#finished this fic watching the sun rise over vegas ….

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PLAYING DANGEROUS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ lana del rey — playing dangerous ♩

pairing: detective!johnb x reader.

cw: mentions of a murder, reader is a murderer, mentions of the law, slight age gap, abuse of power, sexual content.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day two.

nothing ever happens in this town.

nothing worth talking about anyway. only god knows why john b was stationed out here. what kind of detective work was there to do out in the sticks you might ask? jack all, that’s what. nothing but the occasional stolen tractor, and one time — oh, one time, somebody vandalised the town statue outside the city hall, leaving john b to figure out who did it. now that one was real exciting, he knows he’s not meant to — but he secretly loved the smart criminals. made his job just that bit more exciting. the vandal took out the security cameras facing the monument, and also had questionable motive for the graffiti. took john b the whole of two days to figure out who did it, and they didn’t even get an arrest. just a hefty fine. the criminals round here were boring as ever.

until you.

a murder, in his small town. it rocked everyone, as you can imagine. everyone knew everyone round here, which made things all that more interesting. a young man’s house had been burnt down, with him inside of it. john b had to commend you, you’d sent him out with a bang, not even bothering with a boring method of murder, more paperwork sure but god was it worth it. a real case, hell — he cracks this one and they might even move him up to the city. get him on some real jobs.

now not only were you apparently this young man’s scorned ex lover, the kid apparently being some kind of serial cheater — but john b had asked around, and apparently you hadn’t been careful enough to cover your tracks when purchasing large amounts of gasoline. to him, it was pretty obvious who’d done it— but there was procedures he had to take. things aren’t always as they seem, and john b couldn’t afford to jump the gun and ruin his chances at a promotion.

knock, knock, knock.

it’s late, he’s aware. 9PM isn’t the most appropriate time to show up at a perps door, but hell — with this case came a buttfuck load of paperwork that he hadn’t been doing before and it had taken up all his time. now it was time for some real action, his stomach stirs in excitement. shit, his cock almost hardens.

he starts observing you before you’ve even greet him. the sound of socked feet on wood. do you sound hesitant? frightened? confident and unknowing? is there an air of acceptance to your walk, knowing you commit the heinous crime? he pretends not to notice the jostling of curtains in the window at the front of the house as you undoubtedly take a peak. he figured that was fair, as it was so late — rocking comfortably back and forth on his feet with his hands behind his back.

you take another minute to answer, so he frowns, letting out a little whistle and going to knock again. “uh, are you—”

you swing open the door, big stepford smile on your face. here we go.

“officer?”

“detective.” the brunette flashes his badge, tight and polite smile as he peers into your hallway. “i’m sorry to drop by so late ma’am is this… this a good time?” he’s awkward, young in nature and not so much in stature, the lines in his forehead and around his eyes already telling you he’s a bit older. as you observe him right back, he clears his throat and fixes his tie.

“of course, detective.” you correct with a smile, a knowing one — like you were sharing a joke between friends. he’s unsettled by your energy.

“‘don’t mind if i come inside then do ya? kinda… chilly tonight.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pivoting his body round to glance at the blowing trees. your expression settles like you’d been waiting for him to ask, and you widen the door gap — exposing all of you. you stand in the littlest night gown, white silk against your skin and john b feels like letting out a comical gulp. he didn’t think you’d be beautiful. where do beautiful girls get off murdering people? beautiful girls could have whatever they want.

“my, i’m a little shy standing here in my nightgown.” you converse as he passes you, acknowledging that you did infact catch him looking. he says nothing, just smiles and huffs out an awkward chuckle from his nose as he respectfully dusts his boots off on your welcome mat before strolling inside. the house was dark, lit only by candles and you follow him to the living room.

“tea? coffee?” you offer and he lowers himself into an arm chair, patting the quilted arms a few times with his large flat hands. he wants to scoff, knowing better than to take a drink from a probable murderer.

“wh— oh no no, this uh. this shouldn’t take long.” he watches you just as carefully as you watch him, and you make the conscious decision not to sit. you stay standing infront of him, skin glowing in the low light. you were wearing so close to nothing it was distracting to a pent up, perpetually single man like john b. he feels like loosening his tie.

“very well then, detective. what seems to be the issue?”

“do you know anything about a fire, ma’am?” he sounds hesitant, eyes wide but only in the way where he’s stiff with observation, not wanting to miss a second of a tell you might give. there’s a pause of hesitation before you nod, crossing your arms over yourself. unfortunately the only note taken there was that the action pressed your tits together.

“yes. very tragic.”

“yeah, no for sure… not many fires in this town right? got down to a record break last year. only three fires and they were pretty small.” he converses, relaxing a little into the seat. you stay on your feet.

“was bound to happen at some point i suppose. men have a habit of being reckless, leaving things switched on and so on. probably fell asleep with a candle burning.” you sway, eyes flickering to your own candles like you were imagining the same fate for yourself.

“for sure, for sure…” john b nods slowly, taking a moment to look down at his lap as he thinks. where he looks back up, you’re staring.

“he was a uh, boyfriend of yours — if my intel is correct?”

“ex. ex boyfriend.” you correct, jaw tightened just a smidgen like you couldn’t help yourself. john b stares you down, infact he could swear his lips quirk upward just a tiny bit. he’d so got you.

he settles a little more, resting his elbow on the arm of the seat so he could prop up his chin, staring at you with a knowing look.

“mind telling me where you were on sunday evening?” shit.

he watches the shift of emotion on your face, the way it falls ever so slightly before immediately lifting again, like you had full faith on yourself. you smile, huffing out a breathy little giggle as you tilt your head to the side like a confused puppy.

as you speak, you slowly begin to slip the strap of your nightgown down the smooth skin of your shoulder. “gosh, i barely remember. i spend so much time here… all lonely… was probably… keeping myself company, if you catch my meaning, officer.”

“detective.” he rasps, eyes following the strap like the weakling he is. he clears his throat.

“apologies, detective.” you correct, before pulling down the other strap. “you mind if i slip into something a little more comfortable before we continue with this?” you shoot him the innocent doe eyes. he raised his eyebrows, and you drop the nightgown to your feet anyway, naked as the day you were born. “much better.”

john b chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at you. “this what we’re doing now?” he deadpans with that warm friendly smile that drew you closer.

you giggle, and this time it’s actually authentic, stepping closer until you brave straddling his lap. he winces like you’d placed hot iron on him.

“is it working?” you try your luck, and he’s distracted by the fat of your hips, his coarser hands sliding up them to grab at the meat of them, watching the way your folds part around his growing bulge through his black work pants.

“ugh, i don’t know.” he groans quietly. he knew there was another version of him somewhere, behind glass, watching this all go down. he’d pound on the glass, telling himself to stop, that he was throwing away everything all for some pussy — but the truth was, he was lonely too. this life didn’t leave much room for… socialising.

knowing you were close to breaking him, you roll your hips, letting out an exaggerated whimper as you watch his hands slide up to your tits. “m’sure i can change your mind somehow detective. you really don’t wanna put those tight handcuffs on me, i’m only a fragile girl.”

“fuuuucking shit.” he groans in despair, and you feel his hardness wedged up beneath you.

it’s not even five minutes later and you’ve got him inside of you, his pants around his ankles — a true testament to the way you’d caught him out, used his loneliness against him and it didn’t even take any convincing, he cracked pretty much immediately. shit, he loved his job — but maybe he didn’t wanna go big city cop after all.

your hips went from rolling to aggressive bouncing, your teeth grit, primal and forceful like you couldn’t help yourself. the sweet little mewls you let out after each bounce didn’t match the sheer force at which you were milking him. over the harsh plap plap plap sound — you lean forward to his ear.

“why you lettin’ me get away with it detective? s’it cos you like me? do you like me?” god you were insane, but the neediness in your voice filled a hole he’d craved. he’d always wanted one of those girlfriends, the type that cares too much, wanna know his every move. he knew it was wrong, hell — you’d killed someone. but something about it was getting him off just as much as it was you.

despite being older than you by quite a bit, his eyes held this puppy like quality to them, a youthful gaze he stares up at you with. “because you’re pretty. really pretty, and uh — you’re young.” wow, he was messed up. he’s not even sure why he said the last part, everything was just so twisted.

he was aware of how much he was screwing himself. but hey, john b had always been a sucker for doe eyes and pretty tits, so who could blame the man?

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Here we go, part two of the werewolf Peter au.

Warning: Aro is an ass, as usual, and Peter is not doing well mentally, as usual but worse now

On with the fic!

--

It had been...

A weird morning.

To say the least.

Peter had kinda come to expect that he was going to wake up either destroying his bedroom, like he did last month, or waking up naked in a random place, like the first two months of this insanity he now called his life. It turned out to be the latter, which was fine, he didn't want to have to explain how sex left his room trashed and his bed smashed for a second time.

But it wasn't really that fine, he had found himself naked and covered in blood again, in some random alley far from the Vegas Strip. The last thing he remembered was drinking a whole hell of a lot, which has actually become harder to do since this whole wolf thing started, and blacking out while watching TV.

Next thing he knew, he was in a smelly alley way, and some smartly-dressed vampire was standing above him. Peter would have either been running for his life or being a complete bastard about the situation if it wasn't for the fact that he still hadn't finished transforming and pain was very much his biggest issue to deal with.

Body horror looks cool in the movies, but is the absolute worst in reality.

The vampire seemed super amused by all this, fucker, and then had the balls to offer to take Peter home to 'discuss things', or whatever. Peter should have told him to go sit on a stake, but honestly? He was exhausted, filled with horrible shame and hatred and guilt, and needed a shower like crazy. And maybe five cups of coffee.

So, he offered to let the vampire take him home, wondering how they would do that now that the sun was rising.

Apparently, this vampire could run. Really, really fast.

Peter threw up on the floor when they got to the elevator of the hotel and the vampire had been an ass and dropped him for it.

Once up in the penthouse, and going against every instinct and letting the vampire in, Peter had finally gotten his shower. It totally didn't last longer than it needed because he was crying, nope, never happened, he just wanted to make sure all the blood was gone.

When he came out, dressed in a robe and nothing more, he found the vampire at hardly-used kitchen table, the one that looked super gothy and was made of iron, with a fresh cup of coffee on it. Peter felt no shame in downing the damn thing, but he probably should have been cautious. The vampire could have drugged it.

Not that drugs have much effect now, uhg.

After two more cups, Peter was ready to talk.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, tapping his nails on the side of his mug.

The vampire had sat quietly this whole time, smiling that eerie smile of his, his red eyes practically twinkled with unspoken amusement. Ew.

"I am Aro, and I am to assume that you were Peter Vincent, yes?"

"How'd you know that?"

"You are not subtle with your egotism in this place. Also, I have seen the billboards around the city, and your 'collection' does not shy away from also being self-advertisement for you and your... magic act?"

"Performance." Peter sneered. "It's a performance. Anyway, what the hell did you even want to talk to me about? Cause I'm sure you can already guess that I do not like vampires and I do not trust or make deals with 'em."

"Your collection of memorabilia and weapons, if you wish to call them that, speaks differently about your hatred for my kind. But then again, it's cute if you want me to believe that you are a hunter, as I am guessing that's what all this is about." He waved a hand around lazily in the direction of the collection.

Peter glared over the rim of his mug, taking a long drink. "I am a hunter."

"How many have you killed?" He asked, but the tone indicated that he knew the answer, and Peter didn't like that.

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

Peter shifted and set down the mug. "A few, not a lot, but a few, it's better than none."

Aro just smiled more, it made his crow's feet show, he was messing with Peter. Fucker. "Maybe, maybe not. Does your hunting have anything to do with your current situation of being a shapeshifter? Or has this always been a thing?"

With a groan, Peter rose from the table, going to refill the mug and put a few splashes of scotch in it. "It's... not. I won't tell you the details, but I got bit about five months ago, and started changing afterwards, last night was the fourth one."

"And I am to assume you are of the wolf variety?"

Peter blinked. "There's more? Like, I mean, I know some myths and folklore mention other animals, but it's usually wolves. Fuck, I could have been somethin' else?"

"There are those of the vampire variety that can become bats, making them shapeshifters, but not of the kind of creature you are. You seem to be a full-on werewolf, though I have only seen you in a recovery state. I would need to see your full form in order to make sure."

"Oh, fuck no, you ain't seein' me like that! I don't even know what I look like!"

"Did you not see the creature that bit you?" Aro asked, tilting his head in a way that made Peter hate him a little bit more.

"He wasn't a wolfman when he fuckin' bit me, idiot. He was human, we were goin' at it and it was gettin' super hot, then this fucker bit me on the shoulder and tried to do it again. So, I punched him, he freaked out, ran off. Didn't even register it was the full moon that night until a month later when I woke up naked and bloody somewhere away from where I had been the night before."

Aro hummed, thinking on this, before rising from the table and approached Peter. He was slightly shorter, Peter noted, but he felt intimidated by him all the same. "Show me?"

"S-show you what?"

"The bite. Unless if it healed?"

Peter didn't want to, but he felt like he didn't have much choice. He pulled down the collar of the robe, presenting the still red bite on his shoulder. The teeth indents had scarred over, but the area around them was still red, it still hurt sometimes, especially after the full moon.

Aro stared at it, then gently touched it, making Peter hiss at the icy contact against his burning skin. "Fuck..." He breathed, feeling his skin crawl at the sensation.

"Curious..." Aro frowned, red eyes focused on it. "Hmm, this might be a true werewolf bite, how rare, I haven't seen one in ages."

Peter covered the bite with his robe again, frowning hard. "What's that supposed to mean? You know what this is then?"

He then quietly added, "Is it curable?"

The vampire looked at him, face impossible to read. He seemed like a statue all of a sudden, and yet he was clearly reading Peter like a book. "Possible. I'd have to look into it, as I said, it's been ages since I've dealt with true werewolves, they are extremely rare nowadays. Most shapeshifters I've come across have been in control of their abilities, or it is of a culture. This, however, is a curse of sorts."

"Fuck." Peter grabbed his mug and downed it. "But there's a chance?"

Aro smiled, and Peter hated it. "Possibly, it may take some time. But if I were to... help you, I would like something in return?"

"And what would that be?"

"For you to work for me."

--

Still gotta figure out all the details, but just know Aro is playing Peter like a harp. I don't think there really is a cure for the whole werewolf thing, unless if it's one of those curses where you have to give it to someone else.

But Peter is going to be desperate for a cure, he wants this to end.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: One

A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked the prologue. You’re all very, very kind. I hope you continue to like this story. SO! Fun fact, my computer glitched and deleted this chapter and the next chapter for Blood in the Rivers AND the next chapter for my Din fic over on Ao3. Yeah. It was a good time. 

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 3.4k

New York glittered when the sun hit it just right. Light bounced from one skyscraper to the next and made the mess of glass and metal and stone shine like a puddle of diamonds. Of course, that was only true if you were sixty stories up.

It had been three years since she’d joined Statesmen. Three years of being shot at by cartoon-like henchmen and nearly poisoned by a man who definitely twirled his mustache. It had been a wild ride. She’d swapped her usual glock for suitcases that fired missiles, her usual pant suit for a pair of jeans and a blazer, and her name for a stupid code word. Their given names didn’t exist anymore, really. She wasn’t even sure she’d answer to it if she heard it on the street.

She was Capri Sun—the sugar filled silver pouch juice that American kids slurped up like it was crack on a hot summer day. And she would only admit on threat of death that she enjoyed the juice drink, too. A sinking feeling had her thinking Champagne knew about her proclivity for the childhood juice. The code-name in and of itself denoted her status as a field agent and her lack of presence at the “high table” where everyone had taken their monikers from alcohol. The paperwork of being higher-ranking put her off ever trying to achieve it. But yes, Capri-Sun. Most called her ‘Cap’ for short.  

But some…

“Sunny!”

She turned away from her window to face Agent Whiskey, her boss and general terror of her existence. “Yes, boss.” It wasn’t even surprising that he’d let himself in to her office. That had stopped being a shock about two months into her new employment. 

He sauntered up to her, hips cocked to the side as he stopped. His ridiculous Stetson was still on his head and he looked out her window, too. “Still enjoying the view?”

“It never gets old.” She stepped away from the window and his side and settled into her high-backed chair behind her desk. “What do you need?” He chuckled and dragged his fingers across her desk as he made his way toward one of the chairs on the other side. His legs were spread and she absolutely did not look below the belt of his too-tight jeans. Nope. Absolutely not. “I sent in my report for that Milan job. Did you have questions?”

His large hand scrubbed at his jaw before he leaned forward. “You’ve been with Statesmen for three years, Sunny.”

“Yes, I can read a calendar.”

His smile grew. “Then you know what today is.”

“Friday.”

“And?” He tilted his head to the side, dark eyes sparkling.

“And I’m leaving the office in 42 minutes.”

His smile fell the slightest bit. “Three years is a long time for a Statesmen, Sunny. Let me and the rest of the crew take you out for a few drinks to celebrate.”

She looked at him, watching his smile fade just a bit more with each passing second, before answering. “No.”  

“Well, why not? You never come out with us.”

“I don’t drink, boss. You should know that with how many times I’ve told everyone in this building.” She leaned back in her chair, gut twisting. “But thank you for the offer.”

His smile was still present as he slapped his knees before rising to his feet. “You know, one day, I’m going to get you to have some fun with the rest of us.”

“Okay, boss,” she said to his retreating back, tone bordering on placating. 

“I mean it!” He shouted over his shoulder. “You need to let loose, Sunny!” Whiskey stopped and turned just on the other side of her doorway. “And I’d love to see it happen.” He then walked away, tight jeans and all. 

It was only when she heard the elevator doors close did she let out her breath, long and slow. 

Agent Whiskey was the terror of her life, that was true. He was gorgeous and kind and flirty—and a good boss to boot. But he also fucked anything with tits and had no qualms about it. More than once, she’d caught him with his tongue down some mark’s throat when she was supposed to be keeping an eye out for any henchmen—or nosey husbands. He obviously knew what he was doing. The dazed, hungry look that his conquests always sported after spending an ounce of time with him was one hell of an indicator. 

It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t thought about how it would feel for him to kiss her, to hold her, to fuck her. But she’d seen firsthand what workplace romances, especially in a field as volatile as international espionage, could reap. 

She also knew of Whiskey’s tragedy. Ginger Ale had softly whispered it when she had seen the moon-eyes Sunny had made at her boss when he wasn’t looking.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Cap.”

And that had been it, really. 

She could keep him at a distance and still do her job. She could be a professional. She’d been trained to suppress her emotions to manipulate others and complete missions. This would be the same. She was here to help save the world from the shadows—not fuck her boss. The feelings would fade, right? 

Well, it had been two and a half years since she’d noticed how his eyes sparkle and she still hadn’t fully recovered.

Her overall-prickly disposition hadn’t changed. That was just who she was. And she wasn’t sure if she would be able to change it even if she wanted to—she just hated how Whiskey seemed to see it as a challenge. She also hated that Whiskey continually rejected Ginger Ale as a possible member of the “high table” of the agency. She was strong, capable, and smart as hell. Ginger deserved to be sitting at the table as much as any other stupid-Stetson-wearing man.

She turned in her chair and looked out over the city again. Watched it sparkle. Yes. It was a beautiful view.

                                                   **

The door to her apartment squeaked when she opened it and the happy tap-tap-tap of paws against her wood flooring had a smile pushing at her lips. Her corgi, Bela, trotted into view. When he spotted her, he bounded over to her and stood on his hind legs and pressed his front paws against her jeans in welcome. She scooped him up into her arms and pressed a kiss to his one remaining ear, a sign of his puppyhood as a stray. “Hi, baby,” she murmured into his fur. She carried him into the kitchen and set him on the counter and he promptly sat down and waited for what he knew was coming. She pulled his bowl from the cabinet and his bag of food, too. The kibbles rang out as they hit the ceramic and his little stump of a tail wagged happily as she pushed the bowl in front of him. He ate as she put a bowl of veggie fried rice into the microwave for a few minutes. When it was finished, she hopped up on the counter and ate next to Bela.

“Long day?” She asked through bites of food.

Bela snorted at her before returning to his dinner.

“Yeah, me too.”

A knock at her door made her frown for the umpteenth time that day and she slid off the counter and set her fork in the sink before tossing the empty paper bowl into the trash on the way to the door. She peered through the peephole before swinging the door open.

“Pushing your luck today, boss.” She stepped back and let him in. “You know I’m a stickler for my weekends.” Especially when she’d just come back from a week-long stint in a different country.

He walked in and looked around just as he’d done every other time he’d invited himself over. “There’s a dog on your counter, Sunny.”

“He likes to feel tall when he’s eating.” She pushed the door closed and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you need?”

“Champ called.”

Y/N groaned. “I just got back.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of it: your bags are already packed.” He smiled. “And I’m coming with you.”

She resisted the urge to sigh. “Where to now, boss?”

His smile widened. “Vegas.”

                                                     **

Las Vegas did not glitter like New York did. It was a buzz of neon lights in an array of harsh colors. And it smelled like stale beer cooked into the asphalt.

They landed a little before ten that night and the city was still very-much alive. She’d lost count of how many people she’d shoved out of her way on the walk from the hotel’s parking lot to the front entrance and she’d batted away more people handing out flyers for hookers than she wanted to admit.

She hated this city.

Homegrown terrorism was the New York office’s specialty and the group they were tracking had their fingers in lots of pots; drug trafficking, assassinations, kidnappings, and plots to use nuclear waste to create dirty bombs. They’d already tested one bomb off the coast of South Carolina. It had been a dud, thankfully, but still did enough for Statesmen to take notice. The goal of the terrorist group was to create a new world order with women firmly at the bottom.

The mission was supposed to be fairly simple—simple for a Statesmen, anyway. They needed to stop the group from obtaining any of the nuclear waste the US government had stored outside the city limits. There had been a tip that a sale was going to happen the next night between the terrorists and the suppliers and the goal, overall, was to get both groups off the streets. By any means necessary.

She and Whiskey were booked into a hotel suite across the street from where the targets were staying and had settled in for a bit of surveillance. The gadgets Statesmen had created were so much better than she could have ever dreamed of using in the CIA. Even something as benign as binoculars had been developed into something she had only seen in sci-fi movies—and she would never cease to be amazed by it—quietly, of course.

“Well, they look the type,” she muttered as she looked at the targets through the binoculars—three white guys with stained white t-shirts. One of them even had “Cool story, girl. Go make me a sandwich” written across his chest. She handed Whiskey the binoculars with a shake of her head.

He looked through them and chuckled. “Oh yeah.” He set the binoculars down and turned to her. “Is that what the kids call a ‘neckbeard’?”

She choked on her spit and earned a thump on the back from her boss. “Um, yes. Those are neckbeards.” She cleared her throat. “Are you trying to learn new slang?”

“World’s changing, Sunny. I should at least try to keep up.”

The familiar compulsion to smile pulled at her lips but she snuffed it out, as she always did with Whiskey. She wanted to smile with him, laugh with him. Wanted to talk with him about what he’d seen out in the field and through the years at Statesmen. But she was sure it would only lead to more conflicted feelings about the man. So, she bottled it away.

Whiskey yawned.

“I’ll take the first shift. Get some sleep.” She pulled the binoculars out of his grip.

“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, Sunny.”

“Good thing you don’t have to be a gentleman with me—” She quickly froze, hearing how those words sounded. “I mean. You’re my boss. J-just go get some sleep, boss.” He chuckled as he looked at her, the familiar low sound making her stomach twist and the familiar butterflies rage.

“You sure?” He asked and rose from his seat near the window. The artificial light bleeding into their room bathed him in blue, making him look like some old-time movie star. His smile was soft but she could see the tiredness ringing his eyes. It was the one thing he’d never been able to hide.

“Yeah. Our intel said they shouldn’t be trying to make the purchase until tomorrow anyway. Just don’t snore and I won’t have to kill you.”

“Fine, Sunny. You win this round. Wake me three hours.” He smiled again as she nodded and his fingers curled around her shoulder and squeezed in thanks before he walked toward the separate bedroom their suite provided and closed the door behind him.

She looked at the door for a moment and then turned and raised the binoculars again.

A few minutes trickled by and she could hear him snoring through the door. She almost smiled.

Hours ticked by. The targets were getting blown and doing blow. Classy. Her watch beeped as it reached 3AM and she mulled over just letting Whiskey sleep for the night. She slept on the plane but knew he didn’t—he never did on commercial flights. But she knew she needed to get at least a few hours of sleep if she wanted to be productive tomorrow so she tip-toed over to the bedroom and opened the door. A sliver of light creeped through the room to show Whiskey sprawled across the bed in just a t-shirt and boxers. The rest of his clothing was neatly folded on the bedside table. His face was scrunched into scowl and he turned one way and then the other as the sheets were gripped tight in his fists.

“No…” He muttered through clenched teeth. “No!”

Nightmares were not anything new for her or any other professional in their field. The horrors of their job are bound to leave a mark no matter how well a mission is done and lives are saved. Maybe it would be kinder to wake him…

Slowly, she reached out and grasped his wrist and shook it a bit.

He didn’t move.  

She shook him a bit more but then gave up and grimaced, thinking of what she should try next. A traitorous memory of her mother waking her up by gently brushing the backs of her fingers against her cheek came to mind and her own-tired brain thought she might as well try it. She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her fingers against his cheek with a quiet, “Whiskey.”

The speed in which his eyes opened and he sat up and wrapped his hands around her throat as he pinned her to the mattress would have been impressive she didn’t feel her air being cut off in the perfect stranglehold. The mint from his toothpaste and the last traces of his expensive cologne brushed against her nose. His eyes were hard but unfocused as he stared at her. And she would blame the shiver that racked her spine on fear and not on the tight coiling in her belly. Maybe this job had actually messed her brain up. But being strangled wasn’t exactly a new sensation and the man strangling her was still her boss.

“Whiskey.” The name was pushed out against his grip, rasping in her throat. She raised her hands and gently held his face. It was a common technique to give the other person a grounding sensation, to continue to wake them up as their mind waffled between their nightmare and reality. “It’s just me, boss.” His tired eyes focused and he immediately dropped his hold, sitting upright with his knees still bracketing her thighs. Her hands dropped from his face, the scruff of his unshaved face catching against her palms.

“Jesus, Sun. I’m so sorry.” He lumbered off her as she sat up and curled into himself, pressing the heel of his palm against his brow. “Fuck.” He turned toward her and brushed her hair away from her neck with shaking fingers. His hands were warm and the pads of his fingers trailed against her neck and the simple touches stole the breath from her lungs for the second time that night. All of her training, all of her careful interactions, and planning to keep him at arm’s length evaporated as he traced touched her so gently. Whiskey’s touch was soft and deliberate, almost reverent as he brushed against her pulse point, feeling it steadily beat. And that seemed to not be enough for him because his touch slipped away before he gently grasped at the back of her neck and dragged her close, pressing his forehead against hers.

She had dreamed of holding him close like this, close and soft and unburdened by the woes of the world. But there was still a dull throbbing around her neck. And she knew the terrors that plagued his resting mind—they were the same as hers. An ache that settled in her bones when she realized that this was too close. Too close to the pipedream she’d concocted like a lovesick teenager. Too close to something she would never have. But she couldn’t pull out of his hold. “I caught you off guard during a mission. My fault.”

He nudged his nose against hers and her entire chest seemed to clench. His eyes closed and an unsteady breath brushed against her lips. Whiskey held her there for a little while and she felt his heartrate start to slow. And that was when she pulled back.

His dark eyes were unreadable and he turned to throw his legs over the edge of the bed. It was almost ridiculous how cold she felt when he stood. “It’s okay, boss. Really.”

He huffed as he pulled on his jeans. “It’s not fine. It’s… It just isn’t okay.”

While it was impressive to see him wiggle into his tight jeans and she definitely filed the image away for later, she couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders remained slumped. The usually vivacious Whiskey was refusing to meet her eye.

“I’ll wake you up around seven.”

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Whiskey. Look at me.”

It took him a moment, but he did.

“I’m fine. Everything is okay.”

He pulled out of her grasp only to grab her hand and press a kiss against her palm.

“You’re too good to me, Sunny.” He squeezed her hand again before letting it drop. “Get some sleep.” He left the room without a glance back and the door clicked softly in its frame.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. “Fuck.” She pulled off her shoes and jeans and angrily settled into the bed he’d just vacated. Why had she gone and tried to comfort him? He was her boss. Just her boss. She repeated it over and over again to try to tell herself that it was true.

But the pillow smelled like him.

                                                         **

The buy was supposed to happen at a club inside The Mirage. She’d slipped into a slinky dress and heels and stashed her gun and small knife on her thighs with Statesmen-issued garters and fixed her hair and makeup to blend in with the crowd she knew would be filling the dance floor. She looked good, she knew she did. And that was the reason behind the slight spring in her step as she exited the bathroom. Whiskey had pulled on yet-another pair of dark wash jeans and a dark blue button-down that stretched across his chest in an almost obscene sort of way and she had to actively fight to not swallow hard.

“You look like a glass of water on a summer day, Sunny.”

“That’s probably the most coherent metaphor you’ve ever come up with, boss. I actually understood that one.”

He smiled and grabbed for his Stetson before she slapped his hand.

“We’re in Vegas. No Stetson.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t move for it again. “Fine, fine.”

She grabbed the binoculars off the table and looked out toward the targets’ room across the street to make sure they hadn’t left just yet. What she saw made her pause. She lowered the binoculars and turned toward her boss.

“What is it?” All traces of his smile faded from his face and he took the binoculars from her loosening grasp.

She watched him look through the binoculars and frown before he turned to her. His mouth opened and closed without a sound coming out. So, she said it: “They’re turning blue.”

A/N: So, please let me know what you think! 

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​ @fioccodineveautunnale​

[randomwordsandstormydays]

A Long Road (WIP)

I’m not sure I’ll ever actually get around to finishing this fic, but I’d love some feedback. It’s going to be a full-length game playthrough of Fallout: New Vegas under my OC Riley Smith.

This is the first “section”, can’t really call it a chapter, but here it is.

///

Her hands are bound.

The ground is hard and cold.

Someone is digging near her feet.

These realizations trickle in slowly, like a sink with a leak that never stops dripping. Each new observation is a piece of a puzzle she’s desperately trying to assemble before the end. But the end of what?

She doesn’t fully remember how she got into this situation. One minute she was on the road, bright lights of the New Vegas Strip filling her vision, only a few steps away from completing her delivery. The next moment she’s being dragged on the ground by her ankles, head thumping against the Mojave dirt with every step the man tugging her along takes. There’s at least three other people leading the way, and a man behind her. A particularly rough bump and she groans at the pain and the whole party stops.

From somewhere up ahead a voice calls “knock her out again, ‘fore she can call for help,” and then a fist comes down to meet her face and everything goes black.

When they knocked her out the first time the sun had been setting, tinting the sky with purples and reds. On the road she could just make out the faintest sliver of light on the horizon. Now, the moon is high in the sky, bright and full. The sight of it makes her head hurt and she knows she’s got a concussion.

The brim of her hat hides her eyes from view and she takes in what she can. The sound of someone digging, the smell of cigarettes, and three pairs of shoes - two dirty and dusty from the road and wear, and one pair that looks nice, almost new by post-war standards. Then, people start talking.

“You got what you were after, so pay up.” The voice is rough, angry sounding.

The response is casual, like whoever says it isn’t afraid of the people around him, even though he’s clearly not one of them. “You’re cryin’ in the rain, pally.”

So this was a job, taking her out, not just a couple guys looking for an easy score. But what did the person who hired them want?

Her? She’s a nobody, just a courier who’s good at her job.

Her delivery? It’s possible, but if that was the case why not just leave her in the dirt outside the Strip, why drag her to wherever they are now?

A realization strikes her: they mean to kill her, bury her out here so no one knows where she is. So that her body can’t be stumbled upon. Something about this whole thing is off, what’s so important about her that her body can’t even be found?

Her mind flashes to Andrew. They’ve been together nearly a year. When she doesn’t come home he might come looking for her, and if he does, he’ll never find her.

Or will he think she left him and not even bother to try and track her down? It wouldn’t surprise her. She’s always been a little flighty, hard to nail to one spot. The only reason she didn’t bounce out of her relationship is that Andy never tried to keep her tied down. Never complained that her job kept her on the road five days a week, only held her a little tighter every time she stumbled through the door, road worn and dusty. He probably won’t even look for her, they love each other, sure- but he’s not a traveler, not a fighter, not an adventurer. She’s positive he’ll miss her, he loves her after all, but she also wonders how long it’ll take him to move on once he realizes she’s never coming back.

Her heart hurts when she thinks of his face. Will he cry? Or has he been waiting this whole time for her to finally leave?

Will he find her mother and brother? Track them down to tell her that she’s missing, that she’s probably dead? Or will the two of them go on forever, watching the door and waiting for her to stop by? And what of her friends? Gunny and Jack, Missy and Elliot, they’ll miss her for sure. Will Andrew find them and tell them that she’ll never show for a monthly poker game again? Will they cry, will she be mourned, or will she fade from their lives as easily as she stepped into them?

Maybe she can make it so no one has to miss her. She still doesn’t know why they dragged out putting her in the ground, but she’s certainly not going to just roll over and let them get away with it. And if she can get free, then no one has to worry for her. Quickly she sits up, grinding her wrists together to try and get the rope around them to loosen up.

“Heh, guess who’s waking up over here?”

It doesn’t work, the knots are good, tight and rough, so she goes to run. Just as she’s rising up a hand clamps down on her shoulder and keeps her kneeling. When she looks up there’s three men right in front of her. Two great Khans and a man in a checkered suit. It’s clear by his relaxed position that he’s in charge and she watches, annoyed, as he puffs on a cigarette. She’s about to die, and he’s getting a nicotine fix?

Then he flicks it aside, crushing it under one nearly pristine shoe. “Time to cash out.” Oh, god, casino talk.

“Will you get it over with?” The Khan on the left looks annoyed, but checkered suit holds up a finger to silence him.

“Maybe Khans kill people without lookin’ ‘em in the face, but I ain’t a Fink. You dig?” Well, shit, that confirms what she already knew: they mean to kill her. It also tells her that this man isn’t a Khan, not that that wasn’t blindingly obvious by the everything about him, but still- it means whoever she pissed off probably isn’t with them either.

He pulls out a poker chip, it’s shiny, definitely different than any one she’s ever seen before. It has to be the platinum chip that was in her package, the one she was supposed to deliver. At least now she knows it was about her job, nothing personal.

“You’ve made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene.” What scene? There was nothing to get twisted up in. She’s just a courier, doesn’t owe anyone money, never ran with a group that made enemies, has never even been on the Strip before. It’s all about who hired her, they’re the ones that should be tied up, kneeling in the dirt. She’s a good person, has friends and family that care about her, there’s no reason for her to be here, on her knees, not even given the chance to say goodbye.

He pulls out a pistol. She knows she should be scared, but the emotion seems far away. All she can get her hands around is annoyance and confusion. 

“From where you’re kneeling must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck.” God who is this guy? All the poker puns and shit? They live in New Vegas, but doesn’t he have any sort of original thought- or has he really bought into all the hype? He aims the gun at her face, and when she looks up at him, she sees it in his eyes that he’s serious, there’s something there she reads that tells her nothing she can say or do will change her fate.

She’s going to die.

“Truth is, the game was rigged from the start.”

Her last thought is: what an asshole.

[ysalamiri-queen]

2019 Fic in Review

Inspired by @myevilmouse I’m going to sum up all the writing I’ve been up to the past year. I’m really proud of what I’ve accomplished, and thanks to you all for the encouragement to put my ideas out into the world! This has been a year of trying new things, and really growing as an author I feel… And wow according to AO3 I’ve written about 400k words in the past 12 months, damn. So let’s get to the list, going from the beginning of the year to the end, and as always please heed the tags on these before reading.

Note: As I go back, I’m realizing a lot of the links were messed up or are just straight missing. I am on the Mobile App so things can get messy. Please visit my works page on AO3 HERE to see all of these on my page under JessKo and my other pseuds.

1 Late Night at the Slab

Idea: Filling a prompt for the Thryce server in which some, uh, unique Chiss anatomy was assigned.

Result: A 3-way with Thrawn, Arihnda, and Eli and my first foray into the more Xeno side of things in a Modern AU setting. Yeehaw!

2 The Trouble With Free-Roaming Ysalamiri

Idea: Based on some adorable ysalamiri cuddles art by @strength-through-order I wanted to write some Thranto fluff.

Result: Ysalamiri-filled Thranto fluff X’D

3 Inquisitor’s Debt

Idea: What if the Grand Inquisitor changed sides at the end of Rebels season 1?

Result: Some fun throwbacks with Obi-Wan and Caleb Dume leading up to Quizzy defecting with Ezra.

4 Ancient Stems

Idea: Eli Week drabbles based on the Vanto Week prompts.

Result: A silly buzz droid narrative with Thrawn and some cute slice of life Eli backstory/Ascendancy days bits.

5 Charnsuka

Idea: Kinky stuff with Lord Garmadon when he’s an Anacondrai.

Result: Kinky stuff with Lord Garmadon when he’s an Anacondrai. Sorry Zane!

6 Caged Like Prized Birds

Idea: Again inspired by the awesome Chiss anatomy and Thrux drawings by @strength-through-order , I wanted to craft a narrative around Armitage, as a young man, stumbling upon a clone of Thrawn.

Result: Man, this might just be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, had so much fun plotting it out and the smut is mmm! Tentacles everywhere~ I’ve gone back to re-read this a lot, I’ll admit it. I hope you all enjoyed it too.

7 Quiet On Set

Idea: Must. Write. Talos.

Result: A cute little platonic x-reader with everyone’s favorite Skrull. This was my first MCU fic too.

8 Diagnostic

Idea: Wanted to apologize to Zane for the damages done in Charnsuka with some Glacier shipping fluff.

Result: A silly glacier thing leading to a bit of foolery. I’m happy with it!

9 Heron Soaring

Idea: A continuation of the plot line from Heron Rising with Kanan and Thrawn.

Result: Too many feels… but some great sex to soften the blow, Kanera too!

10 Patron

Idea: Responding to a tumblr prompt from @wukeskywalker regarding Thrawn commissioning LOADS of artworks of Eli.

Result: More Thranto fluff! I see a trend here…

11 Black Heron

Idea: Kanan x Pryce for @myevilmouse , I think this was our first ‘collaboration’ on something!

Result: Juahir hires a special someone to show Arihnda a good time!

12 Red Heron

Idea: @star-wars-rebels-4 is always an amazing wealth of ideas for Grand Inquisitor, and encouraged a work featuring him and Kanan.

Result: Delicious back alley smut when an undercover Jedi is caught!

13 Warm Homecoming

Idea: Give my and a friend's OCs some cute fluff.

Result: OC fluff and a vacation to Hoth!

14 sowing the seeds

Idea: Add something cute to the spank war project.

Result: Another contender for my ‘favorite thing I’ve ever written’ rank. Two chapters of pining, cooking lessons, and sweet slick smut.

15 Red Frost

Idea: After watching “The Evil of Frankenstein” with @sneakybunyip ‘s amazing movie night group, I wanted to do something fun with Victor and Hans.

Result: A fun little adventure fic with some huddling for warmth to boot. Victor and Hans are the hammer-horror-verse Thranto send tweet.

16 a setting sun to hide the ruins

Idea: What if I tortured Kanan to the point he turned evil and joined the Inquisitors (and went a little insane in the process)

Result: Instead of torture, let’s just use some serum that drives him mad. Perfect. Smut ahoy, pretty much a dead dove type fic.

17 Pinktown

Idea: When browsing abandoned towns in Florida, I came across Flamingo… what if Thrawn had been exiled here instead.

Result: An alternate history of Thrawn’s exile and eventual discovery by the Empire. Huge thanks for @badgerandk on this one for the perfect epilogue and beta.

18 the sun rises to only illuminate the stranger i have become

Idea: Setting sun… part 2! But it’s actually what happens before sun?

Result: How Kanan ended up where he is for ‘a setting sun’... lots of imp smut and again, it's sort of a dead dove style fic.

19 Frozen Over

Idea: Ar’alani x Eli Vanto

Result: Somehow me and my writing partner ended up at sensory deprivation focus on this one.

20 Shape of Honor

Idea: Well, this one started in 2018 but ‘finished’ in 2019. Still working on the epilogue. Lots of tweaks… If you are not familiar, this is my AU in which it explores how the Thrawn novel and Rebels show would be altered if Palpatine distrusted Thrawn from their first meeting and accused him of being a Chiss spy. Vaguely inspired by the film The Shape of Water.

Result: Well it's nearly a novel now, isn’t it. This was a great adventure in learning how to create compelling story arcs. I’m extremely satisfied with how it is shaping (lol) up.

21 Datura Stamonium

Idea: Thrawnbine ovi smut.

Result: Oops it has plot now, a whole backstory with Eli and such and so fourth. Will need further stories told…

22 Desert Entropy

Idea: Luke/Wedge modern AU shenanigans.

Result: Also pulled Nath/Wyl and the Rogue Squad/Alphabet Squad peeps into this. Set in Vegas, Luke and Wedge meet and have a cute little romance, but some legal troubles set them back (Palpatine, as always, is That Bitch™) Very happy ending!

23 The Great Eli and Thrawn Prank War

Idea: See Chapter 1: Mullet Thrawn

Result: This thing really grew up, and thanks to all the contributors for allowing me to join in! My contributions were: 7-Bombs Away! In which a bit of drama brews and Thrawn makes a paint bomb that forces him and Eli back into being roomates. 11-Tooka Troube 2: Electric Boogaloo in which Eli finds his quarters slowly filling up with Tooka plush toys, and then something huge goes off in supply. 17-The Bitch is Back In which who knew Thrawn could sing?!

24 Clipped Wings to Keep Us from Flying

Idea: Continuing the story line from Caged Like Prized Birds

Result: Dragging Eli and the OG Thrawn into this, seeing that their stories were left untold in the first work. Also Armitage and the clone are up to all sorts of cool things. Still a WIP, on the list to keep working on this year!

25 I’ll do what I can.

Idea: Some Ronan/Krennic feels post Treason

Result: A Ronan character study that I really needed to get out of my system and finally a stable alliance between Krennic and Thrawn!

26 Purple Heron

Idea: @punk--kenobi and I concocted some fun Kanan/Zeb/Hera smut featuring Lasat heat cycles.

Result: Ah this came out so cool, full of emotion and wonderful imagery. Massive kudos to @punk--kenobi for beta-ing my portion and contributing some of the best smut one can find!

27 Ninjago Angst Week 2019

Idea: Do some 1-shots for Ninjago Angst Week

Result: ow right in the feels. Each character got a highlight in their own ‘dark retelling of a canon or canon adjacent event’ chapter.

28 Vertigo

Idea: Thing’s don’t go right planetside for Eli, Pik, and Waffle in Treason.

Result: Big oof. I hope Eli can one day forgive me… I even put strain on the end game Thranto! Bittersweet ending and lots of angst.

29 More Than Just a Treat

Idea: What is Obi Wan up to in the desert…

Result: Aunt Beau and baby Luke baked him cookies obviously!

30 Datura Metel

Idea: Continuing the Datura cycle…

Result: Just how Eli ended up where he did in the first installation.

31 Here & Now

Idea: Some Thranto Fluff! For @jewelliffer

Result: A camping trip for shore leave! And a marriage proposal for extra sugar.

32 Monster Under the Bed

Idea: Benevolent Boogeyman Chiss

Result: Modern AU Thranto spooky sillies. Bit of an intense climax but they talk it out!

33 Haunted by Sentiment

Idea: Nath is in denial of being the Squad Dad for @glassprowlers

Result: Nath’s very bad no good oh so terrible day! It's very silly and I really like how it ended up, the title is way more serious than the story itself XD

34 Pulse

Idea: Werewolf AU Lavashipping

Result: Oops Kai is a werewolf! Good thing Cole is here to help him figure out how to press on.

35 Stories from Area 51

Idea: remember the raid Area 51 meme? I do! Gotta clap them alien cheeks!

Result: Oh no it got PLOTTY! Pretty much all of my favorite characters and ships cherry-picked and plopped down into a Men In Black style facility in the middle of the desert. I really have a thing for the desert huh…

36 Good Day

Idea: The “truth” behind the “Good day, Lieutenant Vanto” from Thrawn in Treason.

Result: Oh stars the FEELS! Thrawn is in deep water and he KNOWS IT! GAH!

37 Fur Ball

Idea: Chiss are mogwai/gremlins…

Result: Silly Thranto fluff. Thrass shows up too! Feeding them after midnight is actually a good idea here… Grow your own ideal man!

38 Came Back Haunted

Idea: A mission fic centered around the @peters-pumpkin-day prompts.

Result: Ice planet survival with Tarkin, Krennic, Galen, and Ronan.

39 Sewn Together

Idea: This drawing actually is what lead to the fic-

Result: A fairly unique reuniting of Thrawn and Eli after both return to the Ascendancy.

40 Spiked Heron

Idea: Oh no… Kanan gets himself in deep poodoo this time.

Result: Devaronians really like humans huh? The next chapter is half way written I swear it is coming soon!

41 A Colder Embrace

Idea: Thrawn/Purrgil/Ezra and Luke/Wampa for SW Rare Pairs.

Result: It's very cold on Hoth… and even colder in space.

42 Surround

Idea: Luke/Wedge for SW Rare Pairs

Result: Luke has to confront Wedge post ESB regarding what is, essentially, his deserting the Rebels.

43 What Happens Planetside…

Idea: Eli/Pik/Waffle for SW Rare Pairs

Result: heheh a scrumptious Eli sandwich! And surprise tentacles because, well, why not?

44 Hesperidium

Idea: Fluffy Kylux for the Kylux Secret Santa event

Result: Ah its so sweet you might get a cavity

45 Reanimator

Idea: Lovecraftian eldritch horror Thranto

Result: This is the sort of project that it takes 2 months to fine tune each chapter, so bear with me, but I can promise a wonderful, creepy ride is ahead!

46 Floral

Idea: Luke/Faro for SW Rare Pairs. Enjoy the Jedi lovin’, @myevilmouse

Result: Sex pollen and accidentally defecting from the Empire. Whoops!

47 The Harch

Idea: Bouncing off of THIS art by @mamidlo , we worked together to create this plot. Very much inspired by the Hammer Horror films, such as Dracula and Frankenstein.

Result: A fun and spooky romp of Kallus and Zeb getting trapped in a creepy castle featuring mind controlled drones and a species-obsessed Harch. This was my first time posting the entire story at once, too!

Wow, I can not believe how much has been written this year. Thank you all again for reading and kudos-ing and your amazing comments. I’d not be here without the support and love <3 Cheers to 2020 and much more fic ahead!

[kadaransmuggler]

here’s the first fic about a courier who’s close to my heart. 

title: don’t you know heartaches are heroes (when their pockets are full)?  rating: mature  pairing: benny/male courier  summary: “It’s hard to love a courier. It’s even harder to love a man like Eli.” 

               Eli falls into bed with Benny as easy as he falls into any old habit. He thinks it should be harder than it is, to fall into the bed of the man who tried to kill him, but nobody’s ever accused him of being cautious. And he’s good, too, it’s the best sex Eli has had in years. But laying next to him after is the problem, when he feels like he wants to crawl out of his own skin at the thought of being this vulnerable. Usually, he’s already getting up, pulling his clothes back on. Eli’s always been one to fuck them and leave them, and Benny shouldn’t be an exception, but he is.

               “Shame I ever tried to kill you,” Benny says, dragging him out of his reverie, the sheet pooled around his waist, sweaty and still just a little out of breath. Eli snorts from his place next to Benny, one leg outside the blankets.

               “Coulda told you I was a better fuck than you’d get elsewhere,” Eli says, leaning over and plucking a lighter from the pocket of his jeans. Neither of them mention how Eli had probably been more considerate than anyone else, too, never telling Benny what he should or should not have in his pants, just asking for permission before touching and then rutting him into the mattress until they were both a mess. He reaches over, stealing a cigarette from the end table by the bed and lighting it.

               “Hey, that’s my lighter,” Benny protests, sitting up just enough to look offended, and Eli turns to look at him with a crooked grin.

               “The Khans told me to shove it up your ass when I found you. Thought I might keep it, but if you really want it back, well, maybe they’ll get a kick out of it,” he answers. Benny shakes his head and lays back down with a huff.

               “Fine, fine. Keep it, I guess. I did try to kill you,” he mumbles, guilt flashing in his eyes for half a second, and Eli’s grin turns downright predatory.

               He drops the lighter down onto the bed before rolling over, straddling Benny’s waist. He sits up, his hands coming to rest on Eli’s hips

               “Ready for round two?” Benny asks, and Eli chuckles, tilting his chin up. The cigarette dangles from his mouth, and Benny thinks about taking it. He doesn’t, though, because Eli drags his other hand down Benny’s stomach and he can’t quite stop himself from squirming.

               “Not quite,” Eli murmurs, and then he snuffs out the cigarette and leaves it on the bedside table, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s just this side of angry, and Benny knows he ain’t over what happened in Goodsprings, but he can’t bring himself to care as he moves his hands up Eli’s sides. He’s playing with fire, but he thinks he’d be okay with getting burned.

               Eli breaks the kiss to leave a trail of them down Benny’s jaw, until his lips find that sensitive spot just beneath his ear and Benny’s hands are fisted in the sheets around their waists.

               “You have something else in mind?” he asks, a little breathlessly. Eli chuckles, the sound sending vibrations through him, and Benny had thought five minutes ago that he’d been fully satisfied, but now he wanted the courier to have his way with him on every surface in the room. He lets out a whine as Eli’s teeth brush against his skin. Eli laughs again, low and warm.

               “I stopped to talk to House before I made my way here,” Eli tells him, like it’s a secret, and Benny stills beneath him. The fear he feels now still isn’t enough to push out the arousal and he just hopes that Eli will fuck him again before he kills him.

               “I guess this is the end of the line, then,” Benny breathes, and Eli starts trailing kisses lower and lower.

               “In a sense,” he agrees, and then Benny’s back hits the mattress and he shifts his hips so Eli can slide his knee between his thighs.

               “You gonna tell me, or are you gonna keep me in the dark?” he asks, nervously, and Eli laughs again.

               “I’ve got a plan,” he begins, but then he pulls his knee back only to replace it with his hand and Benny arches up, a whine building in his throat as Eli slips two fingers inside, “but I think it can wait until we’re done.”

               “You’re a cruel man,” Benny gasps, and Eli laughs again, moving back up to press another kiss against his lips.

               “I could always stop,” he reminds him, and Benny’s hands come up, his nails digging into Eli’s back as he holds him in place.

               “Don’t you dare,” he breathes, so Eli gets back to work until Benny comes undone beneath him a second time before sitting back, breathing just a little unsteady. He licks his fingers with a smirk and Benny lets out a whine, falling back against the pillows. He thinks it’s a little unfair what the courier does to him.

               “So what’s the plan?” Benny asks, his voice just shy of shaking.

               “We take Vegas from House,” he answers, and then he slides off the bed before picking Benny up and slamming his back into the wall. Benny gasps, clinging to Eli as the courier laughs. There’ll be bruises on them both come morning

               “You’re insatiable,” he says, but he wraps his legs around his waist eagerly, tilting his head back to give him easier access to his neck as he slips inside.

               “Maybe I just want to work out some aggression,” Eli says, voice low, and then he moves his hips just enough to make Benny whine, as sensitive as he still is, and all thoughts of Vegas escape the both of them until night has long turned into morning.

----

               The first time they’d fucked, when they were well and truly done because neither of them could go anymore, Eli had rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. His breath evened out, slowing, but Benny could tell he wasn’t asleep. He looks over at his gun on the nightstand, thinks about how easy it’d be to reach over and pick it up, to put a bullet in Eli’s head and ensure that his plans kept going smooth.

               He doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out, puts one hand on the flat of Eli’s back. His skin is warm, smells like sweat and sunshine, and the courier tenses beneath him. He doesn’t move, though, keeps his eyes closed and pretends to sleep even as a breath hitches just a little.

               It’s then that Benny realizes that Eli was the one who put the gun on the nightstand, within reach, Eli who’d rolled over like he was waiting for something. “Fuck,” he breathes, and it is only then that Eli raises his head.

               “What’s the matter? Too much of a coward to do it now?” he asks, eyes cold and mean, but a little desperate too.

               “I didn’t want to do it before. I’m not a murderer, I’m a businessman, and now we’re working together. Did you really expect me to plant another bullet in your brain?” Benny asks, demands, and he doesn’t know why it stings a little.

               “Shoulda known it wouldn’t work,” he mutters, and then he’s sitting up, swinging his feet off the side of the bed. The sun is rising outside, the sky turning grey. In a few minutes, it’ll be turning pink. Benny’s watched a lot of Vegas sunrises before. This one feels different.

               “Should have known what wouldn’t work?” he asks, defensive, and Eli turns to him as he pulls on his jeans.

               “Should have known you wouldn’t be brave enough to finish the fucking job,” he says, and then he’s storming out of the bedroom, snatching his clothes up as he passes.

               Benny stays where he is, turns his eyes up to the ceiling. He doesn’t know why he feels so empty and hollow inside.

-----

               When Eli leaves the Tops, Benny is dead. At least, that’s the official story, the one that most people will know in the days to come. There’s only a scant handful of people that know Benny is just holed up in the Tops, waiting on Eli to put the rest of his plan into motion. He spends the next few weeks bored out of his skull while Eli plays nice with House, but the courier makes sure to visit every so often, so it could be worse. He doesn’t leave his room, either, because it’s too much of a risk. He’s only got Yes-Man for company, and Benny’s never regretted his decisions more.

               He also regrets the fact that he put a bullet in Eli’s head. The courier tells him he’s over it, tells him that he never really cared in the first place because business was business, but Benny sees the way Eli’s eyes track every move he makes, remembers how he’d snapped at him after that first night. Eli never stays, either, pulling his jeans on as soon as they’re done, always leaving.

               Months have passed before Eli comes back in the middle of the night with clothes that are nice enough for the casino but not nice enough for a Chairman. Benny knows they’re for him, because they’re too short to be for Eli.

               “What’s the occasion?” Benny asks from the bed, pulling Eli down onto his lap as soon as he’s close enough and pressing a kiss against his lips. Eli is warm against him, smells like sweat and the desert sand, maybe a little of gun oil.

               “I thought you might like to be there when House dies,” he says, when he pulls back, a wicked grin on his face. Benny’s grinning back when he kisses him again, fingers curling into fists in Eli’s t-shirt.

               “You’re too good to me,” he says, and he doesn’t tell him how he’d missed him while he was gone, doesn’t tell him just how much he’s thought about him for the past few weeks. He knows Eli’s type well enough by now, knows that if he said something like that, Eli would get cagey and leave for a while, maybe forever. Everything else can come later, Benny tells himself, when Vegas is theirs and they don’t have to worry anymore.

               Later, he’ll laugh at how foolishly optimistic he was. It’s hard to love a courier, and even harder to love a man like Eli.

-----

               Eli is gone when Benny finds out. Benny isn’t quite sure where, either, Eli had only mentioned a caravan in between kisses before he’d fucked him again. He’d still been there when Benny had fallen asleep, but he was gone by the time he’d woken up. Benny usually didn’t mind- it was nice to have the Lucky 38 to himself, and Eli just got mean when he was stuck in one place for long.

               But then he’d gotten sick and taken a trip to the Old Mormon Fort out in Freeside, where Arcade had told him he was pregnant and gone and ruined all of his plans.

               Gannon must have been sympathetic, because he’d told Julie to get by without him and walked Benny back to the Lucky 38.

               “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Benny admitted, because Eli looked like a cornered animal anytime Benny got close to telling him he loved him and neither of them were really ready to have a child.

               “Shouldn’t be too long until he’s back. He’s gotten good at coming home, with the city being his, and all,” Arcade says, almost hesitantly, and Benny buries his face in his hands and sinks onto one of the old couches.

               “It’s not just that. He’s not…he’s not fit to be a dad. And neither am I, but at least I think I can adjust. He won’t even fall asleep in the same bed as me. Won’t even look at me, sometimes,” Benny says, and when he looks up Arcade realizes that he’s probably never let anybody see him look so scared and vulnerable before.

               “Tell him when he comes back. Eli’s isn’t a bad man, Benny. He cares. He just…doesn’t know how to show it. But he deserves to know,” he says, grimacing, because he knew what a shitty excuse that was. Arcade had stayed for awhile, but then he’d gone back home, leaving Benny with his thoughts when he couldn’t even drink them away.

               Another week drags by, and then another, and Benny has started to worry, really worry now, because Eli’s never been gone this long before, not after House’s death, when Vegas started to become theirs. He starts sleeping down on the casino floor, after talking Boone into helping him manhandle a couch into the elevator and out near the door.

               Eli staggers inside late one night, or maybe it’s early one morning, Benny only sees the darkness outside for a half a second before the door shuts again. The lights flicker on and if Benny were a different man he might have screamed, ‘cause Eli is wrapped in bloody bandages and angrier than Benny’s ever seen him.

-----

               Benny tries to wait for the right time to tell him, but Eli’s moodier after he gets back than he would have been if he’d stayed. They’re in the cocktail lounge, a bottle of whiskey in Eli’s hand and a glass of Nuka Cola in Benny’s. Eli had been itching for a fight all week, and now he’s taking it out on Benny, hurling thinly veiled insults until Benny’s ready to scream.

               “I’m pregnant,” he says, then, instead, because he isn’t going to give Eli the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. The air goes still and silent as Eli stares at him, the seconds dragging on as Benny waits, feeling like he’s going to be sick.

               “What?” Eli asks, his voice quiet. His fingers tighten around the bottle of whiskey, and for one horrifying second Benny thinks he might throw it at him. He realizes, then, in the handful of heartbeats before he can make himself respond, that he barely knows Eli at all. It doesn’t matter how he feels, doesn’t matter that he hasn’t been able to stop himself from falling in love when all they’ve done is rut.

               “I’m pregnant. I found out while you were in Zion,” he says, voice tight. Eli sits the bottle of whiskey down, his movements deliberate, and then he stands up and walks over to him. Benny puts his drink down on the counter, too, but he changes his stance because he refuses to let the courier corner him.

               “I’ve been home a week. Why haven’t you told me?” he asks, his voice rough.

               “I wanted to find the right time. But I realized there’s never going to be a right time,” he answers. Eli sighs, then leans down, pressing a kiss to Benny’s cheek before he takes his hand in his own.

               “I’m sorry. I could give you a dozen excuses for the way I am, but they’d just be excuses. I know I’m not…I know I’m hard to handle. You deserve better,” Eli murmurs, and then Benny leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him, letting go of his hand to wrap his arms around his neck. It’s softer than any kiss they’ve shared before, and when Benny pulls away Eli holds his breath like he’s waiting for a knife in the back. For some reason, Benny feels like crying. He decides he’ll blame it on the baby.

               Benny opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but Eli speaks before he can. “I can help you get rid of it, I think, in a safe way,” he says, his hands resting lightly on his hips, and Benny goes still. He hadn’t thought about it, not really, but he realized that he couldn’t bring himself to give this up. It might be the only part of Eli he ever gets to keep, and he knows that isn’t the right thing to think about when bringing a child into the world, but Benny is finally ready to love something and he thinks that he’s more ready to have the baby than he is to give it up.

               “It is our baby. And I’m keeping it,” he says, voice stiff as he pulls back. Eli sighs, but he doesn’t make a move to grab him again. All the fight has drained out of both of them, even as Benny puts one hand on his stomach protectively and tries not to show how scared he is.

               “I’m not going to try to change your mind, then. But this…I’m not going to be a good father,” he warns. Benny sighs, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around him. Eli hesitates, but then he wraps Benny up in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

               “I don’t expect you to. I know I’m going to be doing most of the work. But I want to keep the baby,” he says. Eli just nods, pressing another kiss to Benny’s head before he lets his hand drift down, pressing over the flat of Benny’s stomach, right next to Benny’s hand. It’s too early for there to be any signs, but for the first time since he was seventeen and stupid, Eli lets himself hope.

               “I’ll do what I can,” Eli promises, voice cracking just a little.

               “I…good. But you aren’t going to do to this baby like you do to me. If you want to keep pushing it away, like you do me, you can find somewhere else to live. This baby is going to know that it’s loved,” he says, and that’s when he knows that he’ll break his own heart for his baby.

               It’s not like Eli doesn’t break his heart anyway, like he doesn’t leave it in pieces at the door every time he leaves. Benny tries not to hold it against him. It’s starting to get harder.

               Eli just nods, presses another kiss to the top of his head. Later, Benny will wonder if Eli ever thought he might get better, or if it was just another way to pull his heart around.

----

               Benny was a fool to think Eli might stick around. He’s gone two weeks after knows, and he would have left sooner if he’d been healed up enough. He knows Eli is trying a little more, though, cause he shows up more frequently as Benny starts to get bigger, his stomach rounding out. There’s still a lot of nights that Benny paces alone in the penthouse, Yes-Man’s eyes following him as he moves back and forth in front of the windows, one hand on his belly. He starts talking to the baby when he starts showing, promising that he was going to keep Eli from breaking the baby’s heart too.

               Arcade starts coming by more often, though, sitting with Benny for hours. There are some nights he just stays in the Lucky 38, tells Benny it’ll be easier if he’s only a shout away when he needs him. Benny thanks him as many ways as he can without actually saying it, but he finds that he does sleep better at night with the doctor down the hallway.

               Boone starts coming by, too, doing the heavy lifting to get everything set up. Benny doesn’t know Eli’s friends, not really, only knows that Eli gave them permission to stay in the Presidential Suite as long and as much as they wanted, but Eli must have told them because they all start showing up more. Cass would have been good to drink with, he thinks, because she’ll sit in the lounge with him while she steadily makes her way through their liquor supply and he makes similar progress on their Sarsaparilla stash. Her jokes get worse the more she drinks, but by the end Benny always laughs until he’s lightheaded.

               He isn’t sure when Eli’s friends started becoming his friends, too, but he’s not complaining. He likes the company, and they’re better to him than Eli ever is.

---

               Eli tries to stay more the bigger Benny gets, but he feels like something is crawling under his skin. Old ghosts he can’t shake hang heavy around him, and sometimes he thinks he might die if he doesn’t leave. He’s always been selfish, so he always does leave, lets the dust settle onto his skin like it’ll protect him. He doesn’t go far, though, always comes home when he feels like he can breathe again.

               Benny’s started to get real big when Eli picks up the signal on his Pip-Boy. It’s cryptic, only coordinates and the words Courier Six. He can’t face Benny when he’s about to leave on something this big, so instead he leaves a note and packs his gear, and heads out into the desert before the early morning sun has risen.

---

               Benny finds the note on the pillow next to his. Eli must have snuck in and left it. When he reads it, he tries not to be angry.

               It’s an ending, Eli promises.

               Benny’s gonna hold him to that.

---

               He recognizes where he’s going before he’s halfway there. This is a road he’s walked before.

               A road he thought he’d never walk again.

               The memories feel like barbed wire wrapped around his heart.

---

               He is seventeen when he first steps foot in the Divide. It is empty, devoid of life, but Eli’s never been a people person. He runs a handful of jobs through the empty, broken streets, and he goes back to Vegas.

               He comes back a handful of months later, after his eighteenth birthday. There is a town, in the center of the ruins, and an empty building that will become a home just for him. He builds his own furniture, builds a life he’s never gotten to have. He lives in between a bar and a general store.

               He knows it’s his deliveries that keep the place going, so he keeps making them. When he leaves, it is always with regret. When he returns, it is always with a smile.

               He has finally found a home.

               He will not have it for long.

---

               He meets a girl. She works in the general store, sometimes, and she has red hair and freckles and she smells like sunshine. He walks her to the bar, two buildings down, points out his own front door with a smile. They drink and they drink until they can’t drink anymore, and then she clings to his arm and follows him home.

               They fall into bed together. Neither of them will remember much of that night, but it will become a regular thing. Usually, he’ll go home with her, fall into her bed. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep next to her, one arm thrown over her stomach, pulling her close.

               They have a talk early on. “I’m not in love with you,” he tells her, earnestly, honestly, because he likes her too much to break her heart.

               “Thank God,” she says, and that is the end of the talk. He finds that she’s easy to get along with.

---

               They’re laying in bed together when she tells him. “I’m pregnant. Don’t know if it’s yours. Probably is, as often as you’re here,” she says, and he feels like all the breath has been knocked out of him. The emotions that sweep through him are dizzying. Elation, because he’s always wanted a family, and fear, because he doesn’t like being tied down even now.

               He tells her he’ll claim the child no matter who it looks like, and she gives him a soft smile and a kiss on the cheek before rolling over on top of him.

               He leaves the next morning, on another job.

---

               There are two rings he keeps at the bottom of his pack. He never got a chance to use them, so he keeps them. It’s a reminder, or maybe it’s a punishment, but he keeps them all the same.

               He expects the Divide to be familiar, but it’s heartbreakingly difficult. The last time he’d been here, he’d stood outside the gates and breathed in the ash. He tries not to think about everything he has lost.

---

               Deep in the ruins, he finds a house. It is more intact than the rubble around it, with some of the rooms perfectly fine. He remembers this house, remembers waking up in the bed with a girl who laughed like she might never laugh again. It had never been quiet before, but now it is still and silent, and even the howling winds outside are muted.

               He walks into the bedroom. It is nearly untouched. There are still pictures in frames on the dresser- one of them is of him, when he was nineteen and stupid. Now, he is twenty-four, and he has never felt so tired before.

               He finds a skeleton, underneath a pile of rubble. The clothes she was wearing are tattered and faded, but there’s a bracelet on her wrist, one he remembers giving her.

               He stumbles back into the ruins with a howl, a sharp keen of grief rising in his throat.

               He realizes then that he had hoped she might have made it out, might have left for some reason.

               He thinks he killed her, as sure as if he’d put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger himself.

               He stumbles onwards, towards the temple in the distance, towards the end of all of this.  

---

               Afterwards, when Ulysses is sitting on the canyon ridge, Eli picks his way through the ruins again, until he finds the house. If he closes his eyes, he could pretend that he got caught outside in a sandstorm. They were rare, but they happened, sometimes.

               He goes back to the bedroom, pulls the rubble off of the skeleton and sits down beside her.

               “I’m gonna be a dad. Again, I guess, but I don’t think you were even showing,” he tells her, it isn’t until he feels tears splash onto his hand that he realizes he is crying.

               He can almost feel her standing next to him, one hand on his shoulder, a warm smile on his face. He thinks she might have said: if it is a girl, name her after me, and if it is a boy, hope that he’s more like his father.

               Instead, the only thing he can hear is the wind outside, and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

               “I’m going to do it right, this time, Mariah,” he promises, and when he leaves he leaves the Divide, leaves Ulysses sitting on the side of cliff, leaves the life he might have had behind.

---

               When he steps into the Lucky 38, Benny is laying on a couch, their son on his chest. “His name is Warren,” he tells him, with a tired smile, and Eli chokes out another sob. He walks forward like he’s walking on eggshells, but Benny holds the baby up to him. Eli takes his son in his arms as the child opens his eyes, blinking up at him.

               “Hi,” he says, and then he starts to cry.

               Later, Arcade will come into the room and walk out with Warren in his arms. Eli doesn’t want to let his son out of his sight, but he’s got something he needs to do and it’s easier without the baby in the way.

               “I got something I want to say to you,” he says, and he pulls out a box he’s carried in his bag for the past five years. He kneels on the carpet next to the couch, reaches out to take one of Benny’s hands in his.

               “This should be good,” Benny says, voice soft, a faint smile on his face. Eli presses a kiss to the back of his hand and pulls out the rings.

               “Will you marry me?” he asks, and he can see the uncertainty shining in Benny’s eyes.

               “You gonna leave me again?” he asks, wary, and Eli swallows hard.

               “Not like I did. Never again,” he promises, swears, and Benny leans forward and pulls him into a kiss.

               “Yeah. Yeah, I think…I think I’d like that,” he says, and Eli slips the ring onto his finger and wraps his arms around him.

---

               Eli is still Eli and Benny is still Benny. They argue, don’t fit together perfectly, but Eli is trying harder than he ever has before. It’s not easy, and some days he shuts himself in a spare bedroom and takes so much Jet he feels like he’s never gonna come down from that high. But it’s better than it was. They work together, and when Eli fucks up he tries to apologize.

               Warren grows up clinging to Benny’s legs. It isn’t easy to raise a toddler, isn’t easy to run a city, but Benny falls into the roles like he falls into old habits.

               It isn’t perfect, not by a long shot. There’s still fights and sleepless nights. But it’s a beginning, and a better one than they thought they’d ever have.

[ilyasvieltrevelyanshepard]

Happy N7 day!

Mass Effect means a lot of things to me. I rediscovered my passion for writing with it. I met some marvellous human beings thanks to this fandom. I keep discovering new things about how the rest of the fans see my favourite games. 

As I can’t say enough THANKS to Bioware for making the game, and for the good side of the fandom, the ones who keep it alive and kicking, bringing new art, fics, gifs, screenshots, videos, playlist... THANK YOU SO MUCH!

I wanted to write something for this special day, and this little fic popped in my brain ^^ is a bit sad but with a happy ending ;)

Sunlight bathed the yard on the Villa. The crowded space is filled to the brim with recruits, families and press. The first batch of the new N recruits is ready to graduate and get their new ranges, and Alliance wanted to make the party as big as possible.

Hackett has chosen the day wisely. Ten years ago, the war against the Reapers ended with the sacrifice of many, and he wanted to remember every single soul during that celebration.

The heavens seem to be in the mood to celebrate with them because as soon as the high-rank officers begin to climb the stairs of the atrium installed on one side of the yard, the clouds opened, bright sun shining over them. Hackett walks in front of them, walking with long strides until he reaches the dais, the white sheet covering the statue beside him catching his attention while the rest of the group moved behind him. The recruits had been in parade the full time, waiting for their superiors to talk. For the first time since its foundation, the Villa has been the home of the various races of the Milky Way. After the Reapers invasion and the combined efforts to repel them, they discovered that they are even more powerful together. The Citadel will never be again what it was, and after the role played by humanity in the salvation of the whole Galaxy, they have decided to establish the Command Center of the new Allied Federation. And of course, being Hackett who he was, he suggested unifying the special task forces of each race in a single unit. Strangely, they have accepted the idea, and four years after the cataclysm that destroyed the relays, the first group of recruits arrived at the Villa.

Kaidan’s voice distracts him from his thoughts, returning him to the present and the hundreds of eyes looking at him, expectant. “Admiral, whenever you want.”

With a nod, he steps behind the dais, connecting the speaker system. “Today, I stand in front of the best this galaxy has to offer. You are the best warriors, engineers, biotics and pilots. You were destined to be more than you were, and here you are, the first graduates of the N School of Special Units and Tactical Forces.” Some of the families congregated on the terraces around the yard exploded in cheering and claps for some seconds, but it ended as quickly as it has begun. “You will have the honour of wear the same insignia as the heroes of the war. You will write your name beside the ones who gave their lives to save all of us, to give us a future to live.” His hand reaches for the covered statue beside him, grabbing the sheet in his fist. “You will wear the insignia of the thousand soldiers who died during the Reaper war, on Earth, on Thessia, on Palaven, on Tuchanka—" His voice breaks a bit when he looks up, to the shining star over his heads that is the empty hulk of the Citadel. “You will wear proudly the same colours and rank than Major Coats, Admiral Anderson,  Commander Shepard.” Nothing but the sheet flapping in the wind breaks the silence. “You will join the ranks of the best of the best. Soldiers!” The full assembly stands in parade, saluting him, even the high-rank officers on his back and the retired soldiers among the families. With a hard pull of his arm, the sheet falls, uncovering a silver statue of the mighty Commander, no helmet on her head, long locks flying back in the wind. A reproduction of the Normandy at her back landing off, a sniper rifle leaning on her hip while she smiles to the crowd. Even Hackett, having been there when they designed, created and installed the statue, feels a clutch of pain and regret around his heart. Returning his attention to the crowd, he returns the salute. “You will wear her colours, her rank. Our Commander, Jane Erin Shepard, who was, in the words of a beloved friend, ‘bigger than life and much more than we deserved’. Soldiers, the time has come to show the universe that her greatness was not a singularity. Rise and shine, serve with honour, make her proud!”

The roaring of the yard was deafening. The units are screaming their battle cries, families roaring and clapping around them, the guarding soldiers shooting salvos to the sky. Hackett let the moment end by itself. They are celebrating their lives as much as Shepard's, and they deserve it. After that, Alenko and the other admirals helped him to put the insignias from the lowest N2 to the higher N6. An hour after his discourse, the last of the N6 leaves the atrium. A lonely figure appears then from the Villa HQ. A woman, around Hackett’s age, wearing a captain uniform, walks to the atrium with a little box in her hands. The woman smiled to Hackett and Kaidan, and the red hair and green eyes make their hearts cry. The woman positions herself beside the Admirals, standing proudly between the two powerful man, touching the box lid lovingly. When the woman gives them a nod, Hackett moves back to the dais, “We have another rank to give, one that is well deserved and we have been waiting to give for a long time. The first N7 after the Reaper war.” All the soldiers and high ranks among the crowd look around, searching for a queue of who can be that soldier. “Major James Vega, step forward!”

James is the first surprised by the words, standing near the admirals in the atrium. Kaidan winks at him when he moves closer, and his breath got caught in his chest when he stops in front of Hannah Shepard. The same green eyes he loved looks at him from a different face. The statue of her shining under the sun behind them. Hackett steps closer, and Hannah opens the lid of the box, showing a ragged N7 insignia. “One of the last wishes of the Commander was to give you her N7 insignia the day you reached that rank. And the day has finally come, Major. You have served with honour, fighting against the odds in more battles than one can count in a lifetime. Exceeding the expectations of every one of your commanding officers, and later of your subordinates. And you have served your flag with honour, sacrificing more than anyone here can fathom.” Picking up the insignia from the box, while Hannah Shepard steps aside and leans against Kaidan, who puts a supportive arm around her shoulders. “An N7 can’t be trained. It must be forged in the fires of battle and defined by their own decisions. Until this day, you have surpassed yourself in every mission. Knowing that your integrity as a soldier is doing that thing which is right when no one is looking. Your deeds have led you to this place, Major Vega, under the watchful eyes of the recruits.” Hackett puts the insignia on James’ dress blues, clasping his hand when he finishes with it. Turning to the recruits in front of the atrium, Hackett returns to the dais, while James goes back to his spot near the rest of the Admirals. “Ten years ago, in this very same day, I encouraged all our races to fight together. We needed a colossal enemy like the Reapers to put aside our differences and think like a single race.The enemy pushed us, believing we will break. But we relented. We stood and fight. And we won. Part of my words can be repeated today. Whatever the universe throws at us, we will prevail. Each of us will be defined by our actions.” He looks to the statue’s face, saluting it, and the rest of the yard did the same, the non-military personnel and families touching their hearts in respect. “Stand fast. Stand strong. Stand together.” Hannah Shepard can’t fight the tear rolling down her cheek, but he brushes it aside with the back of her hand, smiling lovingly to James, eyes moving to the insignia on his chest.

A lonely figure leans against the wall at the far end of the yard. A dark-haired woman, with a prosthetic hand and leg, a patch in an eye and some ugly scars covering the few skin visible under the black hoodie she wears. Her eyes move over the buildings, a soft smile on her face recognising corners she loved. She has stayed there, standing or seating on the ground during the long ceremony. When they uncover the statue, she chuckles, attracting some looks from the guards near the door but ignoring them with shrug and a husky ‘I knew her’, she returns her attention to the atrium, while Hackett, Kaidan and the other admirals put the insignias into the recruits uniforms. Knowing what is coming, she moves closer, still near the walls. When James’ name is called, and the man in question stands from the back of the atrium. Even at this distance, she can see how well he fills his dress blues, and a lazy smile appears on her face, watching how they put the N7 insignia on him. After another little speech from Hackett, the admiral dismiss the recruits, concluding the ceremony.

The soldiers and families around her begin to walk away, leaving the yard in groups to move the party to other places. But the lonely figure stays in the same spot, eyes fixed on the atrium and the persons on it. Hackett turns, like sensing her gaze, and waves to her, taking Hannah’s arm and guiding her back to the HQ. Kaidan turns to look at her too, and with a big smile, jumps from the atrium, beckoning a surprised James to follow him. They move closer to the lonely figure, and James takes in the little details of her. The metallic shine of the prosthetic limbs, the dark curly locks covering part of her face. But when he is close enough to look at her, he stops breathing. Kaidan hugs her, raising her from the ground and making her turn around with him while giggling. “Is so good to see you outside that hospital.”

She smiles back when he puts her down, but instead of looking at him, she bore her gaze on the surprised James. “Is glad to be outside.”

James feels like thunderstruck. He will recognise that green eye everywhere, that husky voice, the lopsided grin… “I must be dreaming.”

Closing the distance to him, she offers her left hand, the one that is not artificial, waiting for him to take it. When he didn’t take, she just let it fall, avoiding his gaze and turning to face Kaidan. “I told you it was a bad idea, K. I’m going back to the apartment. See you later.”

Shepard is turning over her heels to leave when a pair of hands capture her, stopping her movement. A soft voice, barely a whisper, sounds behind her. “How is this possible?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” She looks over her shoulder to find him with a deep frown on his face, keeping more distance than necessary. “I’ve been in a coma for years. No one knew who I was. No armour, no dog tags, no hair, and more scars than skin when they found me. I wake up two years ago, not knowing who I was, with a broken body and some missing parts. Six months ago, after all my physical therapy, I was free to go. And as soon as I begun to wander the streets of London, the memories begun to flow. I contacted my mum, then Kaidan and Garrus, and I was about to contact you when Kaidan explained me about the ceremony and how cool will be to surprise you with, well, me.”

No more than two heartbeats later, James' arms are wrapped around her, hard enough to hurt if the warm feeling of his hug didn’t erase any other feel. “Tell me I will not wake up again to find you are not here.”

Raising her cold metallic hand to his face, she cupped it, tilting her head to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m here, and I don’t have any intention to leave for as long as you want this cripple girl beside you.”

Turning her over her heels to face him, he pulls her against his body, hands fixed on her back, lowering his face slow enough to give her the time to move away. But as soon as their lips are sealed, the world around them disappears. Any sound, any feeling, outside their kiss, is suppressed from their minds. It was like coming back home. Like the first day of summer, the first ray of sun after a cloudy winter. The first snowflake. The first sip of a good wine. It was perfection. They kiss until a soft cough from Kaidan enters their cloud of happiness, making them giggle when they break the kiss. James cups her face between his hands, fixing his eyes in the sparkling pool of emerald green of her eye. “It is really you. Damn, Lola, it is the greatest present I ever had.”

“Happy N7 day, my love.”

[imgoldielikehawn]

Almost Human Part 3

I know its been forever but here is the update to my Zak Bagans Fan Fic ENJOY!

 As the sun rose past the mountains I sat in a black chair and watched it light up the room. I looked over at the body beside me on the floor. My latest kill had not gone as smoothly as id have hoped. The night started out normal as I lured an older gentleman to his demise. He'd leaned down to kiss me and I kept seeing flashes of Zachery. I felt myself getting frustrated, more so at myself than my present company. I’d been practicing magic since the beginning of time but in my lust and dissatisfaction I lost my composure and incinerated the man I was supposed to be seducing. For the first time in centuries I had lost control of my own powers. Shaking it off I went to find another victim and the same thing had happened more or less; the only difference being that I absorbed his essence while kissing him and now I was staring at a corpse. I stood up from the chair and did some more research about the man before me. When I kill I am meticulously  careful that I  never do it in a way that allows me to mentally connect with them. On an occasion such as this one I absorbed the memory's and emotions of the man id killed. I was looking through them now the way one would turn the pages to their favorite book.

He had no children and no family, his passion for killing made sure of that. He was a wealthy man and this home was immense. I waved my hand and his spirit appeared in front of me as it trailed from my lips. He looked confused and then he looked over and saw his lifeless corpse.

“Well, that is rather unfortunate” he frowned but he seemed unbothered.

“Quite. I have a proposition for you.” I said.

“Go on” he waited patiently.

“I will allow you to remain in this residence and frequent a few other locations if you agree to allow me to remain in your home with you.” I waited quietly for his response.

“Alright then, who are you if you don’t mind me asking?” he walked over and examined his corpse closely.

“I am Lilith and you are?” I didn’t elaborate on my life history.

“Reginald. Would you mind getting rid of that.” he said returning to a standing position.

“But of course.” I snapped my fingers and whispered the spell to incinerate his corpse.

He stepped back when his body burst into black flames and watched in wonder until only ashes remained.

“Would you like to keep them?” I grinned like the creep I was.

“Rather not, thank you” he pulled at his collar and then watched as I waved my hand and the ashes dissolved into a thin wisp of smoke and dissipated.

“Right now that, that's all settled, Join me for breakfast?” I asked.

“I thought you’d never ask” he smiled and we walked from the room together.

   Reginald and I became great friends over the months. We did everything together and in no time he developed powers of his own. It was a great feeling to finally have a companion after so many lonely and desolate years. Every now and then I would travel back to Vegas to check on Zachery however, I did not interact with him. Id even gone so far as putting a cloaking spell on my energy so that he wouldn't sense me. The first time I saw him with another woman I sneered in disgust and I had resigned to checking on him from afar. Eventually I stopped looking for him and did my best to let him fade from my mind. One particular evening Reginald and I had ventured to Vegas for his Thirty-fifth birthday and my sour mood had finally reached the surface.

“Alright, I’ve had enough. Why on earth are you in such a foul mood Lil?” he’d taken to calling me that as time went on and I had finally gotten used to it.

“It’s nothing darling.” as the words left my lips I frowned into my plate. We were at some fancy restaurant that sat above the city.

“Lil, come now don’t be this way.” he said.

I sighed and finally told him the story that id avoided mentioning. When I finished talking his handsome face split into a rather larger smile and he started to laugh. I raised an eyebrow and waited for him to explain himself.

“All this discomfort I am enduring for is because of another man! You are more than 4.5 Billion years old there is no way I am having my Vegas trip ruined because your mortal fling is seeing another woman” he reached across the table and snatched up my hand. I could feel his mind searching through my own and then we were standing in front of Zachery's home.

 Reginald looked over at me as we suddenly materialized in Zachery’s room. Without saying a word to me he walked over to Zachery's bedside and placed his and on his temple. Inside I was having a mental panic attack but outside I remained calm and collected. The woman I mentioned earlier was sleeping beside him but her back was towards his. She was beautiful in a sort of Vegas Hollywood way. Her hand rested beside her face on the pillow and that’s when I noticed the large ring on her finger.

  I looked up at Reginald and he looked down at the ring. He grinned and then walked back over to me. And took my hand taking us back outside.

“You sure know how to pick them. She has a huge ring on her finger but he only thinks about you and seeing you again. He’s buried it rather deep but when it dreams its the only thing on his mind.” he smirked.

“ I know I’ve created a mess for myself. That’s exactly why I don’t go anywhere near him, he throws off my concentration. He’s the reason you’re dead you know” I said as we walked on down the street.

“I am going home” he said stopping.

“Good, I am exhausted from all of our recent traveling” I sighed.

“You misunderstood, I said I am going home. You are going into that house to speak with your mortal. He clearly has affected you and being someone of your stature I assume that never happens. Get to the bottom of it and I will be waiting for you at home.” his words left no room for misinterpretation  that time and he vanished into the night, leaving me to my vices. Frowning I closed my eyes and when I opened them I was standing back inside the house. Zachery was seated on the couch in the dark with some sort of recorder.

“If there are any spirits here with me can you talk into this device I’m holding” he asked out loud.

“Yes, You’re an idiot” I laughed out loud and he jumped.

“Lilith? Is that you” he stood up from the couch, leaving the recorder.

“Yes, it is I.” I sighed and revealed myself.

“We’re you in here earlier tonight?” he looked menacing In the darkness and I could tell he was angry.

“Yes, you felt the presence of my friend and myself” I became irritated as well.

“Friend?” he started walking towards the sound of my voice.

“Yes, not like the friend you acquired in my absence” I seethed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t get all upset over something that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re the one who disappeared. He through up his hands.

“For fucks sake Zachery, stow away your ghostly fetish and enjoy you life as a married man!” I laughed.

I could feel my calm demeanor unraveling and my body was tingling with the rising anger in me.

“Just because I’m married doesn't mean you have to disappear forever, why’d you leave anyway?” he scowled.

“ I had people to kill, misery to bring. Why else?” We were standing face to face now.

“That’s what you were thinking about while you were on top of me!?” he laughed.

“I am always thinking about death, its apart of me. I need to go, my friend is waiting for me at home” I turned my back on him and just as I was about to raise my arms and escape I felt him against me, he pushed my long hair to the side and and his lips were on my neck. I was frozen in place as he continued to kiss down my neck. I whipped around fast and stepped back.  

“What are you?” I hissed. While he was kissing me I felt a part of his mind that was not known to me before this moment. I saw flashes of torment and pain, there was fire and I saw him in a long dark cloak but the moment that had alarmed me the most was that I saw myself or my angelic self from long ago.

“Did you miss me my love” Zachery smirked and I watched as his eyes darkened.

“Magnus…” I whispered. He smiled wickedly and stepped forward.

 “Did you honestly think you could escape me forever?” he snapped and grabbed my chin in his long gnarled claw.

“No. I knew eventually watching me from afar would bore you” I remained defiant in his grasp.

“You look so different these days” he cooed staring at me with his black eyes.

“Is Zachery even a real person?” I frowned ignoring his comment.

“Oh he’s very real. I only look like this to draw you in my dear. Though I’m perplexed as to why a mortal could capture your attention as he has. Why would you want that when you could have someone like me?” he leaned forward and licked my jaw.

I wanted to cringe but I knew any show of weakness would only satisfy his need to see me suffer.

“He isn't mortal is he?” I asked sensing the sarcastic tone in his sentence.

“No, he has no idea what he is and he never will.” he frowned finally showing  frustration.

“What the fuck do you want with me then?” I scoffed. I could feel my blood running down my neck from his nails embedded in my skin.

“Just because I don’t love you doesn't meant you aren't still mine. I’m here to remind you of that” he leaned forward his long black tresses followed. “ I own you and you shall lie with no other man for pleasure or I will turn from you and Slay your precious mortal right before your eyes. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand” I muttered.

Magnus planted his perfect lips against my quivering ones and wasted no time exploring my mouth with his tongue. He pulled back and saw my wide eyes. “Oh how I’ve missed you. I shall return to visit and when I do be ready for me” he stepped back from me and I saw he hadn't aged a day since the last time I saw him all those centuries ago. My brain and body were in an argument that would never be over…

[lydia--argent]

Clear Skies

A Fallout: New Vegas fic, because I’m apparently doing that now! Takes place, both in the story and in my life, after finishing Dead Money.

 Cat-Courier Six, Cass, ED-E

Cat can’t see much around her. Some distant part of her brain drags up the phrase ‘tunnel vision,’ but all Cat can do is turn off the radio. The voice echoes in her ears, and the quiet solitude of the bunker is welcome and overwhelming.

She doesn’t remember stumbling to a cot, but that’s where she wakes up – surrounded by spare parts and the smell of old chemicals, a ragged Brotherhood insignia hanging from the wall. This must have been Elijah’s base at some point, if the crazy engineer vibe and Sierra Madre machine are anything to go by. Cat takes a long moment to scream, loud and long, kicking the vending machine as hard as she can. It’s annoyingly sturdy.

She’d lost track of time under the cloud. Winding streets, chronic poisoning, too little sleep and too many stimpacks made the hours blend together. Cass and ED-E are gone, though. That’s a first step.

All her old gear is at the top of the stairs in a jumbled pile. Cat upends her bag, chips and packaged food and ammo spilling out onto the floor. Most of it gets shoved into the footlocker – if she never sees a Sierra Madre logo or boxed mac and cheese again, it’ll be too soon, but the bunker’s close to the river. Having a stash here isn’t the worst idea. The guns she packs more carefully, on top and ready to grab.

The Gauss rifle she takes with her, and Vera’s dress. Not as if Cat has anywhere to wear it, but hiding it away underground, by the Sierra Madre trap, feels wrong. She folds it carefully. After a few long moments of thinking, she also brings the bear trap fist after wiping away the worst of the ghost fluids. It’s weird and it’s nasty, and Cass’ll get a kick out of it.

The gold bars still shine, three rescued from the epic cave-in. Their luster against the dull gray and rust is beautiful, and almost feels ridiculous. Like waking up in an untouched, opulent building, still glittering from the past.

Unfortunately, they’re also heavy as shit, it’s a damn trek to the Outpost, and Cat’s lungs are still kind of hurting. She hides two of them among the trash and crosses her fingers.

To her vague surprise, it’s dark out in the Mojave. Every time she’d thought of it over the last… however many days, the sun was beating down, hot and clean. She shrugs and sets off, quiet and listening for night stalkers.

The stars are bright and keep her heading west and south. Cat had been navigating by the sky before she ever got her hands on a Pip-Boy, and the haze covering the Villa had been almost as frustrating as the unending ghost people. Almost.

Slowly, the stars dim, the sky lightens, and Cat sits down on top of a small hill to watch. The rising sun hits her face, and the desert lights up. A breeze kicks up, and Cat can smell dirt and cactus and, well, toxic waste, but the kind she’s used to. She breathes for a moment more, then keeps walking.

*

The door slams open, bringing in sand and a weirdo in old-school black and yellow armor. Cass’ hand goes to her pistol, even though the odds of her hitting a target at 3 pm these days aren’t great.

The weirdo pulls their reflective helmet off, and Cat is staring right back at Cass, and she looks – honestly, really shitty. Something greasy and caustic-looking is all over her skin and her nerdy-ass armor, she’s gripping that helmet too hard, and her eyes are shadowed and darting around even if they do keep coming back to Cass. No one moves until Lacey lets out a long, low whistle.

“Long time, no see,” Cass says, and damnit, her voice is thick, and she has to blink a little water out of her eyes. She sort of regrets the last six drinks.

Apparently, it does the trick, stupid sappy tears and all. Cat drops the helmet, crashes into and then on the bar stool next to Cass, and grumbles “I hate being abducted.”

She smells like acid and sour sweat, and now that she’s close Cass can see that her eyes are bloodshot.

Cass manages to get out a grin and teases, “We can always keep you on a leash,” but hesitates when Cat flinches. Cat doesn’t flinch, that’s not a thing. “Or, y’know, just stop pissing people off.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Cat says, recovering a bit of a composure and stealing a sip of Cass’ whiskey. Not for the first time, and Cass is slapping at Cat’s hand and grabbing for the bottle almost before she realizes what’s happening.

Cat’s the only person who can take Cass’ drink and come away with her nose intact. This time, Cass doesn’t even put up much of a fight for it. She asks Lacey for all the water in the bar while Cat takes a long pull from the bottle.

“How long was I gone for?” she asks.

Lacey answers first. “Long enough for this one to almost drink us out of business,” she says, putting a tall class in front of Cass. “Watching her pass out mid-afternoon is getting’ boring.”

“Not sure,” Cass shrugs. “There was an explosion, and by the time I woke up, you were gone. Been here since then. Few days, maybe a week.”

“Fuck,” Cat says, which just about sums it up. “Ready to get out of here?”

It’s one of the things Cass loves about Cat – the restlessness, the total inability to stay in one place longer than it takes to heal up and resupply. But most of the time, Cat doesn’t look like she’s about to snap and keel over at the same time.

“Not when you smell like you just crawled out of a toxic waste heap,” Cass says. “And what the hell is that armor? You look like a bumblebee.”

Cat looks down at herself and snorts. “Well, shit. You’re not wrong. Hey, Lace,” she says, “mind if I use the showers?”

“Oh, I insist,” Lacey says.

Cat pushes herself to her feet, tries to wipe some of the weird red residue from the stool, and just manages to smear it around.

“I’ll take care of it,” Lacey says, exasperated and shooing Cat out of the bar. “Get gone.”

Cat puts her hands up, showily not touching anything, and makes for the showers. “Hey,” Cass calls out. Cat turns around at the door, an eyebrow raised. “Missed you, C.”

The corner of Cat’s mouth turns up. “You too.”

“Aw,” Lacey coos, once Cat’s out of earshot. “Maudlin drunk’s a new look on you.”

“Shut it,” Cass says, finishes her water, and puts her head down on the bar for a quick nap.

*

“We gotta go to Prim, pick up ED-E,” Cat says. She still stalks the busted roads like she owns them, back in her worn leather armor, but her stride is a little slower. Cass doesn’t know if anyone else would even notice. “Then I need to go yell at McNamara.”

“For the NRC? The Brotherhood starting some shit again?”

“No.” Cat’s forehead creases. “I mean, I also have some news for him, but he’s the closest person responsible. So there’s gonna be a little yelling.”

Responsible for what? But Cat talks around campfires, not on the road. Too many years crossing the desert solo, Cass guesses. It took some getting used to, coming from caravan life, and Cass not being the most introspective of people. But it’s familiar now.

They camp just outside Primm. The fire crackles gently, cooking some gecko they’d shot earlier. They set up their bedrolls, and ED-E beeps quietly while watching the perimeter. It sounds pleased, maybe, but Cass is probably just projecting.

Once they settle in, have some food, get comfy next to the dying flames, Cat looks steadier but still ready to pass out for about twelve hours. Cass almost hates to ask the question that’s been burning in her throat all day, but she’s never been good at the whole subtle, tip-toe act.

“What the fuck happened to you?

Cat groans, “Any chance I can sleep for a day instead?”

“I’m not gonna stop you,” Cass says, a little stung.

“You don’t need to be watching our backs,” Cat says, like that’s the problem with this whole fucked-up situation. “Any more than usual, anyway. Took care of it.”

“Never doubted it. You still seem real spooked, though.”

Cat sighs, and she’s staring at something Cass Can’t see. “It’s just super fucked up. I don’t wanna talk about it yet.” Cass leans in and presses her shoulder to Cat’s, who relaxes just a little. “Later, though.”

“Thanks,” Cass says, awkwardly, but grateful all the same. Cat had vanished right in front of her, another thing ripped out from under Cass’ feet. She’d come back, though: even more kinds of recalcitrant and messed up, but still Cat.

“Brought this back for you,” Cat says, and hands over a bottle full of something thick and reddish. Cass unscrews the top and takes a whiff.

“Holy shit,” she says, rubbing her nose and holding the bottle at arm’s length while Cat laughs quietly. “Packs a punch?”

“Oh yeah. Save it for when you need it.”

The peeling label reads, in Cat’s all-caps scribble, “Sierra Madre Cocktail.” Cass tucks it away, settles down for the night, and sleeps better than she has in a week.