘no’ fell from his lips. For a few moments as time slowed down, there was pain in him. He didn’t know who that Greek was, but a life had been taken. That pain warped into anger without much thought. Wally’s face turned back to the man above him, a fire in his eyes of the most royal color. “Bind.” He then felt the power move him up, pulling his back off the ground for a second. The pair then fell back to the floor. “Bind.” Mist pooled around them, as Cat advanced on the third Greek. The soldier meant to destroy Wally could feel himself becoming constricted. A sinister smiled started to appear on his face. “Bind.” The man began to choke, coughing up both mucus and saliva onto Wally’s face. Wally repeated the mantra, the soldiers grip weakening. Wally focused all his thought on the man’s throat. He saw in his mind the man’s innards twisting, contorting and wrapping around each other in ways that defied the greatest man’s logic. “Bind.” Wally spat at him again, spitting directly on his face as a mark of the final move to be made. The Roman soldier had let go of Wally’s hands. His own hands, which Wally could now see were the hands of a true killer, had wrapped around his throat, trying in some way to help him breathe. Wally watched as this victim of his magic became the first to die from it. His face was purple. His eyes, filled with tears and bloodshot, were pleading. The man’s throat constricted and Wally, not expecting it, heard from outside the soldiers bones cracking and breaking from inward. Wally didn’t take a lot of time to examine what he’d done, as he knew he still had Cat to deal with. As he turned around, he looked on at the dead Greeks. Never before had Wally felt such a level of hatred, such a passion in him. It scarred him, how good it felt. Wally looked down at his hands. They were sore, and his fingers were hard to move, but they weren’t broken. They were calloused, from some of the work he’d help do in the Greek hideout. They were dirty, and his nails could be better. But they weren’t dry with blood or have scars on them like the mans he had just killed. Wally looked up at Cat. “Hey, bitch, you still gotta kill me.”

-

The last thing that Cat needed or even wanted was to watch the hulking form of the gladiator die beneath some dark magic or some other Greek trick. It was almost too much for her to accept when she saw his body crumble and she heard the bones crack. Swallowing, she worriedly took a step back before feinting left and bringing her sword whipping out from her belt. The short imperial gold blade cut through the leather armour that the Greek wore with ease and she dispatched her final enemy. She knew that Wally wasn’t going to succumb to her powers twice, which meant that she was at a severe disadvantage. But she wouldn’t allow this undisciplined scum to beat her at her own game, she’d been training at war since she was almost knee height. Raising her blade in one hand, she discarded her shield and held her gun lazily in one hand. “Don’t worry,” she said with a grin as she wiped away blood that had sprayed her face, “I’ve got more than enough bullets for you and the rest of your friends too!” Smiling maniacally, she charged forward, her sword flashing in the dim light as she slashed at him.

-

Wally needed to conserve his energy. He’d brought along wedges of ambrosia and bottles of nectar, stuffed in the satchel around his waist. There were crystals that’d been charged by the sun, lined along his armor to give him energy. For the better part of a full hour of fighting, Wally had been doing good, but as the universe does so, the playing field was uneven. Cat wasn’t experienced against magic and Wally had more than enough to throw at her. It only made sense that he start to lose his stamina around the time she showed up. They were a balanced act. As she came at him with her weapon, Wally used magic to raise a simple shield, then lowered his other hand to shoot a blast of energy at her waist. The shield crumbled under her first strike, and Wally didn’t waste time in trying to get the weapon out of her hand.

-

Dodging away from the sudden blast of energy that Wally had sent her way, Cat took a short step backwards but she was too slow. The energy lanced through her body tingling before exploding into a lancing sensation that electricified her for the briefest second. Wiping away sweat, she sprung forward again before bringing the butt of her blade crunching down towards Wally’s forehead. If he was going to play dirty then she would too. But she was working with limited ammunition and especially in a time of war it was even more difficult to find ammo for her pistols than it had been before. The thought of Z flashed in her mind for the briefest second as she realised she was using the weapon he’d given her.

-

Having the blunt end of a weapon knocking against your cranium was an unwelcome action. Wally let out a disgruntled . . . sort’a cough. Wally fell onto his back, pushing his hands onto the ground to relieve his fall. He kicked at the front of her knee, probably not doing a lot of damage. With his hair in his face, his vision had become obscured. Wally snapped his fingers and made a rinsing, spinning motion with his hands. Wally was doing this all in such a fast motion that he couldn’t even stop himself when one Roman soldier came out of the blue and tried to finish what Cat began. The soldier, having put herself between Cat and Wally raised her spear. Wally’s magic acted just as this legionnaire created the divide. Her armor began to break off into dozens of pieces, falling to the ground and leaving her in only in the simplest of clothes. Wally, with his hair, his mind racing, and all the commotion didn’t even really recognize that this wasn’t Cat. He snapped his fingers and bellowed out a howl. The soldiers weapon shimmered for a moment then changed into a long piece of rope. With his final act, Wally wrapped the mist around the soldier. She was too stunned and unsure to do anything as the Greek wizard used a simple spell of telekinesis to push her over the edge, literally. The woman was knocked to the side and found herself falling three stories down to her death, with no armor or weapon to save her. Wally, seething with a newfound anger cried out again and pulled the mist around him then forced it away, sending Cat backwards. Wally then started to run in the opposite direction, not yet realizing what he’d just done.

-

Cat watched the Roman plummet to her death as Wally kicked her knee out from underneath her. She swore loudly and scrabbled downstairs to the fallen Roman’s side, pulling her matted black hair from her eyes and checking the dead soldier’s pulse. With her death confirmed, she slipped the dead soldiers eyes closed and sighed sadly before vowing to kill Wally. He was becoming a real thorn in her side.

[horrorkingdom]

Short story! ▶️ Iona Cottle

Esme sat and watched the sun pass across her room, just as she did every day, waiting for the right time.

That wasn’t to say that she watched it all day, every day, although she did spend a lot of her time – probably more than most – just watching the box of light trek across her painted wall. It wasn’t as though there was all that much else to do.

During the morning, when the light was best, she did draw and read, but after her lunch arrived through the little flap in the middle of her door, she’d settle into her large armchair and watch the shadows move. As she watched she’d think, although she was running out of things to think about, just like she was running out of things to draw. She could only see so much through her window, and if she had to draw another damn bird she’d scream.

The box of light passed the crack in the paint work on the opposite wall, and Esme heaved herself out of the chair. Every day it was getting harder to do that. But, if her count on the wall was accurate, it wouldn’t be a problem for too much longer.

“Then we’ll have a whole new set of problem, won’t we?” she muttered. One hand ran over her growing stomach as the other picked up her piece of charcoal. Now that ‘midday’ had passed, she added another tally mark to the large, painted wall. Then she stepped back, and looked at all the marks in front of her.

250 days, give or take, though she was positive that she had recorded each and every one accurately. She couldn’t remember much about her life before she was led into this room – for ‘her safety’ – but she knew she was pregnant when she entered. By how much she couldn’t remember, but whatever it was, she had to be getting close to the due date now.

And then what would happen? Would the voiceless guard who delivered her meals let her out, or would she have to give birth in this room? Of all the questions she had, she did her best not to think about one of them. Would anyone come to help her?

No matter how often she’d tried to talk to her guards they’d not said a word. She hadn’t even heard them talking to each other out in the hallway. Though she still asked her questions every day, she had given up on them ever being answered.

250 days. And only a dozen new books in that time. Her mind had gotten so cloudy, so foggy and numb, that she couldn’t even remember why she had needed so much protection. Was the world outside dangerous, despite how quiet it always was, or was she a target for someone?

Who was she?

There was no mirror, and all she had was the faint reflection in her window to judge her appearance by. It looked older than the face she remembered from the time before this room, this pregnancy, and that she put down to the fact she hadn’t been able to brush her hair properly, or moisturise her skin and care for herself. She could bathe and clean, but there was nothing fancy about it. That had to be it, the reason she looked so old in her reflection.

For the afternoon Esme did what she usually did, which was nothing much. While the light was still good she read some more, although she knew all the words by heart at this stage. Then she daydreamed for a little and paced the room for some exercise, but at 250 days her mind kept drifting to terrifying questions. Instead she washed early, taking longer about it, an attempt at some sort of pampering, though she had nothing in her life that she needed pampering from.

When her evening meal was pushed through the central door flap, Esme was ready for bed, though she didn’t feel tired. In fact she felt nauseous, and she could only manage half her food. She knew from experience though that if she didn’t eat everything they wouldn’t take her plate away, so she tipped the rest of it in the bin. With nothing else to do, and the stupid birds outside still singing their stupid songs, she went to bed, and curled up.

Her hand drifted to her stomach again, and she was on the brink of crying. It was too scary, too terrifying, to think about having to face all of this alone. Not for the first time she wondered about her child’s father, but his face was blurry, and she couldn’t remember the sound of his voice.

Had she even loved him? In a way it didn’t matter – she wouldn’t judge herself or her child for that – but it would take the sting out of her situation at least. If she was there because of her undying love for that man, then maybe all of this would be worth it. Or maybe he was the reason she was in there, to protect her while he was away?

Deep in her gut she wanted to cry, and in her bland life a hint of any emotion was like a drink after a hike in the desert. But as she lay in her bed, curled up around her unborn child, her eyelids grew heavy.

“Hadn’t thought I was tired…” she mumbled, before she drifted off into a deep, dead sleep.

---

When Esme woke something was different.

She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, but she knew it before she’d even remembered her own name. Her head was fuzzy as were her eyes. Completely disorientated, she panicked and tried to sit up, only to find her body exhausted and weak. But she’d been sleeping, and heavily. How could she still be so tired?

The room was still dark, lit only by pale moonlight. That was odd, she thought. For all the days she’d been in the room, she couldn’t remember ever seeing it by moonlight. It made the tally marks on the wall glow eerily.

She tried to get out from under the sheets, but they’d been tucked in around her, pinning her to the bed. How, and who by? No one ever came into her room. Not that she knew of, anyway. A feeling of cold dread trickled down her spine, yet even that was muted.

The struggling got her nowhere and the tiredness swamped her again. Though she tried to fight it as long as she could, it won in the end. The last thing she remembered before the darkness swallowed her again was her hand drifting to her stomach.

Her flat stomach.

---

Esme woke again, in daylight now, and her head was clear.

The sheets had been loosened again – or was that a dream – and she ripped them off and stared at her body.

Her not pregnant body. Even under the baggy nightclothes that much was obvious.

“No. No. What have you done!?” Her voice was hoarse and her throat ached, everything ached, but she pushed herself to her feet and staggered towards the door anyway. Rage, fear, panic filled her mind, so it was only when she was halfway across that she noticed what else had changed.

The tally marks had gone.

The wall was clean again, fresh paint, though there was still a crack in the same place.

Esme’s body froze, but her mind raced.

She had been pregnant. That had been reality, it had to be. She could still feel the looseness of her skin, the way the weight had hung off her, the movement of the baby inside her–

But why would they lock up a pregnant woman?

Another option presented itself in her mind, so clear and fully formed. Try as she might she couldn’t ignore it.

Asylum. Sick.

It was all she could bare to think, and her world came crashing down around her. Her vision swam and she staggered. There was no air left in the room, it was too hot, too cold, too dark, too bright. Everything collapsed on top of her.

Esme’s hands landed on the wall. It felt real, a little cold perhaps. Colder than her imagination would make it? That meant it was real, right? For the first time in God only knew how long, she felt emotions, and now she wished she didn’t. They were too much, overwhelming her. Fear so bad her heart would stop at any moment, panic so bad her body wouldn’t listen to her, and rage. So much rage. At the world, at the people outside the door, at herself for not knowing what was happening.

And at those stupid tally marks, for not being there, for not bearing witness to what she’d been through.

The rage won out.

Esme raised her fist and punched the wall. Again. And again. Punched it until she painted it again, leaving new tracks of red down it. A tally of her anger.

The anger didn’t last long, and her hand would’ve given out before if it had been given a choice. It was a mess of sticky redness and numbness. Feeling tired again she let her head hit the wall, her panting the only sound in the room. Even the dumb birds had stopped. Had they ever actually been there?

When she opened her eyes she spotted a flake of paint coming away from the wall. Without thinking she started picking at it with her other hand, something mindless while she didn’t know how much of her mind she still had.

The paint came away, and underneath was a tally mark.

Esme kept picking, clearing more of the most recent paint, showing her wall of tally marks beneath it. But her rage her excavated further than that. There was another lay under that, with more marks, and another, and another, and–

The numbness in her hand spread across her body and into her soul, but she couldn’t stop herself from picking away more and more of the paint.

How long had she been here?

There was only one answer to that.

Long enough.

[fallen-gravity]

prompt: maui, after leaving te fiti, looking at moana and realizing that he just wants to protect her + coming back for her. bonus points for post- te fiti scene complete with emotional conversations and fluff

this is an intervention, seren. You can’t keep trying to get me to join the dark side when you keep inspiring me to write the fluffiest stories I’ve ever written like this. It’s just not going to work. It’s never going to work.

let’s play a little game I like to call “spot how many times the author desperately held back on using the word ‘love’”. Here’s your first clue: It’s a lot.

Maui’s been flying for an hour before the smokefinally clears from the sky.

Once he can finally see what’s in front of himagain, he flares his wings to gain more wind to push him higher into the airand to get him farther away from Te Fiti faster. There’s no way Moana can seehim anymore, but Maui doesn’t care. He just wants to be away from everything,away from Te Fiti and her accursed heart, away from the red spiral on the sailof Moana’s canoe, away from the familiarity and the false sense of comfort thewood on its deck provided him.

Away from Moana, the one responsible for thecrack running through his hook, from the young mortal who dived into Lalotai tohelp him retrieve it, the mortal who fought off Tamatoa to save him withnothing but her wisdom and immense amounts of empathy for a mortal her age, themortal whose voice cracked on his name as she begged and pleaded for him tostay, to fight with her, who stretched out her arms just as he took off hopingit was enough to get him to-

No. It doesn’t matter now what Moana was doing,because she’s not his problem anymore. 

Yeah. That’s what she’s been. A problem.Ever since he’s met her she’s caused him nothing but trouble. Repeatedlywhacking him with her oar, summoning the Kakamora to her tiny vessel, nearlygetting eaten at least a dozen times down in Lalotai, and now, nearlycosting him his hook because she’s too stubborn to just listen. Maui shovesthose thoughts aside, ruffles out his feathers a bit, and refocuses hisattention on the sea below him. He supposes the one good thing to come out ofthis mess was that the kickback of the impact Te Kā’s fist had on his hook sentthem flying hours off course, so finding an island to take refuge on to sortout his thoughts shouldn’t take that long.

It’s another half hour before he sees so much asanother speck of land. There’s no full-sized islands, green and blooming withlife, just large crags of rock and scattered groups of small, dying islands toofamiliar to his own for his comfort. Maui shakes his head again and pusheshimself up higher into the sky to see if he can find something more suitable tohis liking farther out. Surprisingly, though, even as he soars above the cloudsto look for more, he’s still met with nothing but dead or close-to islands andlarge crags of dark stone everywhere he looks.

I’m here because you stole the Heart ofTe Fiti.

Well, at least the kid had been right aboutsomething. Stealing the heart really did seem to have a pretty bad effect onthe islands. Maui’d just thought she was trying to get a rise out of him, likethe idea that he was hurting humanity would convince him any better togo with her (and it had, but it’s not like Moana’s around to hear him admitit), but it turns out the kid was actually right about that too. Every littleisland he finds himself coming across is either blackening and turning to ash,or wearing away with the breeze, leaving behind a pale white of the likesMaui’s only seen on his own island. If he were in his human form, it wouldn’ttake much to know just who’s side of the scoreboard Mini Maui would be adding atally mark to right about now.

Maui goes to roll his eyes, somewhat amused by the thought,but catches himself and stops. He settles instead to scoff at himself, rufflingout his feathers again, because he’s thinking about her, again, he’s notsupposed to be thinking about her, he’s supposed to be mad at her, andrefocuses his attention on looking for somewhere to land. He’s obviously notgoing to find a luscious, green island anytime soon, so Maui supposes he’s justgoing to have to settle for the next thing large enough to support himto land on instead. (Distantly, he thinks back to a few weeks after Lalotai,when Moana excitedly told him about Motunui, how green and how beautifulher home island is, but Maui furiously stamps down that thought and looksfor something smaller).

It’s two hours since he left Te Fiti when he finallycomes across an island large enough and lively enough that it wouldn’t crumbleto ash and salt if he were to land on it, and from the air Maui can tell thatit’s entirely unoccupied by anyone else. Soundlessly, he dives down towards theshore, and winces inadvertently when his hook crackles painfully as he shiftsback into his human form. Hefting it over his shoulder, Maui starts off towardsthe center of the island, but before he can so as much take a single stepforward there’s a violent yanking of his arm that stops him dead in his tracks.When he glances downward, Mini Maui’s holding the edge of his tattoo. When hissmall counterpart sees he has his attention, he glares up at him and snaps thetattoo back against his skin.

“Ow!” Maui glares down at him, more surprised thanactually hurt. “What was that for?”

Mini Maui’s glare deepens, and he shakes his head.He jumps over to Maui’s other arm, and gestures violently back towards the directionof Te Fiti.

“What?” Maui splutters, and his glare hardens. “No.”

Mini Maui copies his expression, the little glareset on his face hardening as well. He shakes his head, and gestures backtowards Te Fiti, more violently this time.

“I said no.” Maui growls, and turns his gazeaway from Te Fiti and down towards Mini Maui. “I told her, and I’ll tell you. I’mnot going back” he mutters, his voice dropping to a low tone.

Mini Maui just shakes his head, and gives him a questioninglook.

“Why?” Maui asks, and lets his hook slip off of hisshoulder and down to his side before he holds it up to his eye level. “Becauseshe ruined my hook”

Mini Maui shakes his head, and leaps over to hisback. Maui can feel a twinge of heat, like phantom pain, as his tattoo of Te Kāanimates to life. He scoffs. “Details.” he wiggles his hook out in front ofhim. “It doesn’t matter who actually cracked it, because she’s the onewho caused it.” Maui shakes his head. “If she’d just listened to me thefirst time, like any other normal person would, and she hadn’t tried tosqueeze her tiny canoe through a hole it never would’ve made through anyway, Inever would’ve had to leap forward and protect her to prevent her fromgetting herself killed!” Maui throws his arms into the air overdramatically,but freezes at the words coming out of his own mouth, his warrior faceshattering to pieces.

To protect her.

Not himself, not her canoe, not even theHeart.  Her.

Maui grumbles to himself, frustratedly, andscrambles to rearrange his warrior face back on before the little inkednuisance can notice it’s even gone. Even if it was for her, to keep hersafe, it doesn’t excuse that it was her stupid act that got her in troublein the first place, and no amount of protectiveness he decidedly does not feelfor her is going to change the fact that it was she who pushed herself directlyinto the path of Te Ka’s fist in the first place.

But when he glances back down at Mini Maui, he’sstanding with his arms crossed smugly over his little chest, one eyebrow cockedupwards at him with a grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, stay out of it” he deadpans, and flicks him toa panel on his back. If he didn’t know better, he could almost swear that MiniMaui’s laughing as he scrambles away back to his front. “I told you. That’s notthe part that matters.”

Mini Maui cocks his eyebrow up at him again, andwhen Maui glares again the little tattoo holds up his hands, almost as agesture of defeat, and he grins as he squints his eyes closed to demonstratelaughter.

Maui sighs, heavily, and his glare drops to a blankexpression. “Alright, alright.” he starts, and his hook drops to the ground ashe holds up his hands in a gesture of defeat, a mirror to the same motion hislittle tattoo had just done a moment ago. “Fine. I’ll play along. Yes, Idid it to protect her.”

Mini Maui rolls his hand in a circular motion,encouraging him to keep going. Maui sighs.

“No, she wasn’t actually the one whocracked it.”

Mini Maui repeats the gesture.

“Te Kā” he admits. “Te Kā cracked my hook.” Mauishakes his head. “But what’s saying that out loud gonna do? Magically fix myhook?” Maui snorts incredulously, and Mini Maui’s grin drops. He shakes hishead, and developing a more serious expression, he jumps back over to his othershoulder and points off towards the horizon. Maui turns to follow Mini Maui, andonly finds himself staring back towards Te Fiti.

Oh.

“Nice try” Maui starts. “But I’m still not goingback.”

Mini Maui shakes his head, and jumps back over tohis spot on his chest, but instead of snapping the edge into his skin, orgiving up and settling back into place, he flashes his little inked hook andthe entire image on the panel shifts. Taking the place of the sky is a small, rockyisland surrounded by the ocean. Mini Maui sits on the island alone, handspressed to his cheeks in boredom. But before Maui can ask him what he’s doing,a small canoe swims into the panel and stops on the island. Mini Maui visiblyperks up, and runs to board the canoe. He sits down, and the little canoe turnsand sails away from the little island.

Maui opens his mouth to question what he’s doing,but the answer comes to him before he can ask and he blinks rapidly at therealization.

Moana saved him by pulling him off of that littleisland. It wasn’t something he’d thought at the time, and certainly wasn’tsomething he’d thought about much on the journey to Te Fiti. But Mini Maui hasa point. A thousand years he’d spent on that island, and nobody came to hisrescue but Moana.

Often times, long after he ran out of space on theboulders for any more tallies or for more carvings of his own feats, he’d oftenpass the time by sitting atop the tallest boulder and staring out at thehorizon. Most of the time he’d clamber up to watch the sun rise or set, andoccasionally he’d sit back to gaze at the stars, but sometimes, on rare occasions,he’d climb up just to stare out at the ocean.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for at thetime, or what it meant when he’d find himself staring at the sun glimmering offof the waves, but he knows, now, that he’d been looking for a boat. Every timehe stared out at the ocean, he’d be hoping, praying he would see somesight of a mast or hear the sound of a sail ruffling in the wind, but in histhousand years on that island he didn’t see any sight of any boat.

Except for one.

Maui goes to say something, but before he canthere’s another flash of Mini Maui’s little hook and the image shifts again.Mini Maui’s still on that little boat, but then a group of inked clouds clearin front of him to reveal another canoe. Aboard the second canoe sits threeKakamora pirates. Mini Maui’s hook pops out of existence, momentarily, and hejumps into a fighting stance. Before he can leap onto the second canoe,however, something just outside of the tattoo panel knocks a fourth Kakamorainto view, barreling it straight into the other three and knocking them intothe water below. The figure out of view tosses something to Mini Maui, and hehops up to catch it. He then holds up the little trinket towards his largecounterpart, and even in ink form the Heart of Te Fiti is undeniablyrecognizable.

…That too. Somehow, miraculously, after theKakamora stole the heart of Te Fiti, Moana had fearlessly boarded their boatand stole it back before he had time to conjure an escape plan. Oar in hand,she’d climbed aboard an enemy vessel and let nothing stop her until shegot what she wanted.

Another flash of a tiny hook, and another shift inthe image. There are tiny trinkets and what appears to Maui to be little stonesscattered all over the floor of the panel. Mini Maui stands in the middle,facing the right wall of the panel, when all of a sudden the little trinkets onthe ground begin to tremble. Mini Maui stumbles backwards and lands on hisbehind, and Tamatoa steps out from other side of the panel, and Maui’s lipstwitch downward at the sight. He doesn’t need to keep watching to see wherethis is going, so he doesn’t. Maui pulls his gaze away from the display andabsentmindedly turns his gaze back out towards the horizon.

That day, when he faced Tamatoa, he feared for thefirst time in millennia that he could’ve died. It wasn’t an irrational train ofthought, of course, but it was a new feeling and quite frankly one Maui didn’tlike in the least. He could actually feel his muscles gradually beginning togive up on him as Tamatoa tossed him around his cave like he was little morethan a plaything, and Maui wouldn’t be lying if he said he was fully expectingMoana to do the same thing. Sneak out of her cage when Tamatoa had his backturned to her, and abandon him for the crag in her wall for her own safety.

…But she didn’t. Instead she blew his expectationsof her out of the water, again, and chose instead to risk her own lifeto protect his. Without hesitation Moana jumped in front of Tamatoa’s path,knowing very well that he could kill her anytime he wanted to, and taunted himoff in a different direction to save Maui’s life. She’d returned to his sidethe instant Tamatoa was distracted with her decoy Heart, and she wrapped herarms around him and placed a supporting hand on the center of his back as shecarried and supported him back to her canoe.

And speaking of support, despite everything he’dgrown to know about Moana, despite the endless number of times she managed tooutdo herself, nothing shocked him about Moana more than how supportive she’dbeen about his origin story. Instead of turning away, of saying nothing at all,she sat beside him and used everything in her power to calm him down. Sheconvinced him that it was he who made him Maui, not the gods, or hishook, or even his mother, but him. All the good he’s done, she’d said,was because he was a good person, and had nothing to do with any godlike powersor magical weapons. Sure, those things helped, she’d joked, but neither ofthose things had anything to do with the why.

And when he finally found the courage to turn andmeet her eyes, if only for a brief moment, it caught him off-guard to noticesomething of fondness for himglinting in her eyes.

This entire trip, Moana’s done nothing but protect him.From the Kakamora, from Tamatoa, from his mother, from himself. She protects,and she cares, and she gives. Gods, from the very beginning, Mona’s donenothing but give.

…And all he’s done and sat back and takenwithout so much as a thanks.

From the ground, his hook crackles loudly, and whenMaui looks down towards it to pick it up he sees that Mini Maui’s gone back toholding up the sky, frozen in place. His hook crackles warmly in his hands, andbetween one spark of purple lightning and the next everything comes rushingback to him so quickly that he hears his own horrified voice whisper Moana beforehe even registers that he’d said it out loud.

The Heart. He’d dropped it before he took off.

Of course she’d go back to restore the Heart.With or without him, Moana is determined to save her people, and he knows nowjust how far this precious mortal is willing to go to save them. With a flashof his hook, Maui turns hawk and silently flaps off back towards Te Fiti asfast as his wings can carry him.

Maui’s not sure if it’s luck, desperation,determination, or some unholy amalgam of all three, but only one hour haspassed before he finds himself back in the smoke-filled skies of Te Kā’s territory.He’s not sure how much time’s actually passed since he abandoned Moana’s canoe,but his only clue that it’s probably been a few hours longer than he thinksit’s been is the fact that Moana’s canoe is no longer where he left it.

He’s not sure why this causes his chest to clenchtightly, or why his heartbeat starts pounding loudly in his ears, but it does,and Maui bites down a hawk’s screech as he grumbles frustratedly to himself andforces his heartbeat to calm. He’s about to dive down towards the water to lookfor her, because maybe she’s still on the way over and he beat her here, but abright flash of orange out of the corner of his eye and Te Kā’s angry shriekinghas him correcting his course and soaring towards the noise as fast as hiswings can carry him.

He spots the mast of Moana’s canoe disappearing intothe barrier islands about three seconds before he spots the fireball Te Kāhurls at it. Maui soars upwards, high above the smoke fogging the air, and isfilled with more relief than he’s willing to admit when he sees her canoe makeit out the other side safely. The relief’s short lived, though, because when TeKā twists herself around and explodes out of the barrier islands, now facingtowards Te Fiti, Moana’s canoe goes flying and even from this high up Maui canhear the muffled smack as Moana disappears below the waves. Anger, darkand ugly, easily takes the relief’s place, and everything he’s ever known ofstrategy leaves his head as he dives toward her canoe as she helps herself backon board, and when Te Kā begins grabbing for Moana he lets out a loud hawk’sscreech to throw Te Kā off-guard. Te Kā hesitates for a half-moment, and Moana looksup at the sound.

“Maui!” she calls cheerily, and when he lands on hercanoe and steadies himself he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

And in Moana’s smile he finds more warmth than eventhe heat radiating from Te Kā herself.

It’s two and a half months after Te Fiti before Mauisees Moana again.

He touches down on Motunui’s shore, and in secondsMoana is on him, leaping into his arms and wrapping her own around his neckthe same way she had before they parted ways. It’s with a large grin and a loud,unbothered laugh of his own that Maui wraps his arms around her shoulders andspins her in a circle before he lets her fall from his arms and back onto thesand.

“It’s so good to see you!” Moana grins, and puncheshim in the arm. “I’d been wondering when you’d finally decided to show up”. Hergrin widens. “You’re lucky you came when you did, because any later and Iwould’ve taken my canoe out to come find you and drag you back here myself”.

Maui matches her grin with one of his own. “By theear, I presume?”

“You bet!” Moana grins, and stands a bit taller.“Come on! There’s so much I want to show you” she says, and before Maui evenhas time to protest she presses herself to his side and wraps her arm aroundhis as she begins to drag him towards her village.

And as she does, Maui just takes a moment to look ather. To really look. Moana’s walking along the trail to her village soexcitedly she’s practically bouncing, and the grin spread across herface seems to widen with every step they take closer to it. She eventuallycatches him watching her, and when she turns her gaze to meet his, her eyes arepractically glistening in sheer joy.

It’s a good look for her.

“Wait” Maui blurts. “Before we go into the village,there’s something I need you to know”.

“Hm? What’s up?”

“It’s about what happened at Te Fiti”

Moana’s face falls inadvertently, if only for thebriefest of seconds, but long enough for Maui to notice and for a sudden waveof guilt to swirl around in his stomach. Maui forces it down, and shakes hishead. “Look-” he starts. “What I said, what I did-” he pauses. “It was wrong. Inever should’ve left.” he bows his head. “I’m sorry”.

Moana’s quiet for a number of heartbeats. “It’sokay” she says eventually, and steps forward to rest a hand against his cheek.When he lifts his head to meet her gaze, she’s back to smiling at him like shedid on Te Fiti, its warmth only comparable to that of the fires of Te Kā. “Youcame back” she says, and reaches to brush the hair out of his face and tuck itback behind his ear for him. “That’s what matters” she says, and steps forwardto wrap her arms around him in another hug. Maui wraps his arms around her tohug her back, but she pulls away far too soon as a thought apparently comes toher.

“Oh, that reminds me, actually” she says, openingher eyes Maui wasn’t even aware that she’d closed. “I’ve actually been meaningto ask you something, too”

Maui blinks. “Yeah?”

“What madeyou come back?”

“What?”

“When you came back, you said something about aconversation you had with a ‘buddy of yours’” she repeats his own words withair quotes, and shakes her head. “But I think there’s more to it that you nevertold me. What made you come back?” she asks, and when Maui absentmindedlyspares a glance down at his tattoos for an answer his eyes catch on the littlecurly-haired wayfinder resting over his heart.

“It was you, Moana”

Moana blinks, like that was the last thing she wasexpecting out of him. “What?”

“It was you” Maui repeats. “I came back for you.When I left, I turned and saw you everywhere I looked.”

“I touched down on a little unoccupied island about,two hours from the border islands, I wanna say. I tried everything I could toget my mind off of you, but found that the more I tried to push you away, the moreI seemed to think about you.” Maui shakes his head. “Because I was angry.Unfairly so.” he pauses to tap the side of his head. “I wasn’t thinkingstraight”. Maui drops his gaze down momentarily, and when he brings it back upto meet hers he huffs quietly in amusement. “I was on that island for aboutthirty seconds before this guy swooped in to convince me this” he says, andMini Maui animates to life to wave a little hello to Moana. She snortsand waves back.

“He’d pointed out to me that I was being unfair.That this was something I shouldn’t have been mad at you about, because all Iwas trying to do was protect you.” he shakes his head again. “I didn’t buy itat first, so he tried going about convincing me from a different route”.

“And what route was that?”

He can’t help the small smile spreading to his face.He really can’t. “By reminding me of everything you’ve done for me” he brings ahand to his head. “The Kakamora, Tamatoa, my own parents?” he starts,listing off each item with a count of his fingers. “You’ve protected me from somuch, Moana. I could go on and on” he says, and drops his arm to his side.“Ever since we met, Moana, you’ve been nothing but patient with me. Even when Ididn’t deserve it”

Moana’s got an argument for that, and he can seethat she’s about to use it, so he simply shakes his head and holds up a hand tolet her know he isn’t finished.

“Everything we went through out there,” he gesturesout towards the ocean. “You stood by me through it all. But when we got to TeFiti, and you needed me to return the favor, I gave up. I left.”

“That wasn’t fair to you. I realized that after Ilanded on that little island. I couldn’t leave you behind knowing I’d hurtyou”. He bows his head again. “I couldn’t disappoint you, Moana” he murmurs,and pulls his head back up to look at her. “That’s why I came back,Moana. Not because of some obligation, not so I could be the hero again,not even for Te Fiti. I came back for you, and only for you” he finishes, and reaches forward to catch Moana intoa hug as she reaches her arms out towards him, her face crumbling in on itself.Maui gives her a minute to break in his arms, and allows himself a minute tojust hold her before he speaks again.

“And I promise you that I’ll never abandonyou in a time of need like that again”.