#had motivation for a drawn response :D

[screwzara]

yk screwzara? whenever I look at your hair it seems bubbly and slimy but in a good way ofc! Look what I was try to say it it looks pouffy and fluffy and I have the urge to touch your hair did you find that weird bc I think it is :,D

You can touch my hair, I don't mind ^^

Just a simple short hairstyle cuz I feel like it, so expect an avatar change in a while :)

[allyheart707]

*walks into Room /w the turtles* me: I come baring gifts!!

*walks up to Donnie* “I got you noise canceling headphones and a weighted blanket! I.. I tried my best to get you a book, but they wouldn’t let me.” I kneel down and whisper “you’re doing great. I know it’s a scary situation and there a lot happening right now, but I believe in you. I’m so proud of how well you’ve been handling this change. Please remember it’s ok to be different and feel big emotions or no emotions at all. Don’t let anyone down you for who you are.”

*walks up to Leo* “I got you a wooden-play sword (for some reason that was ok for me to give you-) and a unicorn plush!” I whisper “you’re going to be just fine. Just know that you’re enough. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I’m so so SO proud of you. You’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen, you’re amazing! I adore your fighting skills. You’re not worthless. You shouldn’t have to earn people’s love. You’re deserving of all the love in the world.”

*walks up to mikey* “I got you finger paints and glitter!” I whisper “thank you for helping people. Your heart is so so big and beautiful!” *hug*

*walks up to Raph* “and last but never least, I got you a heart-shaped pillow and a friendship bracelet!” I whisper “you can do it. I love your kindness. I appreciate your want to help. You’re doing a great job bringing people and yourself together. Thank you for looking out for your brothers. Don’t worry too much big man.” *hug*

I would have drawn this all, but I’m in a motivation burn out rn :,) At least I was able to draw the gifts :D!

You are totally fine not being able to draw everything- I super get it! I also didn't end up drawing a lot for your response- but hopefully you still like it! It's more my retelling of events rather than continuing the story? Also- sorry in advance for how long it got, I was just very excited about all the adorable words you told each of them and how they would respond to it ;v;

Your ask was such a joy to read- tysm for sending it! :DD

Donnie stares at the large assortment of items in the person's hands, wondering which were for him, and for some of them.... what they even were. The human comes to him first and he tenses, confused as the stranger kneels down to his level. Odd, but Carol does it enough that he isn't completely lost.

“I got you noise canceling headphones and a weighted blanket! I.. I tried my best to get you a book, but they wouldn’t let me.” He stares at the items offered for a moment, then takes them with a small nod. He doesn't really know how to feel about them yet.

He holds the blanket that was covered in small glittering stars in his hands, the weight oddly comforting- Like when his brother hugs him, or the times he would hide under their bean bag. It was familiar. And, after inspecting the other grey object in his hand and connecting it to the words she spoke about "noise canceling", he assumes the soft cushions were meant for his ears. He slowly tested them out- pressing one against his right ear. Determining the effect wasn't painful or uncomfortable, he slid them all the way on.

The sound of Raph and Heishis whispered conversation, of Mikey's excited squealing, and of the humming of the vents was suddenly dulled.

It was.... nice.

He knew he should thank the person, he should be as excited as Mikey who was still squealing by her side.. but he didn't know the human. With the new room, his new "brothers", and everything else that had been happening.... he couldn't bring himself to force a smile or even muster a thank you, though he knew he should.

“you’re doing great. I know it’s a scary situation and there a lot happening right now, but I believe in you. I’m so proud of how well you’ve been handling this change. Please remember it’s ok to be different and feel big emotions or no emotions at all. Don’t let anyone down you for who you are.” She whispers to him.

He still didn't want to talk to the new lady, or smile at her, or thank her. But now he felt a swell of relief flood through him, because that was okay. So, he took the gifts with another nod and found his way to the corner of the room, watching with silent awe as she began to pass out the rest of the gifts.

Heishi watches tensely as the enemy first approaches Donnie, claiming that they had gifts for them. Right, like he would fall for that. This was clearly some scheme to lower their guard- but he was a warrior, not some child who could be so easily swayed.

He noted as Donnie made his way to the corner, blanket and headphones in hand. That left the strange viles, the sword (it was wooden, but with enough force maybe he could.... hmmm no, not yet. Not while still stuck in a locked room...), and a few other softer objects that he couldn't quite make out.

Then, it was with dread he realized that the enemy was approaching him next. His shoulders raised and he showed his teeth, hoping to scare her off. Thankfully, it seemed to work as she stopped a few feet away, bending down and offering the sword to him

“I got you a wooden-play sword (for some reason that was ok for me to give you-) and a unicorn plush!”

... Why would she give him a sword of any kind? UGH! Was he really that unthreatening? Was he really so bad at his one purpose that they would mock him by giving him weapons knowing they could beat him?!

... well he would show HER! He will take that silly play sword and-

“you’re going to be just fine. Just know that you’re enough. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I’m so so SO proud of you. You’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen, you’re amazing! I adore your fighting skills. You’re not worthless. You shouldn’t have to earn people’s love. You’re deserving of all the love in the world.”

... well, now it didn't really feel like she was mocking him- maybe she was just crazy.

"Yeah... well, I am the bestest warrior... I don't gotta earn anyone's love, cuz I'm... I'm just that cool. Heh." He stammers, rushing to grab the sword and the other item he hadn't really noticed before.

When he got a safe distance from the enemy, he wasn't exactly sure why he turned his back to the enemy but he just.... couldn't face her. His whole chest felt warm and oozy in a way he wasn't sure was normal.

He shook his head and focused back on the items in his hand.

The sword...

and...

Mikey was bouncing on his feet as he followed the new scientist around the new room. She was so nice- he hoped she would stay forever and ever! Maybe she could convince the scientist to let Carol come back and they could all play together? He squeaked again a the thought.

“I got you finger paints and glitter!” It took a moment for Mikey to realize she was talking to him, to absorbed in his daydreams of introducing her to Carol and George.

He claps his hands together and looks up at the sparkly tubes and jars of color that she held out for him. It felt like Christmas all over again!!

“thank you for helping people. Your heart is so so big and beautiful!”

He was hugging her before she could even finish the sentence, and he couldn't help but chirp with glee as she hugged back!

"Thank you! Ohmigosh!" He pulled away after a moment, taking the jars from her hands and spreading them out around him on the boring brown floor.

After a few moments of struggling against the lids, the vibrant colored jars were now open. He let out a mischievous giggle that turned into a cackle as he made up his mind:

These floors were not going to be boring brown any longer-

Raph stood awkwardly at the table, watching as one by one his brothers were distracted by the humans gifts. Finally, she turned to him.

“and last but never least, I got you a heart-shaped pillow and a friendship bracelet!”

His tail lightly twitched behind him, unsure if he should be excited or nervous. Pops told him that humans were dangerous to mutants like him but... this one seemed okay... maybe if he asked her nice enough she would take him home?

...no, no... he couldn't tell her where his home was. Dad said he could never, ever, EVER tell anyone where they lived.

But... then how would he get home? He frowned.

“you can do it. I love your kindness. I appreciate your want to help. You’re doing a great job bringing people and yourself together. Thank you for looking out for your brothers. Don’t worry too much big man.” She ended her small speech with a hug, which he melted into.

Yeah. I'm Raph, their big brother.

He had gotten this far, had found his brothers, had brought them together- even when pops said he that it wasn't possible!

And, now he just had to bust them all out of here!!

He smiled at his new friend, and gave her a toothy grin.

Raph was going to be the best big brother they ever had!

[sinoramikss]

Hello, everyone! Here’s Chapter 4 – things are starting to get a bit romantic! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it because, honestly, it was an emotional rollercoaster for me. 😅

If you’re enjoying my fanfic, please follow and like the chapters – your support means the world and motivates me more than you could imagine. Love you all, and I’ll see you tomorrow! 😘

FATES BARGAIN

Chapter 4

SY

The next morning arrived with the pale light of dawn spilling through the windows of the River House, casting long shadows across the halls as the house slowly came to life. Sy had barely slept, her thoughts tangled in the events of the previous night, in the quiet intensity of Azriel’s gaze and the unsettling questions that still lingered in her mind. But she had forced herself out of bed, knowing that today would bring new challenges—challenges she couldn’t afford to face unprepared.

She found herself standing in a quiet study tucked away near the back of the River House, where the windows overlooked the river and the mountains beyond. Nesta and Amren were already there, waiting for her. The air felt charged, as if the room itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Amren leaned against a bookshelf, her petite form draped in robes of dark, shimmering fabric that caught the light like scales. Her silver eyes, ancient and sharp, tracked Sy’s every movement as she entered, her expression cool and unreadable. Nesta, by contrast, stood near the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid. The morning light painted her features in stark relief, highlighting the hardness in her gaze and the stubborn set of her jaw. Sy couldn’t help but feel the weight of their scrutiny as she stepped forward, trying to steady the unease coiling in her stomach.

Nesta was the first to speak, her voice clipped and direct. “You’re late,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she glanced at Sy. There was a challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring Sy to falter under her gaze.

Sy bit back a nervous response, forcing herself to stand a little straighter. “Sorry,” she managed, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “I didn’t realize how quickly time would pass this morning.”

Nesta’s gaze remained cool, but she didn’t push the issue further. Instead, she turned back to the window, her expression thoughtful as she studied the river beyond. Amren, however, didn’t bother with pleasantries. She straightened from her place by the bookshelf and crossed the room with fluid, feline grace, her silver eyes narrowing as she appraised Sy up close.

“So,” Amren began, her voice like the rasp of a blade being drawn from its sheath. “Let’s get one thing clear before we start. You claim you have no knowledge of any powers, no training, no... understanding of what you might be capable of here.”

Sy swallowed hard under the weight of Amren’s scrutiny, feeling the full force of the ancient being’s gaze. “That’s right,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended. “I don’t know if I have any abilities in this world. If I do, I have no idea how to access them.”

Amren’s lips curved into a faint, mocking smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “That much is obvious,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she studied Sy, as if searching for some hidden layer beneath the surface. “But the fact remains—you were brought here by an ancient power, one that does not meddle lightly. Hekate would not have chosen you, would not have severed you from your world, unless she saw something of use.”

Sy bristled slightly at the implication, but before she could respond, Nesta cut in, her voice sharp. “We’re not here to coddle you, Sy. Whatever you might be, whatever power you might possess, it’s better for all of us if we understand it. So we’re going to test you—see if there’s anything worth finding.” She pushed away from the window, stepping closer until she stood just a few feet from Sy, her gaze unwavering.

“And how do you plan to do that?” Sy asked, glancing between them, her unease growing with every passing moment. The idea of being examined, of being prodded for hidden strengths, left her feeling exposed, vulnerable.

Nesta’s eyes flashed with something that looked almost like impatience. “Amren and I have... methods,” she said simply, her tone leaving little room for argument. “You’ll cooperate, and we’ll see if there’s anything inside you that’s been waiting to surface.”

Amren nodded, her expression turning more serious. “If there is power in you, we’ll draw it out. Whether you’re ready for it or not. So I suggest you brace yourself.”

The air in the room seemed to shift, growing heavier, and Sy’s pulse quickened as she glanced between them. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from this meeting, but the tension in the room was far more intense than she had imagined. It felt as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into the unknown.

Amren gestured to a chair in the center of the room, her expression inscrutable. “Sit,” she instructed, her voice leaving no room for defiance. Sy hesitated for only a moment before moving to the chair, lowering herself into it. She forced herself to keep her back straight, to ignore the feeling of being trapped under their watchful eyes.

As she settled into the chair, Nesta came to stand beside Amren, her arms still crossed over her chest. There was something in her eyes—something almost akin to pity, though it was buried deep beneath her usual frostiness. “This might be... uncomfortable,” she said, her voice softening slightly, though there was still a hard edge to it. “But it’s necessary if we’re going to understand what Hekate might have awakened in you.”

Sy nodded, though she couldn’t keep the anxiety from twisting in her gut. “I understand,” she said quietly, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did. What she did understand, however, was that there was no turning back now.

Amren stepped closer, raising one hand, and a flicker of silver light gathered at her fingertips, twisting like smoke. Her expression sharpened, her focus narrowing as she directed that strange, otherworldly energy toward Sy. “Hold still,” she murmured, her voice almost gentle, though the power in it made Sy’s skin prickle.

The light touched her, and Sy sucked in a sharp breath as a cold sensation swept through her veins, as if ice water had been poured directly into her bloodstream. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was disorienting, like a current tugging at something deep within her, trying to drag it to the surface. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white, as she tried to hold still, to keep her breathing steady.

Nesta watched her closely, her gaze flicking between Amren’s concentrated expression and Sy’s reaction. “Anything?” she asked, her voice low and tense, as if she was afraid of disrupting whatever fragile balance Amren had created.

Amren’s brows furrowed slightly, the silver glow at her fingertips intensifying. “There’s... something,” she said slowly, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty that Sy had never heard from her before. “But it’s buried deep. It’s as if she’s... disconnected from it, like a cord that’s been cut. The potential is there, but it’s locked away, restrained.”

Sy gritted her teeth as the sensation intensified, a pressure building behind her ribs, like a door rattling on its hinges, trying to burst open. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, or if it was something Amren was doing to her, but it made her breath come faster, made her vision blur at the edges.

“What does that mean?” Nesta demanded, her tone sharp with impatience. She glanced at Sy, her expression still hard, though a flicker of concern crossed her features as she saw the strain in Sy’s face.

“It means,” Amren replied, her voice tight with concentration, “that there is power, but it’s not ready to reveal itself. It’s tangled—knotted up like a thread that’s been severed and twisted back together.”

Sy forced herself to speak through the pressure building inside her chest. “And... can it be untangled?” Her voice came out strained, barely more than a whisper.

Amren released her hold, the silver light fading from her fingers as she took a step back, her expression turning thoughtful. “It could be... if we had time, if we could find a way to bridge the gap between what she was and what she’s becoming. But it will not be easy. And it might be... dangerous.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as she studied Sy, as if weighing the risks against the potential reward. “You’ll have to decide if it’s worth the effort, Sy,” she said, her voice cold but not unkind. “If you want to know what Hekate left behind inside you, you’ll have to face whatever comes with it. But understand—if you become a danger to this court, to Velaris, we won’t hesitate to deal with it.”

Sy met her gaze, the weight of the threat settling in her chest like a stone. But despite the fear that knotted her stomach, she nodded slowly, determination hardening her voice. “I understand. But I can’t keep living in the dark, not knowing what’s inside me.”

Amren’s silver eyes gleamed with a hint of approval, though her expression remained as inscrutable as ever. “Then we’ll continue. But prepare yourself, girl. You’re about to walk a very fine line between the known and the unknown.”

And as Sy took a steadying breath, the morning light spilling through the windows seemed to cast long shadows over the path that lay ahead—one that would demand every ounce of strength she had.

They worked through the morning, until the sun had climbed high into the sky, signaling the approach of lunchtime. Nesta, Amren, and Sy poured over different methods, trying to find any clue about the power that might be buried within her. They tried everything from meditation to focus exercises, even some ancient rites that Amren insisted might coax out hidden magic. But no matter how hard they pushed, no matter how deeply Amren’s silvery energy probed, they found nothing concrete. The power remained elusive, like a distant echo that couldn’t quite be reached.

By the time they called a halt, Sy’s head throbbed with exhaustion, her body feeling like a tight coil of tension. She could see the frustration in Nesta’s eyes, the way she pressed her lips together in a thin line, and even Amren’s usually inscrutable expression had turned more guarded, as if she was reevaluating everything she had assumed.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Amren said, her voice sharp but carrying a note of reluctant resignation. “But not to find what power lies in you—rather, how we can draw it out. Sometimes, a locked door needs the right key, not a battering ram.”

Sy nodded, trying to muster up a sense of hope, though uncertainty gnawed at her. She wondered if this would be another dead end—if whatever lay inside her would remain locked away, just out of reach. The idea made her feel hollow, like a shell that rattled with unanswered questions.

Nesta caught her eye as they left the study, her expression still severe, but there was a flicker of something softer in her gaze, something almost like understanding. “Get some rest,” she said shortly. “You’ll need it if we’re going to make any progress tomorrow.”

Sy murmured her thanks and made her way to the dining room, where Elain, Feyre, and Mor were already seated, enjoying the warmth of the midday sun that filtered through the windows. She slipped into a chair at the edge of the table, the soft hum of conversation flowing around her, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in. Her mind kept drifting back to the events of the morning, the unsettling emptiness where answers should have been, and—despite her best efforts—to the memory of last night on the balcony with Azriel.

She thought she was being discreet, keeping her thoughts to herself, but it seemed that she wasn’t as subtle as she imagined. Feyre shot her a knowing look from across the table, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth, while Mor’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand.

“Someone’s awfully quiet today,” Mor remarked, her tone teasing, though there was a gentle curiosity behind her words. “Thinking about a certain shadowy someone, perhaps?”

Sy felt her face heat up immediately, a blush creeping up her neck, but she tried to play it off with a quick shake of her head. “No, it’s not... I mean, I’m not thinking about... It’s just—” She floundered, her words tangling together, and she could see Mor’s smirk widen, Feyre’s expression turning downright amused.

Feyre arched a brow, her smile turning sly as she exchanged a glance with Mor. “Really, Sy? Because you’ve been staring off into space for a good ten minutes now. And you seemed a bit... distracted at dinner last night, too.”

“I wasn’t distracted,” Sy protested weakly, but even she knew how unconvincing she sounded. She caught a glimpse of Elain beside her, who gave her a sympathetic smile, as if to say she understood what it was like to be the target of her sisters’ teasing.

Mor’s laughter was light, more affectionate than mocking, and she waved a hand dismissively. “It’s alright, Sy. We’re just teasing you. It’s only natural to be curious about Azriel—he’s not exactly the easiest male to figure out, is he?”

Sy tried to muster up a laugh of her own, but the weight of her own thoughts made it fall flat. She couldn’t help feeling like she was being foolish, letting herself get caught up in thoughts of Azriel when she had barely been in this world for two days. It wasn’t just that he was undeniably handsome or that his quiet intensity intrigued her—it was the way he had looked at her, the way he seemed to see something in her that even she didn’t understand.

Seeing her discomfort, Elain reached out, placing a gentle hand on Sy’s arm. “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” she suggested softly, her voice a soothing contrast to Mor and Feyre’s teasing. “The garden is beautiful this time of day, and it might help clear your head.”

Sy shot her a grateful smile and nodded, eager for an excuse to escape the watchful eyes of the others. As they stood up and made their way toward the garden, she could still feel Mor’s and Feyre’s playful glances following her, but at least they didn’t push any further.

The garden behind the River House was lush and serene, filled with fragrant blooms and the sound of the river rushing nearby. Elain led the way along a gravel path lined with flowering vines, her steps slow and measured, giving Sy time to gather her thoughts.

After a few moments of silence, Elain glanced sideways at Sy, her expression gentle. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she said softly. “It’s natural to feel a connection to someone, especially when you’re in a new place and everything feels so uncertain.”

Sy let out a shaky breath, her hands twisting together as they walked. “I don’t know, Elain. It just feels... complicated. I’ve only been here for two days. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to do, and I’m already letting myself get distracted by... by him.” She shook her head, frustration edging her voice. “It feels wrong somehow, like I’m not allowed to think about anything except figuring out what’s inside me and what Hekate wants from me.”

Elain’s smile turned understanding, a warmth in her eyes that reminded Sy of sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’re allowed to feel, Sy. You’re allowed to wonder about people, even if you don’t have all the answers yet. And Azriel...” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “He’s not easy to know, but I think he sees something in you that interests him. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Sy bit her lip, thinking of the way Azriel’s eyes had lingered on her the night before, the way his voice had softened when he spoke to her, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual reserve. “But I don’t even know what he’s looking for,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “And I don’t know if I’m ready to find out.”

Elain stopped walking and turned to face her fully, her expression serious. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just take things one step at a time. Focus on what you need to do today, and let the rest unfold as it will. Sometimes, the things that seem the most complicated end up making sense when you least expect it.”

Sy managed a small, grateful smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you, Elain. I think I needed to hear that.”

Elain’s smile widened, and she gave Sy’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Anytime.”

They continued their walk in companionable silence, but Sy’s mind felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted, if only just a little. She wasn’t sure what would come of her tangled thoughts about Azriel, but Elain’s words gave her a measure of peace she hadn’t expected.

Eventually, Feyre joined them in the garden, her expression bright but tinged with curiosity as she approached. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, her eyes flicking between them.

Elain shook her head, smiling warmly. “Not at all. We were just talking.”

Feyre fell into step beside them, and her smile softened as she glanced at Sy. “I heard you had quite a morning with Amren and Nesta. How are you holding up?”

Sy exhaled, glancing down at the pebbled path beneath her feet. “It was... difficult. We didn’t find anything definite. Amren said it’s like there’s a power there, but it’s disconnected—like a thread that’s been cut.” She bit her lip, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “I just wish I knew what it meant. I feel like I’m stumbling in the dark.”

Feyre’s expression turned thoughtful as she listened, her brows knitting together slightly. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said quietly. “Sometimes, powers can be tied to emotions, to experiences you haven’t fully processed yet. Maybe what’s inside you is waiting for the right moment, the right push, to reveal itself.”

Sy looked up, meeting Feyre’s steady gaze. There was a sincerity in her words, a belief that made Sy feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t completely lost. “Do you think... do you think it’s possible to find that key?” she asked, her voice barely more than a murmur.

Feyre nodded slowly, her expression determined. “I think it’s possible, Sy. And we’ll figure it out together—step by step, just like Elain said.” She offered a small, encouraging smile. “You’re not alone in this, no matter how isolated you might feel.”

Sy’s chest tightened with emotion, a mixture of gratitude and hope swelling inside her. For the first time since arriving in this world, she felt

AZRIEL

Azriel stood in the training ring, the cool morning air sharp with the promise of winter. He stretched out his wings briefly, feeling the tightness in the muscles from a restless night. The training area was empty this early, except for the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the occasional murmur of the river nearby. But even the tranquility of the scene did little to soothe the tension coiling in his chest.

He had woken before dawn, thoughts tangled with the memory of last night—of the way Sy had looked up at him on that balcony, the way her breath had hitched when she’d collided with his chest, her scent—a mix of something warm and sweet, like honey with a hint of something floral—lingering in the cool night air. He had tried to push the thoughts away, tried to bury them beneath the routines of the morning, but they clung to him, stubborn and insistent, like shadows that refused to disperse.

Now, waiting in the ring, he found himself struggling to focus on what lay ahead. Training her should have been a simple task—one he had done countless times before with recruits, with new soldiers. But with her, it felt different. There was a restless energy under his skin, an awareness that sharpened every time he thought of the way she had looked at him, the vulnerability in her eyes.

Get it together, Azriel. He forced himself to take a deep breath, letting the cold air clear his mind. She’s just another assignment, another person to protect. That’s all this is.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t the whole truth. There was something about her—something that drew him in, even when he tried to keep his distance. It wasn’t just that she was a mystery to unravel, or that her presence stirred his curiosity. No, it was something deeper, something he couldn’t name, but that made him want to understand her, to reach beyond the guarded look she wore like armor.

He caught her scent before he saw her, that same warm, sweet fragrance that made his shadows twist with restless curiosity. He turned, and there she was, making her way across the field toward him. The morning light caught in her hair, highlighting the softness of it, and her expression was a mix of determination and uncertainty, as if she was bracing herself for what was to come.

She looked so small against the backdrop of the training grounds, yet there was a quiet strength in the way she carried herself, a resilience that he couldn’t help but admire. He tried to keep his face neutral, tried to remind himself that this was just training, but his gaze lingered on her a moment too long, tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her breath misted in the cold air.

“Good morning,” she said softly as she reached him, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness. She pulled her arms tighter around herself, as if trying to ward off the chill.

Azriel nodded, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended. “Morning. Are you ready to begin?”

She nodded, trying to hide her nerves, and he motioned for her to follow him into the center of the ring. “We’ll start with some basic stretches,” he explained, his tone taking on a more professional edge, even as he fought to ignore the way his heart seemed to quicken around her.

He demonstrated a few stretches, showing her how to loosen up her muscles before any real training began. She followed his movements, her brow furrowed with concentration, and for a while, they fell into a comfortable rhythm—one he could almost forget was different from all the other training sessions he had led.

But then she attempted a stretch, twisting her body in a way that clearly put too much strain on her lower back. Azriel winced, seeing the misalignment, and without thinking, he stepped forward, reaching out to correct her form.

“Wait, like this,” he said, his hands coming to rest on her waist, guiding her gently into the proper position. His touch was meant to be clinical, but the moment his fingers brushed against her sides, he felt a jolt of heat, as if his own shadows had turned against him, igniting something inside his chest.

Her warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her clothes, and her scent enveloped him, wrapping around him like a soft blanket, filling his senses until he couldn’t think of anything else. His hands tensed against her waist, and for a moment, he found himself leaning closer, drawn to the way her breath hitched, the way her pulse fluttered under his touch.

Focus, Azriel. The thought cut through the haze like a blade, sharp and cold, and he forced himself to step back, clearing his throat as he let his hands fall away. He hoped she didn’t notice the way his face felt uncomfortably warm, or the way his shadows seemed to curl around him more tightly, as if trying to hide his own confusion.

“There,” he said, his voice coming out strained as he gestured for her to continue the stretch. “That’s better. Just... be careful not to overextend. You could hurt yourself.”

Sy straightened, her cheeks flushed, though whether from exertion or something else, he couldn’t be sure. She offered him a small, tentative smile, and he felt a pang in his chest that he couldn’t quite ignore. “Thanks,” she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He nodded stiffly, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism, though he could still feel the ghost of her warmth lingering on his skin. He focused on the next part of the training, guiding her through basic defensive stances, showing her how to block and counter a strike.

To his surprise, she picked up the movements quickly, her body adapting to the rhythm of the strikes with a grace that spoke of some natural instinct. It wasn’t perfect—her footwork was still hesitant, and her balance wavered at times—but there was a spark in her movements that caught his attention, a hint of potential that made him reconsider his initial assumptions.

She might have been new to this world, but she wasn’t helpless. There was a fierceness in the way she moved, a determination that shone through even when she stumbled. And as he watched her, he found himself... admiring her, the way she refused to back down, even when she was clearly out of her element.

They moved through the drills, their bodies falling into a rhythm, and Azriel found himself enjoying the exchange more than he’d expected. He corrected her form when needed, but each time he touched her, he felt that same warmth coil inside him, that same pull that made him wonder what it was about her that unsettled him so much.

Before he knew it, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, signaling the end of their session. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed—hadn’t noticed the way the afternoon had slipped away in a blur of movements and unspoken tension.

“You did well,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual as he watched her catch her breath. “You’re picking this up faster than most.”

She looked up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips, and there was a hint of pride in her expression. “Thank you. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it... sort of.”

He nodded, feeling an unexpected warmth at her words, though he tried to keep his own reaction hidden. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—off-balance, uncertain—and he couldn’t quite figure out why her presence affected him so much.

Sy gathered her things, and as she turned to leave, there was a moment where she paused, glancing back at him with an almost shy expression. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but then she seemed to change her mind, offering him a quick, awkward smile instead.

“See you tomorrow, Azriel,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of something he couldn’t quite decipher.

He nodded, watching as she turned and walked away, her movements quick, as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. And yet, there was something about the way she glanced back over her shoulder, the way her cheeks flushed, that made his heart tighten unexpectedly.

He watched her retreating form, standing in the empty training ring long after she had disappeared from view. His shadows whispered around him, carrying secrets he couldn’t quite grasp, and he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath.

What are you doing, Azriel? He could feel the weight of the question pressing down on him, but he didn’t have an answer—not one that made sense, anyway. He knew he should keep his distance, that he should focus on his duty, but every time he looked at her, that resolve wavered just a little more.

As he finally turned away, the memory of her smile lingered in his mind, like a spark that refused to be extinguished. And he couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if he let that spark grow into something more.

AZRIEL

Weeks had passed since that tense morning in the training room, but the memory of Sy’s calm, steady gaze, the way her warmth had filled the room, lingered in Azriel’s mind with haunting clarity. He had tried to convince himself that his interest was merely professional, a sense of duty toward someone unfamiliar with their world. But each time he tried to rationalize it, the image of her drifted back, as vivid as ever.

When he thought of her now, it wasn’t just her actions or her potential abilities that he recalled. It was those stormy grey-blue eyes, clear and unguarded when they looked at him, yet sharp with determination. It was her hair, light brown and straight as a blade, falling to her waist with a natural grace that made him wonder what it might feel like slipping through his fingers. He found his thoughts betraying him with images of the gentle curve of her waist, the elegance of her frame, and the pink of her lips—a color as subtle as it was maddening. Her scent had grown familiar too, a soft blend of warmth and sweetness that lingered long after she’d left a room, so intoxicating that it invaded his thoughts at the most inconvenient times.

Every time he caught himself drifting into these thoughts, he tried to shove them aside, reminding himself of his duty, of his need for professionalism. She’s a stranger here, he’d tell himself, as if repetition could douse the fire burning within him. But his resolve grew weaker each time. And now that Sy had become more at ease within Velaris, he found himself noticing the changes in her. Her laughter had grown freer, her smiles quicker, and even Nesta—who rarely warmed to anyone—seemed to hold an unspoken respect for her.

Then there were the nights when Sy would stay close by, assisting Rhysand and Feyre with Nyx when the little one grew restless. It was a talent Sy had barely discovered, yet one that seemed to resonate with the child’s needs. Her presence was soothing, and Nyx, who seemed to recognize it, clung to her during these times. More often than not, Azriel would be lying in the next room, hearing her soft words or the lullabies she��d hum. He couldn’t deny the peace that washed over him knowing she was nearby, her calmness seeping through the walls as if reaching him in his own restless solitude.

But tonight, there was no solitude. Velaris was alight with the preparations for a festival, a celebration that brought all the Lords and dignitaries from neighboring courts. The evening promised long hours of diplomacy, and Azriel’s day had already been stretched thin with preparations, overseeing the security, coordinating with Cassian and Rhysand on potential threats, and ensuring each guest's arrival went smoothly.

And then there was Eris.

Azriel’s jaw tightened involuntarily at the thought of the Autumn Court heir, the arrogant male who wore his mask of indifference all too well. No one at the table welcomed his presence, but his attendance served political purposes, securing fragile alliances that the Night Court couldn’t afford to jeopardize. Mor, who bore the deepest scars from Eris’ cruelty, avoided him altogether, keeping as much distance as possible from the gathering. For her sake, Azriel kept his own restraint firmly in check, though his shadows bristled at the mere thought of Eris at the same table.

As he took his seat beside Cassian and Nesta, he surveyed the room, the hum of voices mixing with the strains of distant music. He exchanged a few words with Cassian, his gaze flickering occasionally to the doorway, a strange anticipation pooling in his chest. He told himself he was scanning for threats, keeping watch for anything unusual. But when he finally caught sight of Sy entering the hall, his every coherent thought seemed to vanish.

Sy stood in the doorway, and even from across the room, she was nothing short of breathtaking. The dark blue gown she wore clung to her frame, its deep, midnight hue intensifying the fairness of her skin, making her seem almost ethereal in the soft glow of the lanterns. The dress hugged her chest, emphasizing her delicate collarbones, her waist, and flaring slightly at her hips before falling in waves to her ankles, giving her an elegance that felt both regal and effortless. Half of her hair was braided and pinned like a crown, the rest cascading down her back, shimmering with each movement. She looked… otherworldly. And all Azriel could do was sit there, utterly struck.

His heart pounded in his chest as he tore his gaze away, feeling a surge of emotions that left him reeling. A sense of fierce pride mixed with longing that he didn’t quite know how to name. He forced his expression to remain neutral, even as the sight of her seemed to settle like a weight in his chest. But when his gaze swept the room again, he noticed he wasn’t the only one captivated.

Eris’s stare was locked on her, his eyes narrowed with a dark, assessing gleam that made Azriel’s blood simmer. Eris had always enjoyed admiring beauty, but the intent behind his gaze as he looked at Sy bordered on something more. Azriel clenched his fists under the table, forcing himself to breathe. The jealousy surged, coiling in his veins, raw and insistent. Every part of him wanted to stride across the room, to put himself between her and Eris, to make it clear that she was not for him—or anyone else—to ogle.

His irritation only deepened when Rhysand introduced her as his “distant cousin,” a flimsy excuse to explain her presence to the other Lords. Yet Eris’s expression was hardly placated, his gaze lingering on her even as she moved toward the table.

When she finally took her seat, it was right across from Azriel, directly beside Eris. Azriel’s jaw tightened as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair, her gaze briefly skimming over him before flicking away, as if she were making a conscious effort not to look at him. He wanted to catch her gaze, to see if her eyes held any hint of acknowledgment, but she seemed determined to keep her focus elsewhere.

Cassian leaned over, murmuring something to him, but the words barely registered. His mind was too caught up in Sy’s presence, in the way she avoided his eyes, her own gaze set resolutely on her plate as though she sensed his turmoil and wanted no part of it.

And Eris… The male leaned slightly toward her, a subtle movement, his voice soft as he greeted her, his tone filled with a dark charm that made Azriel’s teeth clench. The sight of it stoked the fire of jealousy even further, the restraint he had so carefully built starting to fray at the edges.

He forced himself to focus on anything else—the wine glass in his hand, the faint laughter echoing from across the room, the rustle of the fabric as people shifted in their seats. But every time his attention wandered, it snapped back to her, to the way the blue of her dress seemed to deepen the stormy grey in her eyes, the soft blush in her cheeks, the way her lips curved in a polite smile even as she seemed uncomfortable under Eris’s gaze.

Azriel felt a desperate urge to reach across the table, to pull her gaze to his, to remind her he was there—yet he knew he had no right to ask for such acknowledgment, no claim to make her look at him the way she had that night on the balcony. But as Eris’s hand drifted a fraction closer to hers on the table, his patience snapped.

Without thinking, Azriel cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate in the quiet hum of the conversation. Eris glanced up, his brows lifting in mild annoyance, but Azriel’s cold stare was unyielding, a silent warning that left no room for interpretation.

The Autumn Court heir offered him a smirk, an infuriatingly knowing look that spoke volumes, as if he’d already pieced together Azriel’s poorly kept secret. But Eris leaned back, abandoning whatever game he had in mind, and turned his attention to his wine.

Sy’s gaze flickered up then, meeting Azriel’s across the table. Her expression was wary, unsure, but her eyes held a question he couldn’t quite decipher. She looked at him, and he felt that familiar warmth, that ache that had grown sharper over the past weeks. He couldn’t explain the pull between them, the way he felt drawn to her despite his better judgment.

But he couldn’t let himself forget who he was, what his duty demanded. He was the Spymaster, bound to protect those around him, not to indulge in feelings he couldn’t afford to have. And yet, as she held his gaze, a subtle vulnerability in her expression, he felt his resolve falter.

The meal continued, but Azriel barely tasted a single bite. His attention was consumed by every glance, every word spoken between Sy and Eris, every shift of her gaze as she tried to avoid meeting his eyes. He wanted to pull her aside, to demand an explanation he had no right to ask for, to find out what was happening beneath her calm exterior. But more than that, he wanted to understand why she had woven herself so deeply into his thoughts, why she felt like a piece of his life that he couldn’t bear to let go.

As the evening wore on, he made a decision—a reckless one, perhaps, but the need to know had grown too strong. He would find her after this cursed dinner, confront her, speak to her, anything to break the tension that hung between them. He didn’t know if he was ready for the answers he

SY

Sy stood at the edge of the ballroom, engaged in light conversation with some of the more amiable attendees when she felt a presence beside her. Turning, she saw Eris, dressed in his usual sharp attire, a faint smirk on his face as he took her in, gaze lingering a bit too long. His amber eyes seemed to gleam with mischief, though whether it was friendly or predatory, she couldn’t quite tell.

"You look stunning tonight, Sy," he remarked, voice smooth as velvet, but there was an edge to it, as if he was sizing her up even as he complimented her. The words were flattering, yes, but also rehearsed, like he was reading from a script.

Sy gave a polite smile, her tone firm yet not unfriendly. "Thank you, Eris. It’s always interesting to hear a compliment from the infamous heir of the Autumn Court." She let her words hang in the air, letting him know she was aware of the kind of character he played in her own world’s stories. Her polite deflection was enough to make him chuckle softly, but he didn’t push further, a glint of curiosity flashing in his eyes.

As their conversation waned, Sy’s gaze wandered across the ballroom, where laughter and music filled the air. But her eyes inevitably landed on Azriel. He was standing in the shadows at the far side of the room, wings partially unfurled behind him like a cloak, a steady, watchful look in his dark gaze that was fixed entirely on her. There was something intense, almost predatory, about the way he was watching her—as if he were a hunter, assessing his prey from across the room.

Her heart gave an involuntary flutter, a rush of heat coloring her cheeks as she wondered, Why is he looking at me like that? There was something deeply searching in his gaze tonight, as though he was trying to unravel her very soul with a single glance. But then her mind flickered back to Eris standing beside her, and it dawned on her—perhaps Azriel’s attention was only piqued by concern. After all, Eris wasn’t exactly known for his… altruism, especially not in her world’s stories.

Maybe he’s just watching out for me, she thought, a twinge of disappointment curling in her stomach. She pushed the feeling down, reminding herself of what she already knew: that Azriel was ever the dutiful Spymaster, loyal and vigilant to a fault. Why would he look at her with anything beyond duty?

"Excuse me," she said softly to Eris, offering him a polite nod before she slipped away to where Mor and Elain stood chatting. Both women greeted her with bright smiles, their faces softening with warmth as she joined them.

"Ah, escaping Eris already?" Mor teased, raising an eyebrow as she gave Sy a knowing look.

Sy laughed, a genuine sound that melted away the tension that had been curling in her chest. "I’m just… not sure how to take him," she admitted. "He’s a bit of a charmer, but I can’t forget what he’s capable of."

Mor’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, a tightness in her expression that Sy recognized instantly as anger. "Oh, he’s capable of a lot, alright. Most of it’s terrible." She exchanged a glance with Elain, who offered a sympathetic nod.

Sy lowered her voice, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. "I’ve read about him in my world—about how he hurt you and Nesta. I can’t forget that." She frowned, feeling a fierce protectiveness for Mor, as if the memories of reading those stories were somehow her own.

Mor shrugged, trying to mask her discomfort with a cavalier smile, though the sharpness in her eyes remained. "Trust me, I’ve got more than enough power to fling him out of this place if he steps out of line. Or maybe I’ll just toss him through a window." She shot Sy a wicked grin, and they all burst into laughter, the sound lifting the heavy air around them.

As they laughed, Sy glanced up, her gaze drawn instinctively across the room to where Azriel stood. She could swear there was a hint of a smile on his face, barely visible but enough to make her heart skip a beat. She was surprised to find him watching her, a slight warmth in his eyes that seemed so out of place on his otherwise stoic face. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something more—a tenderness, an unspoken feeling that made her heart race.

But then reality settled back over her. She reminded herself that Azriel had shown no interest in her beyond what duty required. It was an observation she’d made from the very start; he maintained a careful distance, only speaking to her when necessary, his glances typically fleeting, as if unwilling to linger too long.

Still, as she watched him now, Sy found herself caught in a flurry of thoughts she couldn’t shake. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of his hands—those calloused fingers, so skilled and sure in battle—wondering what they might feel like if they touched her with tenderness rather than force. She imagined what it would be like to bury her fingers in his dark hair, to feel the softness of his lips brushing against hers. A blush crept up her cheeks as she wondered about the feel of his strong hands against her skin, about how it would be if he held her, not with the controlled strength of a warrior, but with the gentleness she sensed he kept hidden from the world.

But as quickly as those thoughts arose, she forced them away, grounding herself in the reality that these feelings were nothing but fantasies, moments she’d observe from afar, never truly daring to hope for. The pull between them, however real it felt, was likely nothing more than a trick of her own heart.

Breaking the silence, Mor’s voice pulled her back to the present. "Speaking of Azriel," she began, her tone laced with curiosity, "you and he seem to have been keeping a careful distance from each other. Is that just me?"

Sy sighed, smiling wryly. "You’re not imagining things. Since that first day in training, it feels like he’s made a point of avoiding me. Or when he does see me, it’s like he can’t decide whether to run away or… I don’t know, stare right through me as if he’s reading every secret I’ve ever held." She shook her head, laughing softly. "Sometimes, I swear he looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out completely, and other times, it’s as if he’s seeing someone else entirely. Either way, he’s as elusive as ever."

Mor and Elain exchanged a knowing glance, both women stifling laughter. "Classic Azriel," Mor said with a smirk. "He wouldn’t know how to handle feelings if they hit him in the face."

They laughed again, the sound light and freeing, and as Sy’s gaze drifted back across the room, she felt her heart leap. Azriel was no longer on the other side of the ballroom. He was standing mere inches away, his tall, powerful frame like a shadow looming beside her. Her laughter died on her lips as her pulse quickened, a flutter of nerves filling her chest.

She tried to look anywhere but at him, to keep her composure, but the heat of his presence was impossible to ignore. After a tense moment, she gathered the courage to look up, her gaze finally locking with his. The intensity in his eyes was enough to steal her breath, a quiet storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. The world seemed to fall away, the hum of the room fading into a quiet buzz as they looked at each other, caught in an unspoken moment that felt as if it might shatter with a single breath.

AZRIEL

Azriel’s gaze was fixed on Sy, unable to look away even if he tried. She was stunning tonight, wrapped in a deep navy dress that highlighted her fair skin and every graceful curve of her body. Her hair, half pinned and half cascading down her shoulders, moved like liquid silk with every shift and turn, and her grey-blue eyes, so strikingly bright, seemed to shimmer under the soft ballroom lights.

He couldn’t ignore the way her lips parted slightly, a faint trace of surprise in her expression as she caught his gaze. What would those lips feel like pressed to his own? The thought came unbidden, hot and unrelenting, and he swallowed, trying to steady the storm rising within him. Or better yet, how would they feel against his skin? On every inch of him? He felt the tension coil tighter, threatening to unravel him right there. No. He needed to rein this in before he lost himself completely. Pushing away those maddening thoughts, he managed a low, “Hello.”

Sy blinked, clearly surprised, but she returned his greeting, her voice soft. “Hello.”

Before he could say anything more, she took a small step back, as if trying to put some distance between them. The movement hit him harder than he cared to admit, a pang twisting in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to close the space between them again, but he forced himself to stand still, even as he felt the urge to pull her close, to make her stay. Why is she pulling away? he wondered, struggling to keep his expression unreadable, his emotions tightly locked down.

“Did Eris… bother you?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended. “I hope you didn’t let him… play his little games.”

Sy’s eyes flashed, and though her response was calm, he could sense her irritation. “I’m just trying not to draw too much attention, Azriel,” she replied, her voice steady yet laced with a subtle edge.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, the image of her standing next to Eris searing itself into his mind. He remembered how Eris had looked at her, the amusement in his eyes, the way Sy had laughed softly, even if it was just polite conversation. His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the simmering jealousy clawing its way through his veins. He knew he shouldn’t react—knew that his emotions were pointless, unjustified—but the thought of Eris near her, speaking to her, touching her, made his blood run hot. Still, he kept his face perfectly composed, betraying none of the turmoil churning within.

They stood there in silence, a charged moment hanging between them. Azriel met her gaze, allowing himself to linger in the depths of her eyes, letting himself get lost, just for a moment, in the gentle storm that seemed to swirl within them. It was foolish, he knew. But the longer he looked, the harder it was to break away, the more he felt his resolve slipping. I don’t want anyone else to have this moment with her, he realized, the admission curling dark and possessive in his chest. I don’t want anyone else to see her like this.

This isn’t duty, he thought, almost surprised at the realization. My assignments don’t make me feel like this. His mind echoed with the word jealousy, a word he rarely allowed himself to entertain. He almost laughed at himself, bitter and incredulous. Since when do I get jealous over a mission?

And then Eris appeared at Sy’s side, breaking the moment like a blade slicing through silk. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?” he asked, his voice smooth as he extended a hand toward her.

Azriel watched Sy’s reaction, a tight knot forming in his chest as she offered Eris a polite nod, her hand resting delicately in his as he led her to the center of the ballroom. Azriel felt the sting like a physical blow, his jaw tensing, though he kept his face a mask of cool indifference. But beneath the surface, his blood was boiling, a silent fury simmering as he watched Eris pull her into his arms.

As the music started, Azriel’s gaze never left them. He watched the way Sy moved, her body graceful and poised, every step smooth and fluid as if she were gliding. She was exquisite, a vision of elegance, and he felt his heart twist painfully at the sight. Eris had his hands on her, his gaze never leaving her face, and Azriel wanted nothing more than to storm over and pull her away. But he remained where he was, his body taut as a drawn bow, every fiber of him focused on the scene unfolding before him.

Eris’s hand rested lightly on her waist, guiding her through the steps, and Azriel’s gaze hardened as he watched. That should be me holding her, he thought, his fists clenching at his sides. He noted every smile, every gentle laugh that escaped her lips, each one searing itself into his memory as a reminder of the moments he wasn’t a part of. Yet he also couldn’t help but notice that her eyes didn’t shine quite as brightly as they had when they were talking before. She was polite, yes, but her warmth didn’t seem to reach Eris, her laughter softer, less genuine. It was a small comfort, a reminder that perhaps, even if she was dancing with Eris, her mind wasn’t fully there.

But then Eris’s hand began to slide lower, drifting just slightly down her back, his fingers inching dangerously close to the curve of her hip. Something snapped in Azriel, a white-hot surge of protectiveness, possessiveness, igniting like fire in his veins. His expression remained stone, but his entire body moved of its own accord, cutting through the crowd and reaching them before his rational mind could hold him back.

Without a hint of hesitation, he stepped onto the dance floor, his gaze fixed solely on Eris, his voice as cold as steel. “Eris,” he said smoothly, though there was an edge of command in his tone, “may I cut in?”

Eris arched a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk as he met Azriel’s gaze. There was a challenge in his eyes, but he relented with a casual shrug, releasing Sy’s hand and stepping back with an exaggerated flourish. “All yours, Spymaster,” he drawled, casting one last lingering look at Sy before moving away.

Azriel took Sy’s hand, his fingers gentle yet firm as he pulled her into his arms. His touch was warmer than she’d expected, steady and grounding as he guided her into the dance. She looked up at him, her gaze uncertain, and he could see the question in her eyes, the hesitation mixed with something that looked almost like relief.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured, though her voice held no trace of reproach.

“Maybe I did,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he held her closer, guiding her through the movements. His hand rested just above the curve of her waist, his thumb grazing her spine in a barely-there touch that sent a spark of heat through his skin.

They moved together in silence, the music filling the space between them, though neither seemed fully aware of it. Azriel’s focus was entirely on her—the way her eyes caught the light, the softness of her lips, the gentle curve of her frame against his own. He found himself memorizing every detail, every nuance of her expression, every shift in her gaze as they danced. The warmth of her, the feel of her so close, it was intoxicating, stirring feelings he’d long since buried, emotions he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

He forced himself to keep his face neutral, though his heart hammered in his chest, each beat a reminder of the dangerous line he was treading. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Not yet. Not when he was finally holding her like this.

As the music swelled, he looked down, meeting her gaze fully, allowing himself to be vulnerable, just this once. “Sy,” he began, his voice soft, a hint of something raw slipping into his tone. But he faltered, the weight of his own feelings crashing over him, too much to put into words.

She looked up at him, her gaze searching, and for a moment, he felt as if she could see straight into him, past every wall, every shield he’d ever built. And he knew, in that instant, that there was no going back. This wasn’t a duty. This wasn’t an assignment.

This was something he could never walk away from.

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Mosters - Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team uncovers interesting clues, and Leona has the opportunity to get to know the new helpers during action.

Hello! :D

I apologize for disappearing, but I was forced to move and the last few weeks weren't exactly easy because of that:') But now I returned and I'm back to posting more regularly!

I have a lot of trigger warnings for today's chapter, please take it seriously! TW: Blood and gore, death, violence, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence against minors, torture, body horror.

All this brutality has a purpose, but we have to suffer it through first to be able to see it!

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - Infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Sixteen

......................................

Stormy wind blows the cool raindrops falling from the dark clouds in my face, and I'm only fleetingly aware of how the bony fingers of the dry branches sticking out of the wild vegetation dig into the straps of my uniform, as I cautiously advance towards the target despite the increasingly hostile siege of the weather. Once there was a vineyard of poetic beauty here, where people retreated from all the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and could immerse themselves in comfortable relaxation and enjoy every expensive drop of the wine sold at a price of gold, away from the big cities. However, fifty years of desolation have left nothing but an overgrown jungle of vines and an endless sea of weeds that envelop them in a suffocating embrace. But this abandoned garden still serves a good purpose, because it benevolently hides all the members of our small team heading towards the huge building resting in the middle of the large estate. And we need all the kind help of nature, because even this can hardly cover the two huge men at the head of our group.

It can't be denied that after our little trio arrived at the scene of our latest adventure, the matters started moving surprisingly quickly, after the Hunter, König, shared with us all the juicy information that he so sweetly extracted from the unfortunate gang member, who they seemingly pulled out of nowhere. After explaining the coordinates, he offered the plan at least at such a fast pace, putting the whole action together with the kind of practicality that can be expected from a member of a KorTac-like, well-oiled machine. And although the fast progression of events meant only positive news for us, but I know that I wasn't the only one who had mixed feelings and came to the rather suspicion-filled realization about what financial motivation lies behind our new team's enthusiasm.

And despite the professionalism with which my two companions move together with our new helpers and their hardworking soldiers, even through the curtain of the pouring rain, I can easily make out the tension that sits in the jacket-covered shoulders of MacTavish, who strides in front of me. Maybe I would think him crazy if he wouldn't be in a flap regarding the success of our mission, since the peace of our already fragile life depends on it, but I have the sneaking suspicion that for once it's not just our operation, twisting into increasingly complicated subplots, that is responsible for the uneasiness that lingers in him and his masked bosom friend.

My bright eyes are inevitably drawn to the huge figure, who cuts through the tangled cavalcade of overgrown plant life as if it were nothing more to him than a few unruly blades of grass, breaking down the army of twigs in front of him with a few careless movements of his long hands, as he moves forward with the purposefulness of a bulldozer. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the man with a rather German-sounding name and dressed in a strange hood successfully planted the sounds of caution in my mind from the very first moment, because even though he is now an ally to us, it wasn't by chance that Shepherd hired another SSS-class fighter to play babysitter on our mission overflowing with sensitive information. The old bastard wanted to play safe by giving Riley a playmate from his own weight group, and if there is even an iota of truth to my intuition that the two mercenaries will also include a very open ear for us along with their helping hand, then in addition to finding the serum we also have to make sure that they don't stab us in the back and inform the old man about every breath we take. Because that would be the logical step if the leader of the colony wanted complete discretion. That he silences us, who know an embarrassing amount about his rather criminal dealings. And who else would be more suitable for this chore than two killers abundantly loaded with credits, who present just the right challenge to my partners.

It's enough for me to glance at the masked Hunter, who is lurking not far behind the guy who resembles a smaller yeti, and his hand clenched on his weapon says enough about how comfortable he feels in the newly established set-up. Of course, those who are in deep shit shouldn't be picky when fate takes pity on them, but I can understand why this terrifying man is still troubled by the fact that the big boss has given us friends who would be able to give him a hard time too. I know that these thoughts have crossed his mind as well, and that is precisely why he remains in his colleague's heels like an ineradicable shadow. Because he wants to be the first to cut his throat if he tries anything even remotely suspicious.

During the raging storm, the few minutes seem like decades until we reach the end of the rows of grapes, and the line of a beaten stone fence appears in the wind-torn, knee-high grass. I obediently follow the Scottish Hunter, who kneels behind the low wall on the muddy ground, and almost immediately takes a closer look at the remains of the hotel stretching out in front of us, that once served as the site of expensive vacations. I have to admit that the bastard who leads the separatist group has pretty good taste, because even though all that's left of the once-luxurious comfort is a battered, empty skeleton, it's still just inviting enough to be suitable for hiding. But what’s perhaps even more remarkable is that, according to König, these people chose the imposing hideout not only because of the nostalgia that reminds them of the prosperity of the old days, but also because even though this den is located right in the middle of the red zone, yet it’s conveniently far from any well-known nest. Of course, this mystery could easily be explained by the fact that such a wandering troupe gains a lot of useful experience when roaming in the wilderness, but they have avoided danger too skillfully so far for it to be a mere lucky coincidence. At the head of this gang is someone who, like Valeria, has just enough experience to avoid the watchful eyes of the authorities and the sharp claws of mutants. Terribly interesting.

"That's the back door. We'll enter there." I hear the voice thick with an accent on the radio that breaks through the rustle of the wind, and I only peer at our hooded tour guide from the corner of my eye. And I'm once again reminded of the sheer size of the hired Hunter, because even though he shrunk himself down to the smallest possible size to the best of his capabilities, his broad shoulders still peek out spectacularly from the cover of the fence. And unlike Riley, whose enticingly massive measurements fill me mostly with excitement, König's stature plants dozens of sinister thoughts in my skull. My masked companion has also been blessed by nature and the kind genes of his species with a figure that commands authority, but our new mate surpasses even that. And I can't shake the suspicion that he uses this magnificent physique with the efficiency of a living weapon, which I have no problem with as long as he doesn't want to test his unparalleled skills against us. I warmly advise him not to do this, because due to the sea of crap that I experienced in these last few weeks, my stimulus threshold has decreased just enough to kill him after the first bad movement. Even if I have to be smart about it.

"It's not that heavely protected." Comes the curt observation from Riley, and now I direct my eyes toward the target in front of us instead of studying our new teammate, because it would be timely for me to dedicate my brain capacity to the mission as well. And at first glance, the whole place exudes a deceptive desertedness, but I dont let the apparent immobility mislead me. Because I immediately understand what the masked man saw so keenly. It's enough to observe the dark figures appearing through the cracks of the boarded-up windows to know that, although the vagaries of the weather are in our favor and there are no more guards than necessary, but inside it’s not certain that we will be so lucky. The task is made even more difficult by the fact that we have to catch the main bastard, because based on the information forced out from the weakest link, none of his subordinates was sufficiently informed about the group's business affairs to be able to spill wherever our stolen serum may be.

"Let's go." König immediately takes the initiative, and even before he would wait for his idea to be acknowledged, he springs up and jumps over the stone wall with such ease, as if our improvised hiding place, which is at least waist-high for me, would be nothing more than a small inconvenience that can easily be crossed.

However, there is no time to hesitate, because as soon as the man, burning with the fever of readiness to get into action, takes the first few meters on the quite open field covered with overgrown grass, he is almost immediately followed by Horangi and his stern-eyed men, leaving us no chance to wait around either. And all I need is a quick glance at the masked Hunter swinging over the wall to know, that the leadership role that his new colleague arbitrarily seized for himself is not really to his taste. Because although he doesn't voice his displeasure with a single word, I have observed him just enough to recognize the tension in his heavy steps. He has enough sense of duty to endure frustration for the sake of our goal, but I know that this charming patience won't last forever. And I have a feeling that this whole impossible situation is getting on his nerves enough to lure his less diplomatic self out of him. He will work together as long as he has to, but not for a minute longer. What a rosy outlook.

Just as MacTavish moves next to me, suppressing a tired sigh under his breath, and nimbly leaps over the fence after his bosom friend, then I finally pull myself together and throw my weapon on my back to swing myself to the other side, following the Scotsman. We cross the few narrow meters that separate us from the building at lightning speed, and I thank the increasingly fierce storm, because we would otherwise be embarrassingly easy targets even in this short distance. And the fact that the surrounding area of the structure is so easy to keep an eye on raises the suspicion in me again, that it could only have been designated as a temporary accommodation by someone who had enough experience to know what difficulty the long grassy wasteland poses for a curious wanderer trying to get close to it. And this makes me more and more curious as to who might be at the head of the separatists, because all their actions so far indicate that they aren't just a simple criminal.

In front of the beat-down entrance, the soldiers wait for the instructions of their leader, who, when he is sure that we have arrived successfully, opens the door without a second of delay and charges forward with decisiveness, raising his weapon in front of him, closely followed by his Korean comrade, who lets us know with just a wave that we'd better follow their example, if we don't want to fail prematurely by waiting around in the doorstep. Although I'm not particularly impressed by the behavior of the two men, but based on the expression on the faces of my two friends, I can be sure that they do not share my lack of interest. This may not be the first time they have had to work with strangers, and maybe it wouldn't hurt their egos to not be in control of the whole operation, but it's all the more likely that they will be at least as comfortable tolerating this treatment from Shepherd's men as if someone were pulling their teeth out. And I strongly hope, praying to any higher authority listening, that this whole circus doesn't turn into a dick-measuring contest in the middle of a world-shattering event, because even Riley, who keeps his cool very skillfully, won't tolerate it without saying a word.

My boots land on the worn marble floor with a wet thump, when, at the end of the line, I cross the threshold into the embrace of the dark little corridor, and my nose is hit almost immediately by the musty smell of mold spreading on the damp walls. Despite the late spring weather, the whole place radiates an unfriendly coldness, and as the intrusive caress of the breeze blowing through the vacant building penetrates my soaked clothes, goosebumps erupt on my back instinctively. The huge house looks lifeless enough to fool the less experienced travelers, but my eyes aren’t the only ones who notice the mud-covered footprints on the dirty stone, which spread along the hallway shrouded in darkness. According to this, these bastards are tough enough to kill civilians, but they prefer to hide from a small thunderstorm within the four walls, even if they voluntarily let the attackers into their dwelling by doing it. I wasn't wrong about these thieves being cruel, but far more stupid than it would first appear.

We start silently towards the depths of the hotel, and the hooded man leading the way guides us to the source of the dull light coming from a distance, dictating a slow but all the more determined pace, with such a soundless softness compared to his height, like a predator scouting for prey. And his caution soon pays off, because as soon as he reaches the end of the passageway, a guy dressed in ragged combat gear appears in the small room before us, who notices the danger coming towards him too late. Because when he breaks away from his deep conversation on the radio and glances towards us, König ia already in front of him with impossible speed, crossing the distance between him and his victim with three wide steps with his long legs. And before the bandit could react, and would be able to open his mouth and alarm his companions, by then, a huge hand already lands on his face, and swallowing the startled shock, which crawls there with instinctive speed when he realizes that he has fallen into the grasp of a giant. But he doesn't even have time to understand what is happening, because with the momentum with which he galloped towards him, the Hunter rams the criminal, frozen in stunned terror, against the nearest wall just as easily. And even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the attack, because as suddenly as it came, his attacker ends his life as quickly. The crack with which the helpless man's skull splits open when it meets the concrete is stomach-churning, and the once cream-colored plaster is turned into a grotesque painting by the bloody pieces of brain tissue bursting from the shattered bones. And I have to forcefully fight the stomach acid gathering in my throat, when an eyeball appears for a moment from between the gloved fingers, staring blankly at me before falling to the ground with the lifeless body, as it's released by its killer. But perhaps it enhances the discomfort in me even more when our new teammate turns towards us with such cold calmness, shaking off the shattered pieces of slimy meat stuck to his glove, as if he had not just crushed a person's head with his bare hands, but had just swatted a naughty fly.

And even though I know how powerful Hunters are, I can only drive away the surprise mixed with disgust on my face with great concentration, because this ruthlessness surpasses everything that my dark little mind has thought possible until now. It was definitely a successful way to silence someone, but even I can see that it wasn't about efficiency. Because, when he fixes his gaze on his men emerging from the corridor, and takes in the respect and fear that appears on their faces, even I can see the satisfaction with which his back straightens. And I don't need to know this brutal man to understand, that he eased the hunger of his own self-confidence with this gruesome but spectacular stunt.

And when I, behind Riley and MacTavish, wander into the small hall leading to what may be the staff passageways, I have the opportunity to observe the grim expression slowly taking shape on their faces as well. Perhaps they also feel that this presentation didn't only take place so that the soldiers know their place, but also carries an unspoken threat, with which their colleague lets them know that it would be advisable for them to behave well, because someone has joined their company who will be able to cause them problems even without activating his ability. Shepherd… you dirty fucker. You want us to remember that help can disappear quickly if we don't play by the rules. How awfully smart.

"We split up here. One team goes upstairs, the others search through the ground floor." König turns to our small group, still maintaining the noble task of managing the mission, gesturing with one hand to the stairs opening from the back of the place, and then to the corridors on both sides, facing each other. With his tall figure, he easily stands out from among us, as he quickly scans his men, looking for any brave volunteer who would not agree with his proposal. And when he only receives a curt but obedient nod, he turns towards us to find our trio, and his eyes settles on me inexplicably quickly, zeroing in on me with embarrassing speed. And this isn't the first time since our not-so-distant meeting that he has found me so enthusiastically. Ever since he stepped out of that cramped container used for interrogation, he discovers me from time to time again, as if there would be a fucking magnet stuck on my pretty little body, drawing his attention to me as soon as I'm within range.

And although every single one of my facial muscles melts into the determined mask of expressionlessness, as his gaze sinks into mine, a visceral uneasiness awakens in my stomach. Because although I knew from the first minute that we had to be on guard, since probably at the end of Shepherd's leash made of money they are only allies for us until their master orders them otherwise, but he slowly makes it very clear that both his demonstration of strength and his behavior serves as a warning. And it doesn't make me happy at all when I come to the painful realization that, unlike my two companions, I would have a harder time defending myself if our cooperation took a rough turn. I know that he can't harm me right now, since the success of the mission is too important for that, but the little voice in my brain tells me that I'd better watch out for him, because it doesn't mean anything good that he is keeping an eye on me so readily. I could chalk it up to the fact that, being a good Hunter, he is just afraid of the physical integrity of a valuable Extreme, if I'm so exotic, but I can't get rid of the small fleeting intuition that this is about something else. And I don't like the curious glimmer in those sky-blue eyes when I stubbornly raise my head. No matter how big you are, you will need a lot more than that to scare me.

"You're goin' upstairs with Soap." Riley suddenly speaks, thus breaking me out of the tense stare-down duel that I'm unconsciously engaging with the behemoth man, and I turn with the greatest joy to the masked Hunter, who lingers on his colleague for a dangerous moment, before turning his hard gaze on me. "Stay alert." He leans closer, covering us from the audience with his back, and even this small act speaks quite eloquently of how much trust he has for our new teammates. And I can't blame him for that, because even though we need all the help, none of us lost our minds from gratitude. Especially not him, who runs circles in his head similar to my paranoid brain, probably because he has too many bitter experiences behind him to be naive. He knows too, how sensitive this alliance is.

I only hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer, and that's enough to see the weariness lurking in his dark eyes, next to which my trained little senses recognize the tiny little light that seems quite concerned even to my mind struggling with colorful imagination. And after the busy events of the past few days, I don't necessarily feel delusional anymore when it occurs to me, that he will be worried not only about his bff, but also about my safety, when he starts his lonely journey in this ex-resort that has become a crime den. And this lures a faint, but still naughty little curve to my lips, with which I silently tell him that it will take a lot more than a couple of lowlife thieves to make me bite the dust. Unfortunately, no one gets rid of my mean little person that easily. Although I have a feeling that this caution is not for the criminals who roam the walls…

But even before I could come up with a particularly witty answer for him, a hand lands on my shoulder and directs my thoughts, which have strayed into inappropriate side tracks, to their owner. And as my Scottish friend bursts into my field of vision, clutching his gun, he motions with his head towards the stairs leading upstairs, showing quite obviously that it's time for us to get to work before the gang realizes what surprise is being prepared for them in secret.

"Come on, lassie. There are bastards we need to put some holes into." He reminds me, and the serious expression, that has been stubbornly clinging to his features since the beginning of our current outing, softens from the tiny line of the cheeky smile that moves to his stubble-framed mouth. And although it's possible that the circumstances of our alliance have made him more cautious, I know that he has by no means forgotten the many horrors, some of which he owes to the outlaws who loiter here. Even if our adventure in the city is not their making, the bloodshed caused in the research institute is, and I know the man well enough to know that the possibility of paying off some of the many painful promises is responsible for his enthusiasm. And I won't stand in his way for a minute.

"After you." I gesture with one of my hands towards the path leading up, thus handing over the stage to the Hunter to let him turn into the tour guide, if he is already buzzing with such energy. And he immediately seizes the opportunity, raising his assault rifle in front of him, to bid farewell to his masked bosom friend with a last meaningful nod, and head towards the stairs. And I obediently close up behind him with my weapon pointed forward ready to attack, glancing back at Riley once more before disappearing into the maze of spiraling steps. And perhaps it means nothing to an outside observer, as he raises his head and follows the progress of our little duo with unbroken persistence, but my senses, which are desperately quick to notice every small twitch of his, quickly discover the small wrinkles that appear around the painted skin around his eyes. And I can understand from this, that he is parting from us with an anxious heart, but he is much calmer when he can put a safe distance between us and our helpers who are slowly organizing themselves into smaller groups. He would rather be alone among the wolves than expose us to the same danger. And the unpleasant nervousness awakening in my stomach only hopes that the two mercenaries won’t feel like turning against us right now.

But before long, the small gathering disappears from my vision, as the steps continue to turn towards the upper floor, and we are swallowed up by the narrow staircase. The sound of our soaked boots is blessedly absorbed by the worn velvet carpet that runs along the stairs, thus enveloping our silently sneaking pair in a dangerous silence. And the higher we get, the stronger the suspicion gets in my head, because we get to the top floor too easily and undisturbed, as if no one had taken up residence within the walls of the abandoned facility. And although the massive building offers plenty of hiding places, these wretched vermins don't know they have guests, and this silence is far more ominous than what my paranoid mind can bear. That's why my fingers instinctively tighten around the grip of my gun, preparing to pump the very first suspicious shadow full of ammunition.

MacTavish pauses only for a moment at the end of the staircase to cautiously peer out from behind the wall looking for the enemy. And when he is certain it's safe to proceed and no unsuspecting gang members have appeared to attack, he gestures forward with his gloved hand, and I understand his silent request even from the small gesture and follow him as he steps out into the wide corridor framed by carved wood. Once upon a time, it was probably a fortune to pack this tasteful covering here, but now the thin cracks run along them like a spiderweb from the moisture and the iron teeth of time, replacing the former luxury with a ghostly atmosphere. However, it attracts my attention much more, and it also makes my Scottish friend wonder, where to go on the dark road, because each of the two paths opening towards the wings of the building has the same chance of hiding valuable targets.

But I don't have to think too much about where we should head next, for the man precedes me in discovery, and I merely raise one of my eyebrows in interest, when he closes his eyes and sniffs the stale air, like a hunting dog looking after the wounded prey. Although there is already a sassy comment on the tip of my tongue about his methods, he turns his head to the side surprisingly quickly, staring with such intensity at the dark corridor opening on the right, as if he really would be hot on the scent. His super-senses probably recognized the stench of the gangsters lurking between the walls quite accurately, because after flashing his blue eyes at me meaningfully, he sets off across the worn carpet with such determination as if he had actually found his prey.

And it soon becomes clear how effectively his abilities developed by nature detect the enemy, because as we get further into the narrow pathway, the faint noise of our steps is accompanied by the characteristic, soft murmur of human speech, which although doesn't uncovers the topic of the discourse, but reveals that there is more than one person waiting for us on the other side. A gloomy, gray light greets us as soon as we reach the end of the corridor, and following the Hunter's example, I lean against the cool wall, listening to the fragments of words drifting in our way. One of the members is probably wandering closer to us, because the conversation he is having with his friends is gradually becoming more audible, and although I don't know the context, I don't like what I can finally understand from it in the least.

"Take the bitch to the boss in two hours. Until then, do something to wake her up. She must be awake." Murmurs the deep male voice, and the disdain in his tone fills me with disgust without even knowing who he could be talking about so kindly. It's not only the tone that helps plant frustration in my brain, but also the fact that there are civilians here, probably not of their own volition, because it only makes our task more difficult. Because the whole mission quickly progresses from the initial capture of the main scum to hostage rescue. And it's clear from the muffled cursing coming out of MacTavish's mouth that he isn't particularly excited by this unexpected development, and if I have to judge only by the clenched curve of his jaw, then his already not-so-rosy mood is only getting worse.

Based on his steps, the guy barking out his instructions gets closer to us, and when he comes into view at the mouth of the corridor, he stares at the two of us in puzzlement. But, when he could reach for the pistol resting on his belt, my friend with the mohawk springs into action, and cuts the throat of the man with a knife taken from his vest with deadly precision, before the guy would have the chance to alert what a pleasant new company his gang has got in our person. Like a waterfall set free, the blood gushes out of the wound, and with wide-open eyes, desperately gaping, he tries to press his palms to the slit, but the crimson liquid escapes unstoppably between his fingers, and my stomach tightens from the metallic smell. But it's more of a reflexive response than true hunger, and my eyes instinctively fixate on the delicacy that slowly drenches the man's jacket, then draws a dark puddle around him as he sprawls on the ground with one last choked gasp. And luckily for this wretch, because of my self-control and Riley's surprisingly nutritious blood, I don't feel the insatiable urge to crank up his agony with a nice little snacking. 

"We're goin' in. On me." MacTavish says, gesturing towards the room with his head, and I nod, adjusting my finger on the trigger, giving him the kick-start to push forward with the determination of a true professional. And when he steps into the spacious room bathed in light, then, without hesitation, he aims at the scumbags that are hanging out there, immediately putting a bullet in the head of one of them, as soon as he jumps up to honor the surprise that we give them.

And emerging from behind his strong figure, I launch myself into the attack, and thanks to the many hours spent with suffering on the shooting range, it's much easier for me to shoot the big guy standing guard in front of the double doors on the other side of the hall, who, thanks to my clever little ambush, falls down to the pale blue tile with a pained scream. However, there is no time to pat myself on the back for my magnificent performance, because much sooner than that, another volunteer charges at me, swinging his knife at me to try to reshape my face. But the lack of coordination in his movements gives me enough time, and my body acts much faster. I bend down to get out of the way of the blade, and taking advantage of his surprise, I point the barrel of my gun at his stomach, so that I can reorganize his internal organs with my bullets at friendly close range. Warm blood splashes on my face, but it doesn't affect me one bit, because it gives me much more satisfaction to see him stagger backwards, with genuine shock on his face, like a wounded animal. I don't feel an iota of guilt, because they didn't show a shred of compassion when they were playing hide ans seek with the defenseless staff in the research institute. Fate gives everyone what they deserve. And I don't even want to deny that it fills me with great pleasure to be able to contribute to its vendetta.

It's all but a few minutes, and all the stray sounds of our incipient fight die down, leaving nothing but the angry pattering of the rain on windows stretching up to the ceiling on the side of the room. The Scottish Hunter finishes off the last bandit as I straighten up and turn around to see how many enemies he has left me. He effortlessly pulls out the knife from the head of a bald man, which he could have sunk into his skull up to the hilt with an impossible force, and then, wiping the blade with a careless movement, steps back, allowing the lifeless body to fall into the empty pool in the middle of the room. And as it lands with a dull thud, it kicks up decades old dirt that has gathered in dirty stains on the dried, mosaic-like tiles.

"There is something behind the door that was worth being protected." I conclude as I take a look at the unmoving criminals spread out on the floor, quickly counting all eight that have got together so intimately in this cozy little hall. And since I suspect that they didn't gather among the remains of the indoor swimming pool because of nostalgia for the past, therefore they could only try to hide something very interesting behind that door, in front of which now lies the still corpse of the humongous gang member I shot.

"Probably the hostages." MacTavish notes walking beside me, his blue eyes fixed on the tastefully crafted solid wood entrance, slowly sliding his knife back into its pouch resting on his shoulder strap. And there is no mistake in his assumption, because it has already come to light that at least one person is being held captive in this magnificent shithole. But even if a dozen defenseless civilians were locked up here, far fewer armed guards would have been enough to keep them in check, especially if they were so weakened that life had to be breathed into them by force. They were trying to protect something else with such fearful concern here.

"Fewer people would have been enough for that. There is something else there." I cast my significant gaze on my friend, and he turns his head to me with his eyebrows furrowed. But as our eyes meet, he understands without words what I'm getting at. If something very important, say a super-secret chemical created by the government, is buried on the other side, then it's very reasonable for a bunch of guards to stand by, vigilantly waiting to see if someone comes to retrieve it.

"Let's go." The Hunter sets off with renewed motivation, and I follow him with no less vigor, because the knowledge that the end of this fucking parade overflowing with chaos can be within arms reach makes my steps much more faster. We cross the room briskly, so that when we reach the threshold of our next goal, I step over the bloodied man lying there and smooth my hand on the doorknob, glancing expectantly at the Hunter. And when he pulls himself together with his assault rifle raised and nods towards me, ready to attack, I push the door open with a decisive movement and let MacTavish charge forward, who rushes past me immediately.

But as I enter as well, and the spacious suite is revealed to me, I'm greeted by nothing but silence and a multitude of unknown crates, which are piled next to each other in rough irregularity, covering the space of a room that was once worth a fortune. And I don't have to tear any of them open to know what's in them, because the smell of gunpowder permeates the air like a disease. Lowering his weapon, the man with the mohawk ventures further into the room, opening one of the large boxes with bewilderment, and when I catch a glimpse of the metallic shine of the almost untouched rifles in it, I'm overcome with confusion similar to my friend's. I expected to find a couple of questionable, but all the more valuable items, but the absence of the hostages, and especially the lack of the serum, raises a series of dangerous questions in my head. Why was it necessary to protect stolen firearms so enthusiastically? Of course, I understand that goods have to be protected, but they can't just walk away, can they?

But when a disapproving grunt-like voice erupts from my Scottish companion, I quickly understand what could have needed such an awful lot of protection besides the rifles. As soon as the first bag full of white powder is found in another opened box, it becomes very obvious that these bandits got their hands on everything that could be used to bring in even the smallest amount of credits. So it's not so surprising that they were willing to cross the wilderness teeming with mutants and slaughter a whole group of unsuspecting researchers for the sake of profit. Of course, that still leaves one question open. Where are the civilians?

But I don't have time to dwell on that, because a roaring bang shakes the building out of nowhere, sending fine plaster dust from the ceiling into my rain-drenched hair. I smooth the damp dirt from my face with the back of my hand, smearing the drops of blood there, only glancing questioningly at MacTavish, on whose face suddenly the apparent gloom deepens, as if he knows that this noise can only mean trouble. And without a doubt, it does, because when he rushes to one of the boarded-up windows and peeks through the gap, he reaches for his radio in the middle of cussing.

"Ghost! What the hell is goin' on there?" He shouts into the device, and his deep voice is filled with such tension that I'm becoming more and more curious as to what his clever eyes could have seen in the yard that caused such concern on his face. But, as I walk towards him, a small, tormented whimper pierces through the chaos that has arisen, which reminds me more of the cry of a tortured animal than of a human being. And that instantly distracts me from the man and the troubling goings-on outside, as the uncomfortable pull in my stomach automatically directs my eyes to the single door on the side of the room.

"We found the target. It's a Hunter and he resists." Riley's hoarse baritone sounds in my ears, but the weight of the information doesn't reach my consciousness due to the noise of the alarm bells going off in my brain. I don't even register as the Hunter, hearing the new information, bursts out in colorful insults, because my legs instinctively take me towards my discovery, and with each step, the soft, muffled sobs become louder, which another voice tries to shush to silence.

"Woods, we have to go!" My partner suddenly calls out after me, but I don't even listen to his urging, because I'm already in front of the unknown entrance, and before he can inquire further about what the hell I'm doing, instead of rushing to the aid of our team with him, I already lock my fingers onto the doorknob and turn it without thinking, opening the wooden panel with a sudden movement.

And the blood freezes in my veins when I see what awaits me beyond the doorway. The light coming from behind me eerily paints the dim little bathroom, and licks at the figure of two strangers clinging to each other, backed into one of the corners. The boy, whose dirt-darkened face is smeared with lines of fresh tears, can't be more than fifteen, but a thousand years of pain and fear are concentrated in his eyes widening in alarm, as he curls up shivering in the embrace of protectively intertwined arms. The bony hands clenched around him bear the angry contours of several old wounds and dozens of seemingly new bruises, and even in spite of this, the woman, trembling, but all the more determined, pulls her protégé's body, weak from malnutrition, to her chest, saying with every cell that she will protect the poor kid even with her last breath. And as my eyes slide down to her ankles, where the thick shackles have rubbed spots blooming in black and purple, and then my gaze moves up and takes in the brownish scales of dried blood on the inside of her thighs, my stomach is clenched with such force by desperate rage that I can only forcefully hold back the scream that threatens to burst out of my throat. Because it doesn't take much logic to deduce who is held here in such high esteem when a Hunter is the leader of the whole fucking group.

"What the hell..." Comes the shocked question from MacTavish as he suddenly appears next to me, both of them flinching in fear at the man's voice. The boy starts to cry with renewed force, and the horrified sob that escapes from his chapped lips squeezes my insides as if someone had hit me in the stomach full force with a hammer. And this instinctively makes my hand reach back and motion to the Hunter to back away, and without taking my eyes off the pair I crouch down, laying my weapon on the ground with such caution as if with each movement I risked them disappearing into the shadows stretching behind them. And without a doubt, they would most likely want to do that, because the utterly distrustful look with which they follow me the entire time reveals that there is nothing else in this world that they wouldn't expect to hurt them, for they have already experienced so much misery.

"It's okay, you have nothing to fear. I'm a Healer too." I point to myself, and I try with every fiber of my being to move tenderness into my voice, which is difficult not because I rarely had to practice it, but because of the rage screaming in my brain, since I would rather gut the bastard who was capable of doing this. "I want to help. Don't be afraid."

And although the terror eases for a bit, with which they press themselves into the musty walls, but as the boy timidly pulls away from the woman a little, his bare legs emerge from under his outstretched T-shirt, and thus every desperate inch of his nakedness is revealed, then something quite terrifying, hot feeling flares up inside me. Because when I see the hand-like marks on his narrow, bony hips, the sure knowledge that the sick bastard who brought them here hasn’t spared any of them settles into my mind with a cruel force. And when my gaze, darkened by recognition, meets the woman's silent, distraught eyes, I can read from them that the horror that unfolded before me is only the tip of the iceberg. Fuck.

⃰

My legs take me almost automatically through the labyrinth of the unknown base, and even I'm surprised by how quickly I rush out into the yard, finding the familiar hangar and continuing my journey there. But my brain is too busy to have the energy to praise myself for my excellent orientation skills. Because every single nerve cell of mine is woven through with that icy rage that has nested itself in all the corners of my body like an infectious disease. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to overcome the destructive storm raging under the surface, because I still vividly remember what kind of injuries I discovered on the bodies of the two Healers when I finally treated them after we returned to the KorTac base with the separatist leader in our hands. The mission ended with a rapid success after the minor complication, and the knowledge that we are one step closer to finding the serum should cheer me up, but I felt their trembling under my own hands when I supported them out of that damned cesspool. And it isn't difficult to imagine what kind of treatment they received, if the boy was already clinging to me with fear when MacTavish tried to give him a coat. I saw in my mind's eye every single bone that had just been fused together, every single scar and bruise, and also the wounds that one can only suffer when a beast cannot command its fucking dick and stucks it into everything, it doesn't matter if the hole it found, what or who it belongs to.

I stare straight ahead as I enter the vast space of the hangar, and I'm only vaguely aware of how readily the soldiers passing by move out of my way when they see the frozen expression on my face. At other times, it might fill me with morbid joy to see what effect I can have on my environment, but now only one goal guides and directs me towards the container resting in the corner. I want to show that fucking sadistic bastard with my own hands, what kind of torture can drive a man to the point of begging for death.

But when I get close enough to the large metal cage, a strong figure appears in front of me almost out of nowhere, and it takes me a second to realize who is standing before me through the fog of fury raging in my head. The Korean man holds out one of his camo-clad hands in front of me, causing me to halt and take a deep breath, trying to muster every last spark of my self-control before I would jump on him with an inarticulate yell and help him stand aside.

"You can't go in, there's an interrogation going on." Horangi declares firmly, and even though I can't see his face, I can sense from his accent that he is very serious about his statement intended as an instruction. And maybe it's not customary for them to allow simple Healers to interfere in the busy work of the Hunters, but right now I don't care in the least what traditions and rules they keep here. Because my patience is hanging on by a thread, and every single obstacle that stands between me and my victim dangerously stretches my tolerance to the point of snapping.

"If you don't get out of my way, I'll kill you." I inform him without a flinch, and I flash my eyes at him with such a significant warning that even a brainless idiot would be able to understand that I'm one step away from sending him to the other world. And in any other case, maybe with my sharp tongue and brilliant mind, I would come up with a good little ploy to trick and manipulate him, but this isn't the point where I feel like wasting my precious time on such things.

He examines me silently for a moment, and I can almost hear the battle of arguments in his head, with which he considers how much it pays off for him to stand in my way now. He also knows that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower me, but I know that the murderous temper in my eyes promises him enough trouble if he insists on following the protocols. And it seems that my aura has become sinister enough to make him come around, because he steps aside with a staged sigh and folds his hands in front of his chest, turning his attention back to guarding instead.

"They don't pay enough for this." He grumbles almost to himself, shaking his head in resignation, but apart from the sounds of his complaining, does nothing to keep me back in my little action. And I only give him one last fleeting glance, and then without any further hesitation, I tear open the door perhaps more violently than necessary, because the anger pulsating in my muscles removes all caution from my limbs.

As the small room opens up in front of me, all eyes are fixed on me almost at the same time, my presence interrupting the important conversation spiced with violence that they are currently having. My senses catch the grimness with which Riley turns towards me, and if I were a little calmer, I would stop to analyze the force with which his fingers tighten around the knife clutched in his hand, as he studies the motionless look on my face more closely. But even though the Hunter attracts my attention, I can only focus on one person now, and he sits in the middle of the room on a battered chair with such superiority, as if he weren't surrounded by three mountain-sized men trained to kill. And even though König slowly grasps a hammer in his hands, which can mean nothing but pain to him, he has the strength to put a cocky grin on his face. And suddenly it becomes quite obvious that, in spite of the beating they gave this scumbag, they still haven't managed to get him to talk. Never mind. I'll handle this.

"Woods!" MacTavish turns to me, and from the concern in his voice, I can sense quite simply that now he doesn't want me to witness all this bloody fun in the least. And certainly not because he wants to spare my sensitive psyche from watching someone being tortured for information, but because he saw exactly the effect it had on me when I had the opportunity to admire the handiwork of this separatist bastard on his two victims.

Without a sound, I close the door of the interrogation room behind me, and it seems that our prisoner is slowly realizing that a new guest has arrived at the party organized in his honor. And as his eyes glide over me, and I discover in them the disgusting hunger with which such sick fucks usually ogle at their prey, then the anger pulsing inside me spreads to my limbs like lava. Because the first reflexive thought that pops into my mind is the body of the two Healers shaking with terror as this pair of filthy eyes stares at them from the threshold of their prison.

"You finally brought a hottie here!" Exclaims the bandit cheerfully, not even noticing how the masked Hunter takes a threatening step towards him because of this small remark, perhaps hoping that this will be enough to shut this idiot up. But it seems that although he is running a race with wisdom, unfortunately, it's still faster than him. Because if he had any sense, he wouldn't raise his head like an alpha male, and he would know what a tight spot he was in. "This is an Extreme! I've never fucked one before... Come here baby, let's talk!" He whistles to me, as if he was just trying to lure a dog to him, and there is no doubt that he doesn't regard my kind as more than pretty, useful little animals.

"Shut the fuck up!" MacTavish gets angry on my behalf, and shakes the leader of the separatists with such anger that the chair cries out with wild creak. And other times, I would feel the warmth rising in my stomach at my friend with the mohawk trying to protect me and my honor, but this turn of events awakens such a worrying joy in me that even I get scared for a minute. And I can clearly perceive the confusion on the face of the Scottish Hunter, when a seductive smile appears on my face suddenly in place of the icy anger, as I stroll closer to the stage with comfortable steps, where I will show the performance of my life.

"It's all right, Soap." I carelessly wave to the aforementioned person, and I can tell from the arch of his worriedly furrowing eyebrows, how much my mood, which took a one hundred and eighty turn, fills him with doubts.  But soon he will understand what's going on, he doesn't have to be afraid. "You want to talk to me? You're in luck because I've been waiting for this opportunity. And now that you're sitting here all tied up like a gift... It all feels like a fucking miracle." I note, slowly running my hands along the line of my breasts hidden in my T-shirt, and the gaze of the captured criminal follows the path of my mischievous little fingers with such diligence, as if he were hypnotized. And it's likely the case, because it doesn't even register to him how unnatural is the carefree airiness with which I bypass a grim Riley, and with which I push König away with a soft touch, who, despite our brief acquaintance, backs up to the wall of the container without question.

"You have good taste, baby." The man grins with satisfaction, and it's easy to read from the superiority prevailing on his features that he really believes this to be true. He thinks he is a real jackpot, and I fell in love at first sight and danced in front of him, perhaps in the hope that such a big and strong Hunter boy would finally grace me with his attention. Because it's ridiculously obvious that according to his beliefs, a Healer is born only to serve. How cute.

However, when I arrive in front of him and lean forward, my hands slide onto his thighs, and my fingers sensually squeeze the flesh under the blood-stained fabric, then I see uncertainty run through his mind for a second. But that little spark that would prompt suspicion doesn't last long, because as I kneel between his legs tied to the chair, the two little brain cells that might still be functioning in his head go silent with alarming speed. His pupils dilate almost magically, and it's pathetic how his mouth hangs open as I slowly start massaging the tortured muscles with my palm. How terribly stupid.

"Why don't we play a little, hmm?" I ask softly, giving him a lustful look from under my eyelashes, conveying innocent longing to him with every cell, as if I had no greater desire in this world than to play with him. And it's true. It's an insignificant detail, that he and I are thinking of different kind of fun.

"Now?" The first recognizable wrinkles of doubt appear on his forehead, when reality suddenly penetrates the sensual images dancing in his fantasy. And I have to forcefully suppress the laughter that rises in my throat when he fixes his gaze almost shamefully on the Hunters who have retreated to be the audience. As if the sense of embarrassment had revived in him for a moment, and he would be disturbed by the witnesses, before whom he acted so confident a minute ago. But I don't allow him to sink into this wandering fear, because as one of my fingers travels up to his face and redirects his concentration back to me, I press closer to him, making sure that every inviting inch and curve of my body comes into contact with him.

"Don't pay attention to them. I'm a little shy, but I'll make an exception for you." I purr sweetly, smearing the blood that escaped from the cut across his face with my thumb, as I stroke the damaged skin almost soothingly. I can hear the air getting stuck in his throat as I slowly raise my crimson-painted finger to my lips and clean the delicious liquid with my tongue. How awfully simple.

"You're a little whore, aren't you?" That disgustingly amused grin returns to his face, simultaneously throwing aside any sanity that might have lurked in his head. But I don't blame him for being frivolous, because I know exactly what qualities genetics has blessed me with, and I've managed to sweep my victims off their feet many times with this and my perfectly honed manipulation. After all, what kind of predator would I be if I couldn't lull the vigilance of my prey?

I capture his gaze with unceasing enthusiasm, as I pull away from him to sit on my heels, and the disappointed moan that escapes from his mouth is pitiful. But I won't leave him anxious for long, because I grab his tattered shirt and release it from the grip of his pants with a firm movement, so that my nimble little hands can find their way to every unprotected inch of his stomach. And as my palm smooths over the hot skin, I feel how willingly it shivers under my gentle touch, like a real bewitched idiot.

"You like that, hmm?" I hum sensually, and when my curious energy slowly creeps into him through my fingers, goosebumps rise up under my hand as he closes his eyes accompanied by a sigh full of pleasure. And this is the number one mistake that a smart person would never make. They would not lose sight of their enemy, who, although approaches him with nice words and even kinder gestures, still wants his fall. But one learns the most from the lessons they suffer on their own skin. And now I will teach him wisdom that he will never forget.

In my mind, the intricate network of blood vessels weaving through his body appears, and my practiced little skill doesn't need more than a few seconds to find those extremely interesting little veins and arteries that will now play such an important role in pleasing this big boy. And as the slow wave of my energy causes the blood to start flowing out of the sensitive body part, I direct my eyes with the keen attention of a snake in ambush on the man caught in my claws. I don't have to be disappointed, because even I can feel in my fingertips how the typical tingle that is so characteristic of malfunctioning circulation appears in his muscles. And this disturbs his self-absorbed intoxication just enough, because his eyebrows meet with such incomprehension, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep.

"What…. what's happening?” The disoriented question breaks out of him, and he fixes his gaze on me suspiciously, as if he would already start to suspect that he didn't quite get the entertainment he signed up for. And I no longer feel the need to continue my masterful performance, which he has so stupidly fallen victim to so far. And when the seductive mask slips off, and a cruel smile crosses my face in its place, I can almost see foreboding flashing into that weak mind of his.

"You may start to feel weird down here because I'm directing the blood out from your little friend." I note simply, as if I were stating a completely self-evident fact, and the stupid expression that appears on his face was worth all the pretense I had to show. His eyes widen almost comically, as he stares at his lap with such shocked dismay, as if he would hope that this moment will dissolve into the bizarre image of a terrible nightmare. But no. The mouth-watering feeling is very real, as after the blood slowly trickles away under my blessed ability, a numbness mixed with pain awakens in that tiny little tool of which he is so fucking proud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He blurts out, and although he still wants to look very stern, I can hear his voice cracking with recognition. Now he can start to notice this unpleasant spasmodic feeling quite sharply, which arises as a result of my vile little activity, and which causes a dull ache to creep into his groin. And there is no more charming sight in the world than this stupid meathead sinking into despair. "Stop it, you sick bitch!" He snarls at me, emphasizing all his threatening aggression, but unfortunately, he doesn't seem dangerous as he begins to strain wildly against his unbreakable shackles. Because although he may be a Hunter, and he has increased strength and endurance, the chains prepared by my friends were invented for bad boys like him.

"Oh, what's wrong? I thought you wanted me to play with your dick..." I pout with fake sadness, cooing to him with such contemptuous disdain, as if I were just trying to reason with a hysterical child. And from the small tantrum he throws, which causes him to try to tear his hands out of the thick handcuffs amidst loud grunting, he seems no more than a overgrown baby. "Oh, my bad. I forgot to tell you that I like it rough." I spit, putting an edge imbued with caustic sarcasm in my voice, and there is nothing charming in that grin that flashes all my teeth, which I twist on my mouth.

He would try to speak, and maybe he would swear at me with some very macho harshness, but as I speed up the adventurous migration of blood from his cock with another burst of energy, a tortured moan erupts from his throat from the sharp pain that surely penetrates him by now. Small drops of cold sweat surface on his forehead, and I almost feel sorry for him from the look of terror on his face. But that's not enough. Because although he's slowly realizing what a sadistic little game I've lured him into, I still don't see the despair I'm looking for.

"Maybe I should make blood clots in your veins. You know what happens when a part of your body doesn't get blood, right? No nutrients, no oxygen..." I dwell on the endless possibilities, tilting my head curiously, and even he, with his small brain capacity, can understand what the consequences are when the tissues are left without blood supply. And, as he comprehends that neither his physical strength nor his ability to intimidate will get him out of this situation, then dread glides through his features with such a spectacular fastness that it's a joy to watch.

"Please don't..." He begins to plead, and the hoarseness that moves to his voice from the panic bubbling up in his throat is music to my ears. And when I see the first glistening pearls of tears in his eyes, the hatred burning in my stomach swells with contented joy, because the visceral desperation that takes shape on his face is quite wonderful. And the sugary-sweet smile that curls up the corners of my mouth at the sight of his misery may even seem sick, but this bastard deserves every moment of suffering, because there is so much pain stuck to his hands that no amount of shame and agony can wash away. And I'm not afraid to become ruthless and mean to help him taste what it's like to be truly defenseless and helpless.

"Oh, no, no, no! Don't cry! This is fun! It's like an experiment!" I lean closer to him, caressing his belly with mocking tenderness, and he jerks under my hand with reflexive speed from the delicate gesture. Shuddering, he tries to pull away from me, as if he wanted to merge with the back of the chair, but it's futile to think that he will be able to escape from this difficult situation. I enjoy it too much. "If we wait long enough, it will fall off! Or even start to rot! But don't worry, you'll still be able to get laid! Maybe you'll be able to fuck yourself with your own dick!" I continue my musing with unhinged glee, watching as his teeth clench with painful force, as his sanity and self-respect clash for dominance. And when a choking sound escapes from him, with which he tries to stifle the silent sobs shaking his chest, then I know I've broken him.

"Please, please... I'll do anything, just don't..." He whimpers, and a thick vein on his neck pops out from the effort he uses to force these pathetic words out of himself. I know he'd rather bite his own tongue for stooping so low, but he is just the kind of cretin that can be led on by a trick like that. He gets rid of every ounce of self-esteem in an instant with his plea, no doubt hoping that a pretty woman like me might have enough compassion to take pity on him. But he picked a fight with the wrong person. Because the circle of those who can create such tender feelings in me is very narrow. And of course, nasty pests are not among them.

"If you want me to stop, then start talking." I willingly offer him the obvious solution, and when he looks at me wild with desperation, I can see the long series of thoughts going through his head, with which he tries to process what I'm asking of him. And there can definitely be important information in that ugly little head of his, if even when he is up to his neck in a stinking pile of shit, he vacillates about whether to share it with us. "Because the clock is ticking." I remind him, imitating the rhythmic clicking of the hands of the clock with my index finger, and I can feel him twitch with increasing tension under my hands with each small tap. A suffocating minute passes as I stare unblinkingly at him and drum with unbroken enthusiasm on his bruised stomach, sending the blood further and further away from his jewels with each movement. And now the tears are starting to flow in rich streams on his face, which is almost purple in color, mixing with the sweat, which is slowly covering every inch of his skin from the pain caused by my little game.

"I don't have the serum!" He finally surrenders, almost shouting his confession, as his mouth opens wide with a tortured whimper, when I continue my treacherous little activity just to be sure. "I sold it to a guy named Rat! He has his network in Colony No. 2, he said he'll hand it over to his customer there!" He spills the info eagerly, and even though every word is raspy with the aching pulsing with even force in his lap, the obedience with which he surrenders to my will is music to my ears. And suddenly I'm filled with intense pride from the knowledge that I could be of such great help to my friends who are shrouded in eerie silence leaning against the wall, and that I got the information out of this asshole that had become our prey, which they didn't manage to beat out of him. Each vermin requires a different approach, it seems. And I'm lucky that not a prouder and smarter person is the head of Vultures, because it wouldn't have been possible to back anyone other than him into a corner so easily by threatening to make his junk fall off.  

"There you go! It wasn't that hard, was it?" I pull my hands out from under the sweat-soaked textile, patting his thigh with such belittling tenderness, as if I wanted to praise a dog that performed a clever trick. And the relieved sigh with which he finally calms down a bit is quite sweet, and as soon as a breath of his confidence returns him, and he fixes his eyes on me expectantly, then I simply push myself away from him to stand up, turning my back on him to head for the interrogator's door without any further discussion. And now, for the first time, my undivided attention is diverted from my prey long enough for me to catch the expression on my companions' faces, and from the way MacTavish's brows furrow in bewilderment and dread, I have to forcefully suppress the outline of a cheeky smile that wants to curve at the corner of my mouth. I forgot that even though I had already entertained Riley with my slyness, the Scotsman hadn't yet had the chance to witness my questionable tactics.

"Hey! What are you doing? You said you would stop!" The leader of the separatists finally comes to his senses, and I just glance at him over my shoulder. And although I know that the trauma of the two Healers won't be nullified by my little revenge, it cannot be denied that the stunned distress with which he gapes at me, dispels the anger gnawing at my insides. And I wish that the two of them could see how deep a hole such a freak can crawl into, if sufficient methods are used to help him back to the edge of the abyss. But maybe it will give them a little joy to know that the bastard, who so indulgently laid his filthy hands on them in every way imaginable, will be forced to live out the rest of his pathetic life with his dick rotting away like a useless leather hose in his pants.

"It's a shame that I'm a filthy liar." I shrug my shoulders with noble simplicity, telling him with every inch of me that this is no longer my problem. And from my periphery, I can clearly see how my masked companion coks his head to the side in interest, and as our eyes meet, I see the dark little sparks in them when he realizes how freely I used the strategy that he presented to me so kindly during Valeria's interrogation. I've learned from the best.

"You dirty little bitch! Once I get my hands on you, I'll gut you! Do you hear me?!" The criminal indulges in his scary threats, and every muscle in his face tenses with rage as he spits his curses at me. And when I only raise my head with a pitying look, he loses himself in his rampage with such vigor that the chair he was enslaved to begins to shake amidst wild creaking. But no matter how hard he struggles, no matter how hard he tries to tear his hands from the chains, a D-class fool is unable to perform the same magic tricks my friends can do. Because my Scottish friend and his bosom friend would have already folded bows out of the metal by now. How utterly sad.

However, it seems that our new helper gets bored much sooner with this ridiculous interlude, in which our prisoner sinks more and more violently by the minute, because König appears in front of him so quickly, and grabs the separatist leader's throat without any warning, that every sound of his angry protest boils in his throat in a second. And he doesn't even have time to react, for the Hunter lifts the guy up by the neck along with the chair to then throw him to the ground, and as he lands on the floor of the container, the chair breaks into pieces with a tortured crash. And even before the outlaw could collect the thoughts of opposition in his brain, dulled by surprise and pain, his attacker makes sure that he stays where he had so kindly laid him down.

König's foot chruses on his victim's chest like a press, and an interesting hissing sound leaves the throat of the man lying among the pieces of broken furniture, as his mouth slowly opens to shout, but only a forced groan comes out. And although from the hooded Hunter's perspective, it all seems nothing more than when someone methodically tramples on a bug, I know how much strength it takes to coax this sick sound out of someone. The morbid sight lasts just a second longer than it should, just long enough for the halfwit writhing on the ground to feel how fleeting and senseless end his life has came to. And it occurs to me that there is no hesitation in this, only pure cruel pleasure, because as the protective wall of our prisoner's ribcage gives way with a sudden crackle under the heavy boot, even though his face is covered by the loose fabric, I see the satisfaction flash in the cold blue eyes, with which he watches the foamy path of the blood gushing from the lips of his prey stretched out in the dirt.

And I know that I'm not imagining those cheerful little wrinkles that appear around the skin covered in dark paint, as he turns towards me, towering above the now motionless dead body, and our gaze intertwines. And because of this, the restless voice in my head warns me to be careful in a tenth of a second, because I can't think of a good explanation for why I discover the invisible line of a smile around his eyes emerging from under the textile. What the hell?

[bigfrozenfan-fanfics]

Behind the scenes of „The Broken Bridge“

Warning: this is going to be a very long text, starting with a little personal analysis of Frozen II, but I want you to understand what ultimately motivated me to write "The Broken Bridge" and what was actually behind it.

If the following is too long for you, you can skip straight to the end, to a special invitation for my most loyal readers. But if you want to read on ... who knows, maybe I can give you some motivation to write your own fanfic, or I can give you some inspiration to keep writing and never give up. Let's start now ...

When I published my very first idea about a sequel to Frozen II on my main blog as a ficlet or prologue on May 24th 2020, I had no intention of writing this fanfic myself at first. Instead, I asked the fandom who of the experienced writers would like to do it and later wrote additional thoughts about it. Below is a list of links to my main blog and the beginnings:

Link 1 , Link 2 , Link 3 , Link 4 , Link 5 , Link 6 , Link 7 Link 8 , Link 9 , Link 10

At that time I didn't have a title for it either and simply called it "Frozen III plot / fanfic" or "frozen au". But none of the fanfic writers jumped at it, despite 67 likes including many comments. A few days later I had a discussion with one of my favourite writers on Tumblr, telling him that I was hesitant to continue writing because I just thought I was a bad writer at the time and also because of doubts about my English skills. I received lots of tips and words of encouragement from him and the writing duo.

Nevertheless, I was on the verge of giving up after publishing only 2 chapters. It wasn't until June 2nd that I put my third chapter online, but still as an F3 plot idea and without a title. However, once I found my beta reader (he had contacted me anonymously on Tumblr), I continued until chapter 11 for the time being, until the end of July 2020, when I stopped publishing on my main blog due to a lack of comments and likes. At that point, I was disappointed with the response and was about to give up.

It's no easy feat to convincingly and believably expand the world of Disney's Frozen II in such a way that you're drawn in from the very beginning — just like in the film — and can literally immerse yourself in an epic storyline that keeps you gripped until the very end. But not to the point where you drown in it (pun intended), of course, but that takes a lot of work and ingenuity.Frozen II had many wonderful highlights, but also its flaws, which ultimately divided the fan community — literally! However, one thing fascinated me from the start and that was the introduction of a completely new world in the Frozen universe, which is the main part of my plot in the novel. It's about the Northuldra (inspired by the real Sámi people) who live in an enchanted forest, along with the four nature spirits who are part of a greater whole: the deity Ahtohallan, guardian of all memories and source of Elsa's ice magic.

But this is precisely where the film's weaknesses lie, because unfortunately these remarkable people were given far too little time on the big screen, when they deserved so much more and an incredibly multi-layered potential would have opened up for Disney. As everyone knows, the team had negotiated with the Sámi Parliament in advance and received authorisation — on the condition that the Sámi were portrayed respectfully.

Apparently, however, much of this was too complicated for Disney to realise, especially when it came to customs, beliefs and myths. Ahtohallan in the film, for example, was something that was originally planned quite differently and — as far as I could tell from the concept art book "The Art of Frozen II" and the D+ documentary — was originally linked to Sámi shamanism, specifically their Noaidi.

The deleted scene of the originally planned prologue, for example, showed us a shapeshifter with reindeer antlers. This was presumably an old Sámi myth and the saga of a figure called Myandash. You can read this story online.

(Note: In my novel, Myandash was the model for Kolgrimr's father and I called the human Northuldra wife of the shapeshifter Gyda and made her the evil Noaidi).

What remained

The fact is that the Northuldra and their great role model, the Sámi, were very well received in the Frozen fandom, as can be seen from the countless fanart images, fanfictions, discussions and even the Elsamaren Ship (Elsa + Honeymaren). And not only there, the Sámi themselves also took a liking to Frozen II.

All of this and the actual, ultimately somewhat disappointing realisation in the film was hardly surprising to me, as this is, after all, a Disney film with a target audience that ranges from young children to the age of puberty, but at most to teenagers under the age of 18. What can you expect in terms of an in-depth plot?

This applies not only to the style, with sidekicks such as Olaf, Sven, Bruni and Gale, but above all to the plot and duration of the feature film. Many in fandom later said that Frozen II was told far too hastily and left far too many questions unanswered, especially about the main aspect, Elsa's powers. However, the entire Frozen franchise is all about Elsa's magic — right from the start. At its core, this is what has always fascinated fans about it and, of course, the characters of the royal sisters themselves.

It's a great pity that Disney didn't appreciate the older cinema audience — especially the Frozen fans among them — when producing the second part, but instead behaved as if it were a completely new audience of children. In the meantime, ten years have passed since the first instalment, six of them after the first, so there were already many loyal fans in their twenties who expected more and hoped for answers — something that Disney has unfortunately failed to give us to this day. Admittedly, a completely different approach was originally planned — as you can see from the deleted scenes and from the documentary on Disney Plus — far darker, more serious and actually aimed at older fans, just as Jennifer Lee had once promised to us. But in the end, everything was decided at Disney from the highest level, over the heads of the filmmakers, and thrown overboard. The logic, seriousness and complexity of the plot fell by the wayside in favour of a very young audience, who — as you could hear in the documentary on D+ — were not old enough to understand the movie. No wonder, when you show the test screening to five to twelve-year-old children and expect them to leave the theatre enthusiastic and completely satisfied without any further questions. The original plan was probably just too demanding.

How often has it happened that even adults didn't immediately understand a film and instead pondered it for weeks afterwards? That's what makes a good film. But to reset everything to zero immediately after the first screening test, to completely discard the originally planned plot and to put the entire film team in a difficult position to just make the deadline for an extensive and elaborate production within just a few months? For a film that normally takes three years to produce? No! This makes no sense at all and is only due to the greed to earn as much as possible at the cinema box office. Never mind the plot, the main thing is to make it family-friendly! What a pity!

In addition, the vision of the film makers was ignored. Ultimately, it hurt everyone involved, especially Jennifer Lee, who shortly afterwards was no longer a director and is now only available in an advisory capacity for the planned sequels. Honestly, I would have thrown in the towel myself after such treatment, which, at least judging by her presence on Twitter, she actually did. Presumably mainly because of the hate speech from toxic circles of the fan community that she was constantly confronted with there because of the end of Frozen II. None of us fans know the real reasons though — one day her account there was simply deleted.

But enough with my opinion on the film.

My vision

We have now arrived at the reason why I wrote "The Broken Bridge" primarily for older Frozen fans, the novel is even partly aimed at an adult readership from 18 years upwards. There are scenes with explicit language, violence and sex scenes, simply because the plot required a realistic, logical approach. But each chapter is specially labelled, at least in the chapter overview, and the most violent LBGT scene is even linked to a separate 18+ blog. So no one gets to read that unless the reader specifically follows the link.

Of course you can't please everyone, as one reader in particular showed me with his behaviour, who had commented on every chapter so far, but suddenly stopped from the part with "18+ content" onwards, presumably for reasons of age. I'm really sorry about that! On the other hand, I received statements on various platforms from readers who made it clear to me that I had not only hit the mark, but that their tastes had been fully satisfied and that they were simply delighted (for data protection reasons, I won't mention any names below).

Reader statements

On Discord: "Oh...that Frozen 3, the broken bridge novel right? I've read it all and it was EPIC. Well done." On Twitter/X: "I've been following your Frozen 3 Fanfiction since the beginning, and I love that the story is really believable and totally follows the universe of the two films, and that it could very well work as a 3rd film...I can't wait to read the next part !!" (Note: this was at the end of the third part of the story, after my hiatus in the fandom) On reddit, as a recommendation to other fans: "Greetings, I started reading an amazing story about Queen Anna and her sister Elsa some months ago. It's a long but terrific story. Tbh, This level of work and details in the narration is worth to be considered a sequel to Frozen2." On Tumblr to chapter 81: "This is a beautiful, genuinely remarkable closing for such a novel. ..... I truly enjoyed reading about Anna's wedding. It was like watching a short that Disney Animation should have given it to the fans years ago!" On Tumblr to chapter 66: "Goodness...what a chapter! In my mind I was thrown back and forth between Star Wars vs Robin Hood style fights! Yeahhh Elsa off to the monoliths? Get her power back! Go girl!Brave Anna! And what a loss for the Arendelle side. War is always such an unnecessary way.... but then... they fought for justice! Well done!" On Tumblr to chapter 43: "I love how you connect your stories with few official books, love to see 'A Perfect Night' from Elsa's pov, it looks like an official frozen book"

...and many more great comments from you readers, which have really motivated me immensely and encouraged me to keep writing. Some days I just couldn't stop!

Admittedly, I love the concept of cliffhangers, something that many other fanfic writers avoid in order not to keep their readers in suspense. So: sorry, my dear readers, you couldn't wait for the story to continue next week. But it turned out that I was able to maintain and even increase the suspense from chapter to chapter in this way.

Speaking of plot ... in my novel there are up to ten different storylines that intertwine, making the story very complex and exciting, and there is something for every reader that he/she particularly likes or has looked for in vain elsewhere in the Frozen universe. But ultimately, there's no accounting for taste.

Some people seem to have only picked out specific chapters. Unfortunately, this means that the coherent overall picture of the story falls by the wayside and my vision of a sequel to Frozen II escapes them completely in this way. But it's hard to tell who of the many followers on my fanfic blog has even read all the chapters if I don't get any likes or comments on them. I can only guess.

However, I have to admit that the novel wasn't completely planned out. They say there are two different types of writers, those who meticulously plan every detail from start to finish (plotters) and those who just start writing and only have a rough idea of the plot (pantsers). I count myself among the latter and write from the gut. However, I imagine every scene as if I were watching it in the cinema — with all kinds of details and make lots of notes on new ideas. So there was some rough planning. Sometimes it was the case that my characters themselves dictated the plot, I just had to follow them.You may remember that I write in my native language, German, and only translate everything later. I use DeepL online for this and my English-speaking beta reader HeinrichVSA corrects it afterwards where necessary. But what you probably don't know is that I wrote every single chapter on my smartphone during long train journeys. Until I was completely satisfied, I read through what I'd written again and again in the days that followed, adding scenes, rephrasing phrases and correcting anything I didn't like.

A large part of the story also required a lot of research on the internet, about everything I don't know much or anything about. I wanted to describe everything as realistically as possible and get the facts right.

This was especially true when it came to the Sámi people in the 19th century: their customs and traditions, their shamanism and beliefs, burial rituals and folk beliefs, clothing, crafts and dwellings, everything about reindeer herding, bear hunting and also about skalastet, or stick fighting. Incidentally, the idea of fighting with the Rope-Dart for Honeymaren comes from Asia, so it was added by me, and works exactly as described. I know everything about traditional archery from my own experience and also a little about bow making and crossbows.

I also had to do a lot of research on sailing ships of the 18th and 19th centuries. It's a tricky subject to portray properly and convey a credible feeling for it. For me, the topics were not only ship types and rigging from this era, but also the hierarchy and crew types. Basically everything about sailing itself on board such large ships, changing of watch, typical speeds and distances that could be travelled per day and which terms and commands were usually given on deck and by whom.

Warfare eventually became a topic for me as well, something not mentioned anywhere in the Frozen universe so far. HeinrichVSA was able to help me enormously with his profound historical knowledge and I had to find out what of my ideas worked and what did not. In these chapters I used methods from different eras and settings, including Asia and Ancient Europe. Even topics such as illnesses and healing methods from this period were important for a coherent description and so much more, right up to Norwegian wedding customs and also about signs of pregnancy in the middle of the 19th century, when there were no tests.

So what started out as a small idea has developed over the years into an enormously complex project with huge challenges, and more and more characters have been added.

My OC’s (my own characters)

Various roles had to be filled in the course of the story and since — apart from in comics — hardly any characters are mentioned who fulfil important tasks in the castle or accompany "the gang" on their adventures, I had to invent them. The more relevant a character became, the more important it was to research a suitable name for them ... and there were more and more. Depending on whether it was for someone in the city or among the Northuldra, I drew inspiration from Norse or Sámi names. Often I even researched the deeper meaning of the name, which matched the character's nature as closely as possible.

Of course, I also used almost all the well-known characters from the Frozen books and comics that were more or less relevant for the interaction with the main characters or who enriched the ambience.

The places in the story

Arendelle or the Northuldra camp were not enough, as I quickly realised the deeper I delved into the story. For some areas there was no description in the Frozen universe and the available official maps didn't give much information either. I therefore analysed the movies again and again and also consulted the many comics to get an idea of where the action takes place and what it looks like, feels like or how difficult the terrain was. I made up the rest with the help of logic and real places. Unfortunately, Disney has never told us which real country Weselton, Corona, Vakretta, Snoob and the many others correspond to. But as soon as I was relatively sure of an approximate position on the world map, I was able to research the real conditions of this country.

Small statistics on “The Broken Bridge”

My image edits: 40 plus 5 poster, 2 letters, 2 newspaper articles, 1 self-made map Fanart: 4 (1 unpublished) Storyline: Prologue, 81 chapters in 5 parts, epilogue and acknowledgements totalling almost 437,000 words (excluding acknowledgements) (about 1000 pages)

Very first novel title: "The Only Star", inspired by a sentence Anna sang during "The Next Right Thing": "The only star that guided me was you." Of course, I had her close connection to Elsa in mind. I later discussed final title ideas for my novel with HeinrichVSA, and in the end we had 43 different titles to choose from, with the subtitle "A post Frozen II Novel". As far as I remember, @annaofthenorthernlights confirmed our previous favourite title 'The Broken Bridge', in reference to the 5th Spirit and the bridge that connected Anna in Arendelle and Elsa in the Enchanted Forest. That was the final start for the publication on my fanfic blog.

Commissioned fanart images by HARU (@xlayers): 19 (12 unpublished), all with the maximum image width of 800 pixels. Title ideas for the chapters: mostly HeinrichVSA came up with them while correcting the texts, but of course a few were also my own ideas. It was always difficult to find a good title because the storylines in the chapters often overlapped.

Characters: 16 original characters 15 characters from Frozen books and comics 38 OC's (own characters) 23 locations

Plot period: for the main part (without flashbacks): over a month, followed at the end by 2x three months in chapter 81 and a few more weeks in the epilogue Embedded YouTube music titles: 287 Reboot of the novel with final title (June 25, 2021) as an epic dark AU novel on the fanfic blog: June 19, 2021. originally planned for 1 year with 52+ chapters.

In the last two months since the Acknowledgements were published, I have been working on the preparations for AO3. I had to rewrite the first chapter (prologue) a bit to make it fit the following plot, corrected and formatted everything in detail again, made changes here and there in the chapters and wrote down the links for the pictures — plus prepared comments. I very much hope that in the end everything will be as I imagine and hope it will be!

~~~

Invitation

I would like to invite my most loyal readers, who regularly left me their wonderful comments on every chapter, to discuss with us — my beta reader HeinrichVSA and me — on my newly founded Discord server, ask questions, share ideas and much more. As you know, I wrote a question mark after the words "The End" at the end of the novel. Maybe you would like to participate in a possible sequel? Who knows ...

Just send me a short message as a DM on my fanfic blog and I'll reply with a Discord invite link for you.

Thank you so much again for sticking with me until the end!

Your Bigfrozenfan

[treasure-mimic]

Okay, I feel like I have to get these thoughts about Deadpool and Wolverine out or they're gonna drive me crazy. I saw the movie last Thursday and it's not left my mind since then and I kinda wish I could just blurt it all out in response to the dismissal of the movie but like it's so specific to me that I don't even know if it's a valid rebuttal to that kind of thing so I just. I'm just gonna say it now as its own thing and we're gonna run it. Okay? Alright.

Major spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine, btw.

It's kind of hard to know exactly where to start on this thing that D&W does that really captivated me, so like, bear with me, this is gonna start in a weird place.

I have a mild fascination with the concept of continuation in fiction. On its face that's not so strange, most fiction, especially nowadays in an age where the goal is almost always to become an ongoing franchise, one of (not necessarily the) central goals of a fictional work is to immerse the viewer into its world to the point where they believe that it exists within context. There is the work itself, there is backstory which establishes the context of its setting and characters, and barring situations where the ending of the work is that the world ends, something of it is presumed to continue to exist after the fact whether that be the characters or the world in context of the characters. While the band of fictionalized time composing the work itself strictly "exists" in the same sense that the pipe in Treachery of Images "exists", the before and after periods don't even under such loose definitions of existence, they are pure implication under the notion that events tend to have context, a gap that the brain intuitively fills in. At least until the work has a sequel, which itself will have an implied context of before and after which itself will vary in its level of existence depending on the distance between it and the previous work and if it too has a sequel.

That's a really long and complicated laying out of a concept that I think most people intuitively get, right? It's one of (again, not necessarily the) founding motivations behind fanfiction. When a work ends with "and the adventures continue" we seek out ideas of what those adventures could be and some people will naturally be drawn to filling it out with their own ideas. If I can be allowed a quick plug here, I'm currently writing a novel that's partially about the after of a character trying to bring about the end of the world. But, like I said, I think most people intuitively get the appeal of that, what I find most interesting about this subject isn't just exploring the surrounding context of a work of fiction, that can be done with a sequel or a prequel or a spin-off.

What fascinates me most, what I'm just enamored with, is the implied continuation of existence in bad media.

How many godawful movies have ended with a "To be continued..." even til today. And how many times has the predominant criticism to that decision been, "who cares?" We, the consuming public, are uninterested in the continued investment in this world and these characters and whatever conflicts may remain. But, the work still exists, it was made and cannot be unmade, and in that is the implication that no matter how you feel about it, through implication, so too exists a continuous existence in both the directions of before and after.

A few years ago I wrote a massive crossover multiverse fanfic which had a really complicated selection process for what characters would be involved that isn't relevant to my point, but one of the flourishes at the very end was replacing the intended inclusion of Lancelot with a hypothetical version of the character from Guy Ritchie's ill-conceived and incomprehensible attempt to kickstart a King Arthur Cinematic Universe in 2017, King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (seriously, this is one of my favorite bad movies of all time, it is a bizarre combination of elements from superhero movies and gangster heist films and loose, untethered understandings of English antiquity). To be clear, this character does not exist in the work itself, Lancelot never appears or is even implied to appear in the work itself, likely planned for an eventual sequel or spin-off that never occurred due to how much the movie underperformed financially. But the eventual existence of a Lancelot is nonetheless an implication by the very nature of the work's existence, regardless of how little anyone actually wanted to see it. I find that fascinating, and seemingly I'm not the only one, considering I wasn't even the first person to write fanfic of this hypothetical non-existent version of Lancelot.

Let's bring it back, shall we? The promise of the Marvel multiverse as of right now, regardless of whether you like it or not, is not (at least wholly) an exploration of the cascading effects of character choices and outcomes of natural chaos, but an exploration on the notion that every story has continuation. The turning point, in my opinion, was Spider-Verse, not the 2018 animated film, but the 2014 comic series it's loosely adapted from. That's not to say the concept had never been applied before, the run itself took inspiration from Spider-Man: Shattered Dimensions and the finale episode of Spider-Man: The Animated Series, but 2014's Spider-Verse was what ultimately codified the concept of a multiverse of adaptations rather than variant outcomes. It was an exploration on if 616 Spider-Man met 1610 Spider-Man met Noir Spider-Man met 2099 Spider-Man met cartoon animal Spider-Man met animated Spider-Man met video game Spider-Man met manga Spider-Man, pre-existing works which were created by disparate creators whose only intentions were only to make standalone entertainment, recontextualized by interaction with one another and by the newfound confirmation of their continued existence. Spider-Ham didn't stop being when the run of Marvel Tails ceased, he continued to exist in the same context and continued consistency of that appearance and now he's capable of talking to a version of himself that kills people.

But Spider-Verse also showcases the other end of that concept, the continued existence of bad media, the "who cares" mentality. Quick primer if you're unaware, the original comic book Spider-Verse run was not predicated on a well-meaning Kingpin using the multiverse for personal reparation but a race of interdimensional energy vampires who feed on the souls of Spider-Man variants. This is where most of the bad media Spider-Men are sent, killed by these Inheritors, in many case in comedic fashion, with their mere existence as the source of comedy, contrasted against such dark themes.

For example, here's the Spider-Man that only exists in custom print ads for Hostess sponge cakes.

Killed unceremoniously because, nobody's favorite Spider-Man is the Hostess sponge cake ads Spider-Man, but by bringing him back decades after these ads quit running it implicitly asks the reader to understand that this Spider-Man and his context and his consistency continued even when the ads don't.

Now, this is a reason why I honestly, personally really dislike the original Spider-verse run, dark comedy is obviously the tone Dan Slott is going for, but I think the overall effect is so much more grim than I ever wanted because, like, I do care. Even if I don't like the story, I do care about this version of Spider-Man being killed while on his way to a date with MJ. I care about the implication of continuation of bad media.

To finally, finally bring it back to the ostensible subject of this post, what I find so enticing about Deadpool and Wolverine's story is that it's able to explore both sides of this concept. Within the framework of the movie, the Void is a very implicit metaphor for discontinuation, both in the sense of corporate media distribution rights but also want for continuation. Rather than the victory lap of Avengers: Endgame, rather than returning to the Captain America and Hulk of of 2012's Avengers or the Gamora and Nebula of Guardians of the Galaxy, Deadpool and Wolverine asks us to remember and revisit bad media. Tim Story's Fantastic Four, X3, the Elektra not of the Netflix adaptation, but of the delightfully edgy Daredevil and Elektra films (another of my favorite bad movies of all time). Deadpool explicitly asks, hey, can we get help from the cool character that people like, and gets told no. They aren't here. You get us.

Now, obviously this has some qualifications, because it's not all that. While Blade 3 is universally reviled, Blade is obviously the point of reference for this depiction as evident from the visual and textual callbacks, it is ultimately a Disney product, nostalgia is still a major driving force.

Still, this depiction allows the film to explore both ends of it. The Void as a metaphor for discontinuation and lack of interest, similar to the killing of pointless Spider-Men that nobody likes in Spider-Verse, their existence within the context of their stories is over and cannot be returned to. But it also implicitly asks the viewer to consider their continued existence, to process that they didn't just go from the existence we saw to the non-existence of now, that regardless of how much people cared about these products at the time, the characters do still exist and can't not exist in the context of an all-canon multiverse that Marvel has now. That all-canon is not exclusively composed of that which is still profitable and endearing to general audiences.

This paratextuality comes to a head with the credits sequence, a surprisingly loving tribute to the entire breadth of Marvel properties under Fox. Not just the ones universally liked, not even just the ones brought in for this film, not even just the ones in the band for newly forming 00s nostalgia, but films like Fant4stic and Dark Phoenix. You can't pick and choose, you must acknowledge everything. And by showing behind-the-scenes footage rather than finished film, it asks the viewer to understand these movies, these universes, this whole completed fiction with implied context, not as the product of a studio simply deciding to put something out but of the effort of hundreds, sometimes thousands of individual people. There was an attempt, failed or no, to create a story here, and inarguably, it succeeded.

That is why I've been enamored with Deadpool and Wolverine since seeing it several days ago, beyond the jokes and the homoerotic subtext and the excitement of seeing new things from the source material brought to the big screen in the last moments that they're still possible to bring back, it struck at me specifically because it shares my fascination with the continuation, the irreversible existence, of bad media.

[hiskillingjar]

since youre in the mood (me too) what do you like sm about strade? :3

HEHEHEHEHEHEHE g-d i like everything about him lol

i played the first btd like. almost eight years ago (june 2016) and just immediately fell in love with him. the friend who introduced me to btd was down bad for him too, so we just drooled over him all summer long (memoriesss~)

for one, i love his personality, and how he's just kind of a normal guy who's a fucked up freak in his spare time. he doesn't have a motivation for what he's doing, or a dark back story or trauma like law and ren do. he's just a fucked up dude doing fucked up things because he can which is SO SEXY and always my favourite route for a horror or slasher villain

i love his design and how its developed, obviously. i have a thing for bigger guys so strade being consistently drawn as thicker and with a ton of strength behind it too (big arms and big shoulders) is also incredibly sexy lmao

i also love how like. condescending and mean he is too lol. like calling you 'buddy' all the time (which has given me a pavlov response to it when it happens irl) and slapping your cheek and talking down to you and making you squirm, it really gets to me. i obv love strade for being a sexy, sexy sadist but i LOVE how just. casually cruel he can be at times too, it's sooooo so hot.

as a side, and maybe because of strade, i've also developed a bit of a thing for german guys. i've been learning it for about three years (also totally because of strade xux) and i had a brief D/S situationship with a german guy who i was head over heels for. so strade being assertively quite german in btd and fics especially is another of my favourite things too haha

i just love everything about him, he's the only fictional boyfriend i have a tattoo for, and i'm planning a second one when you kill me every time comes out ^_^

[glisteningreverie]

Since you asked me about it it’s only fair I give you full reign to ramble about your ocs

HECK YEAH OC RAMBLE TIME WITH GEM

Recently had a dream about a bunch of animals in a band that had to save the world, and so these OCs are a product of that. Don't know if I'm going all in with the concept yet but the idea captivated me enough to motivate me to draw them :D

March O'Hare

March is a guitarist in the band Stellar Twist, who finds herself wrapped up in the world of stars and magic when she comes across a mysterious girl from space. Making use of super powered instruments, March and her bandmates have been tasked with tracking down the missing Musical Stars before the Void Symphony can get their claws on them!

March is enthusiastic and does her best to keep the mood up in whatever room she's in. She tends to speak without thinking, however, and has a hard time admitting when she's wrong.

March's name is a reference to the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland, and is also the name of my Sonic OC, who is a rabbit as well.

March was the first one I drew because one of the characters I remember most distinctly from my dream was a blue rabbit :D

Frett Reynard

Frett is a laid-back guy, and the bass player in the band. He's the realist to March's dreamer tendencies, and often has to remind her not to jump headfirst into danger. Frett is down to Earth and will think carefully before he acts. He is more skeptical about magic at first, but gets a handle on it the most easily in the group.

Frett's name is pulled from the fretboard part of a guitar, referencing his main instrument, and his surname is a misspelling of "renard".

He's drawn from the other character I distinctly remember from my dream, a red fox. Since the fox and the rabbit were the characters I remembered best, I decided they'd be the two guitarists in the band.

Pepper Paisley

March's childhood best friend Pepper is Stellar Twist's keyboardist and main songwriter. She shares a love of performing with March, hence why they started the band. Pepper has connections just about everywhere, and she's friends with Timber and Mel, who she was able to convince to join the band.

Pepper is mature and even-tempered, being the one to keep the group organized and on track. Her responsibility is her superpower, and she is someone the band can rely on to be prepared for most situations.

I had real trouble coming up with Pepper's surname. I settled on Paisley because it sounds nice, and it kind of reflects the shape of the spots on her eyes.

I was also a little hard-pressed choosing the main colour for Pepper. Green might have worked but I liked it better for Timber, and a warm colour like pink doesn't really fit her personality. So, at risk of reminding people of Littlest Pet Shop, I gave her purple. Maybe I'll make the purple spots lilac or something for the sake of differentiating.

Timber Willows

On top of being Stellar Twist's drummer, Timber runs the band's official social media account. He has a hard time sitting still, and is almost always drumming out a rhythm on whatever hard surface he can find. The way Timber carries himself gives off the vibes of a tough-guy act, but really he's just kind of shy. He's highly empathetic, and can't stand to see anyone upset. He has trouble expressing it verbally, but everyone in the band knows just how much he cares, given that he's a man (cat?) of action and won't hesitate to help others out.

Timber is the reason I found out about the word "Timbre"'s pronunciation. I wanted to give him another musical name, so "Timber" is a play on that. His last name is Willows because I think I'm very funny.

Timber's got one of my favourite designs overall, his little hair puff is just so cute and I wanna ruffle it up ^o^

Mel Rapport

Mel is an upbeat, tried and true girly girl, though her love of pink and fashion leaves people dismissing her as shallow. Stellar Twist's lead singer and tambourinist also plays the ukulele in her free time. Timber's best friend is a hard worker, and is known as the girl who won't say anything bad about anyone. She comes on as sugary sweet, and tries hard to see the good in everybody. However, this dedication to looking at the bright side can easily slide into naivete: she's often loyal to a fault.

Mel is short for "Melody", because I just can't resist the music themed names apparently. Her surname, Rapport, is a reference to the fact that she's supposed to be a golden retriever.

Mel's overall look is pulled from a little dog doodle I did a while back. I just loved the look of the ears and wanted to replicate it here. Unfortunately I don't have that notebook with me, otherwise I'd be more than happy to show that doodle off.

And that's the main group!!! I do have some vague ideas for Nova, the guardian of the Musical Stars, as well as the Void Symphony, but nothing I like enough to actually motivate me to draw designs for yet.

This has been OC Ramble Time with Gem. Tune in next time someone decides to ask about my OCs (in who knows how long).

[sharkinlovewithadolphin]

I obviously know you ship it lol, but I am curious about how you would answer the three questions on the ship ask game: so RinHaru?

Or maybe NagiGou for an alternative

Thank you!! :D Ship ask game

RinHaru - Ship It

What made you ship it? I watched the show 💁‍♀️ Haha no but for real, there were so many factors and aspects that made me ship them, and I don't think I need to get too into it since we all agree, but yeah. The whole show revolves around them, they're the destined pair, etc. I fell in love with their dynamic and the way they're tied to one another; their rivalry and their childhood, and everything in between.

What are your favorite things about the ship? The way they're always so drawn to one another, and encourages and motivates each other, sometimes just by existing within the same space.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? Hmmm... not that I can think of?

NagiGou - Don’t Ship It

Why don’t you ship it? Idk, I have absolutely nothing against them, I just don't ship them myself. I get more platonic sibling vibes from them than anything romantic

What would have made you like it? 🤷‍♀️ I'm not sure. I generally am not into the whole "pairing everyone off with one another", so I usually don't really think about it. I think if they had more moments, but even then I still don't think I would outright ship them. They're both cute, sure, but I don't feel like they would make an ideal couple, but that's just me. Again, no issue with the ship and I do think I have some ship fanart of them on my blog too somewhere lol.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it? As said, they're both cute. Nagisa's a sneaky little ray of sunshine chaos and Gou's a responsible and caring sweetheart so they could potentially be very sweet together and balancing one another out, but I just don't see it that much myself.

[monkiestitches]

(Okay so, figures at this point I’m inconsistent as fuck when it comes to posting - so my bad about that)

Okay so, long story short, me and @saltedpineapple talked last night about some Security Breach stuff and we’ll, he’s not a big fan of Gregory(as a lot of people are) and while I can understand why and ya know, see it as fairly reasonable, I do kinda feel bad? Like it’s hard to explain it exactly.

I feel like when it comes to the rushed/poor rewriting Security Breach went through, Gregory was the biggest victim to that as well as Vanessa, and it really shows in how he acts and behaves throughout the game. I kinda wanna take this as a opportunity to dissect some of the points my friend made and maybe just kinda either give points on what I believe could have been improved on or have been done instead!

OBVIOUS SPOILER WARNING FOR SECURITY BREACH/RUIN, READ IF YOUVE EITHER ALREADY PLAYED OR ARE OKAY WITH BEING SPOILED.

ALSO IMPORTANT; IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR GREGORY SLANDER, THIS IS NOT THE POST FOR YOU.

Okay so, so here are three of the points Salt made that I’ve been keen on going over, so here we go!:D

•Point One; “He has a lack of motivation/reasoning for being at the Pizza Plex or for what he does.”

Response; This is arguably really true. Like in the trailer, we at least get an idea that Gregory has a reason for being in the Pizza Plex; supposedly he was there with friends and at some point Vanny got involved, though we are never given a reason as to how or what happened. In the version we have now he’s just…There, no clear reason as to why he doesn’t trust Vanessa right off the bat, much less how he got inside Freddy’s chest cavity. A lot of the stuff Gregory does just…Makes no sense whatsoever. I personally believe how the game should have started was with Gregory maybe sneaking through the vents (we’ve seen him do it, he can fit in them no problem) as a means of escaping Vanny, possibly injured from her too and whilst trying to go through the vents, he ends up stumbling into Freddy’s room - panicking, he hides under Freddy’s vanity. This could then lead to the scene where at the beginning of the game we have Freddy waking up from recharging after crashing on stage, he hears a voice from under his vanity and kneels down and he then finds this injured boy, you’d then be met with the objective of seeking medical attention for Gregory and through that is when we start seeing things start to get a little bit fishy, voila! A more plausible start to the game! As for motivation; I think maybe a good motivation would be for him to either find the friends that Vanny mentioned in the trailer of the game, or at least to find out what happened to them.

•Point Two; “He comes off as really a not normal/disturbed kid”

Response: As bad as that may look to some who may read this, the “disturbed” part more specifically, let me clarify on that. When talking about Gregory, Salt mentioned in how two of the endings Gregory killed Vanessa and how he goes out of his way to actively destroy the animatronics for upgrades for Freddy. With the Vanessa killings - to be fair, it can be argued that she was trying to kill him and in one of the endings - it was Freddy that did it, not Gregory. The Disassembling Vanny Ending can be put into question though since I think at that point they’d know Vanny was at least human? I can’t recall it too well - then again, this ending can be put into debate with the RUIN DLC and Gregory had drawn those endings as comics so they could not be canon? So this kids probably got a really well…A really creative imagination. As for destroying the others, that can be understandable too to an extent. While yes, you can make the argument that Gregory was only trying to protect himself from animatronics that were ACTIVELY trying to kill him, it doesn’t make much sense as to why he’d suddenly start actively upgrade Freddy using their body parts? Like even in the sense of progressing in the game it makes no sense unless you want to achieve certain endings, but asides from that? Not a lick of sense is made from it.

Compared to Cassie too, we didn’t really see him express much guilt or regret when doing it- only with Freddy. Cassie didn’t even do anything to the animatronics and she still felt bad for them, even giving Chica back her voice box when she gets the chance! It’s clear that both of these children loved the Pizza Plex or at least the characters in them - so it’s pretty interesting such contradicting reactions side by side. Given his lack of empathy and active pursue of destroying the animatronics and how he lied to Freddy about how he got them, it can be seen as at least a little bit off putting.

•Point Three; “Gregory doesn’t treat Glamrock Freddy like he is his favourite”

Response; Now, as much as I am a sucker for the trope, I can’t argue that it’s not invalid. In the game it more so looks as if Glamrock Freddy just blindly follows Gregory and doesn’t put much question into the choices Gregory makes, and Gregory vice versa isn’t really all that nice to Glamrock Freddy? It doesn’t really change that much throughout the game either. Like I’m not trying to say Gregory should have been an absolute saint, you CAN have kid characters that are total brats, little shits, absolute spawns, not all kids are gonna be saints, but what I am saying is that we should have at least gotten to have more of a slow burn of Gregory beginning to slowly open up and be more attached to Glamrock Freddy and express it more, even if albeit stubbornly. In turn, Glamrock Freddy would have acted more like a stern but kind guiding hand and not just blindly following Gregory and not responding negatively to anything. That’s just unrealistic. Especially in the cases of Gregory disemboweling the closest thing Glamrock Freddy has to family. Security Breach as a whole really lacked that character depth or development. Salt gave the idea of maybe at some points throughout the game GlamrockFreddy would fight Gregory some Freddy merch, perhaps a pin or teddy and while Gregory admittedly says he doesn’t want it, he keeps it regardless.

Okay, that’s all of them for now. Thanks to Salty again for the conversation as I genuinely do enjoy it! While I don’t neither hate Gregory, I don’t absolutely adore him either. I’m more so attached to the fanon version of Gregory more then anything - the ones that depict him as more of just a stubborn, bratty kid that’s just really scared and trying to survive. THAT is the Gregory I’m more attached to if anything, I will admit that he was somewhat redeemed in RUIN DLC, if SteelWool plans on using him for future stories, they’re definitely going to have to do some major workshopping on his character.

But anyways- that’s all I’ve got for today, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk! Hope ya’ll enjoyed it, feel free to have a discussion in the comments, but do not have it turn into a argument k? This is not meant as a means to start arguments, but simply just a topic I wanted to delve into thanks to a friend of mine, let’s not turn it into something it isn’t!

[ausetkmt]

A white gunman fatally shot three Black people in hate-motivated shooting at a Dollar General retailer in Jacksonville, Florida, on Saturday afternoon, Sheriff T.K. Waters said.

"This shooting was racially motivated, and he hated Black people," the sheriff said at a news conference. "He wanted to kill n------."

The shooter, who wore a tactical vest and was armed with an AR-style rifle and Glock handgun, had left messages for his parents, the media, and federal law enforcement officials detailing racial hatred, Waters said. The firearms were marked in white pen with swastikas.

“This was, quite frankly, a maniac who decided he wanted to take lives,” Waters said. “He targeted a certain group a people, and that’s Black people, that’s what he said he wanted to kill. And that’s very clear.”

“Any member of that race at that time was in danger — of the Black race,” he added.

The FBI has opened a federal civil rights investigation and is investigating the shooting as hate crime.

The shooting came two days before the 60th anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, and on the same day thousands celebrated the anniversary in a march in the nation's capital.

It also came five years to the date of a mass shooting at a video gaming event in Jacksonville.

Law enforcement officials have not identified the victims — two males and one female — or shooter, who was in his early 20s.

The "AR-style" rifle, or a long gun in the style of the AR-15, is commonly used in mass shootings.

Florida Governor and presidential candidate Ron DeSantis, who was campaigning in Iowa, said, “this shooting, based on the manifesto that they discovered from the scumbag that did this, was racially motivated."

"This guy killed himself rather than face the music and accept responsibility for his actions," he said, adding condolences to the families who lost loved ones. “And so he took the coward’s way out. But we condemn what happened in the strongest possible terms.”

The shooter lived in nearby Clay County with his parents, Waters said, and has had previous interactions with law enforcement.

In 2016 he was involved in a call about a domestic disturbance, which resulted in no arrests. In 2017, he was subject to the Baker Act, which the Florida court system says is when someone is given "emergency services and temporary detention for up to 72 hours for mental health examination" if the person is believed to be mentally unstable and a potential harm to themself or others.

The shooter left Clay County around 11:39 a.m. and headed to Jacksonville. At 1:18 p.m. he texted his father and told him to look on his computer, Waters said.

At 1:53 p.m. the shooter's family called the Clay County Sheriff's Office — but by that time, Waters said, he has already began shooting at the Dollar General store on Kings Road and Canal Street.

The three messages the shooter left, Waters said, detailed "a disgusting ideology of hate."

Waters said there's no evidence the shooter is part of a group and that he acted alone.

"We are heartbroken by the senseless act of violence that occurred at our Kings Road store in Jacksonville, Florida today," Dollar General said. "At this time, supporting our Jacksonville employees and the DG family impacted by this tragedy is a top priority as we work closely with law enforcement."

Nearby Edward Waters University, a historically Black college, issued a "stay in place" order for the campus Saturday, and said authorities have checked all campus facilities.

The school said there was no preliminary indication the shooting involved students, faculty or staff.

[florasearle]

David Wilson

Wilson is an art director

Inspired by Sugar Water music video-I’ve seen this!

Studied illustration at Brighton originally

Project for uni was an astronaut mockumentary where he made the costume - Life As An Independent Astronaut

Used one of Metronomy songs for his final piece - this video gave him his first commission after uni. Knew one of bands girlfriends. Now intertwined in each others lives. The animation was drawn individually on paper and cut out on photoshop. Just worked with what he could do.

Blink and Partisan- were cool companies

Doogle Wilson director

YCN- an illustrative version of D&AD. Brief was to create a response under 4 minutes. Zoetrope - sat with a record player and drew 16 drawings around record. Won him best budget music video award

Life is like a rollercoaster-it’s more like a line at a theme park. He just is showing us the rollercoaster parts. Most of it is leaning into and pushing.

It’s all in the preparation for these types of project

Artic Monkeys-wanted visuals for their track Do I Wanna Know? Wanted animation similar to their album cover. First went to directors of Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared but they were too busy. He drew the storyboards and had a team of animators to create the animation.

Arcade Fire music video, featured Andrew Garfield

Did commercial works in-between, such as Rowse Honey

Royal Blood music video

Retro Futurist Daddies-played with AI over his break. What the world be like with masculine gay men who are seen as an important part of society. Gay imagery is shown as cinematic and not underground

Still does scrap drawings and uses his illustration degree

Pulls references from music videos he likes

Also showed us the Mastoor video without the visual effects

Deep Clean music video

When starting music videos they pitched endlessly for years to get their ideas accepted (talking of creators of everything everywhere all at once whose ideas all got rejected). Made music video for Sleigh Bells band.

Created advert for Facebook. Based around the idea of small business and the tool to personalise ideas

Artists Way- 12 week course where it recovers artistic burnout. Recommend doing it as a group or with a friend to help motivate.

Important to be real in this profession. Everyone should be communicating their bad days to each other.

Shooting animatics like in Mastoor really helps

Encourage other creatives to advance ideas

Fuck the system

What are the thought processes to taking risks?:

Usually pushing against something - subversive to the brief (makes it exciting to him)

Breaking things is a brand he has made for himself

Bigger risks of the Deep Clean-seeing what was happening to the appropriation of queer culture. Anything overtly sexual within this community is often rejected-leather culture, cabaret culture. This got him riled up and passionate about the project. In his he’s making peace with the world, not taking risks

Narratives aren’t chronologically based, how does he storyboard these ideas, such as in Artic Monkeys music video

Going back to his foundation course and and an excise he was taught. Taking lots of A4 sheets of paper and folding them up 3/4 times so you get a row of 8 set a timer and draw in each of these frames. They had a brief of drag racing and sexy girls but it was a stream of consciousness.

Be your own AI machine.

How does he merge a visual together?

Directors Daniel Wolf will shoot shoot shoot with various cameras and figure it out in the edit

Wilson was taught how to structure his work through being with Doogle Wilson who would meticulously storyboard everything

Every second on set is money and so time is a pressure, storyboards help but it’s also important for some leeway to help actors/dancers etc

Eliminates the unknown before he spends money

Uses anyone around to help visualise camera sequences

Networking is the most powerful tool you can have

Did music video for The Maccabees

Being a creative doesn’t get easier

Don’t imitate other people

This talk was really inspiring as a person whose only skills reside in illustration, often feeling constricted in my abilities to expand beyond what I want to do and feeling limited by what I am able to do. I have always felt to be a person with ideas but without the means of execution. Wilson talked of how his ideas are given to people with the technical knowledge to execute them and this has reassured me in my future career. Though I may not be able to pursue this as a career, due to my lack of technical knowledge, it was inspiring to see how someone could use their visions as a career.

[kdmglobal]

KDM Global is a well-known producer, supplier, and exporter of lab testing equipment, air pollution instruments, dust monitoring equipment, and pollution monitoring equipment at the best prices in Delhi NCR, India.

The business has been able to establish a solid foundation in this cutthroat sector because to the unwavering determination and passion of our mentor Mr.Mayank. We have been motivated to work hard by his consistent inspiration and upbeat attitude.

In manufacturing companies across a wide range of industries, testing has always been a crucial process, with the final product's quality entirely reliant on the type of testing equipment employed. The output drawn from the total production is improved by the equipment's increased accuracy and precision.As a result, KDM Global is acting responsibly for industries who need air pollution monitoring systems, impact testing equipment, bomb calorimeters, humidity chambers, etc. to increase the availability of high-quality testing equipment. Being a producer and wholesaler, we have integrated ourselves into the industry and market that needs the most inventive testing equipment. Our product line for our clients includes customised machines, lab testing equipment, environment testing equipment, and electronic testing equipment.

Equipment for measuring and testing the environment

Our business has had tremendous success by producing and offering a wide range of top-notch environment testing equipments. We offer benzene, mixed, gaseous, fine particulate, high volume air, convenient sampler, and stack monitoring kit in this selection of air pollution monitoring equipment.These are made for a variety of uses, including balances, evaporators, biofuel analyzers, temperature chambers, particle counts, stability chambers, and more. Additionally, temperature and humidity levels can both be tested using environment testing equipment. Our products are renowned for their top performance and extreme durability. available for purchase with a variety of features, patterns, sizes, and forms.

Our Goals and Mission

We entered the market with the intention of developing into a trustworthy source with the mission of raising the standards of testing equipment being offered on the Indian market. To that aim, we are working diligently on R&D and bringing the most affordable items.

• Keep products readily available;

 • Speak with as many people as possible

For more  details contact us:

Website: https://kdmglobal.business.site

Email : saleskdmglobal@gmail.com

Website : https://sites.google.com/view/kdmglobal/home

Contact :8218470498

Follow Us On :

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/testingequipmentkdm

Twitter : https://twitter.com/global_kdm

LinkedIn : https://www.linkedin.com/company/91037160/admin/

YouTube : https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCXSi4eywyPih3FPziTIT5Jg

Pinterest : https://in.pinterest.com/kdmglobaltesting/

Instagram  : https://www.instagram.com/kdmglobalsales/

Tumblr : https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kdmglobal

Flickr : https://www.flickr.com/people/197865063@N04/

Reddit : https://www.reddit.com/user/kdmglobaltesting

Quora : https://www.quora.com/profile/KDM-Global-1

[blockofhoney]

5, 11, and 30?

5 // estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

alright so. i know i try to come across as An Artist but the truth is i barely draw anymore. like at all. i've been on an upswing recently but the majority of the stuff i've managed to do as of late was drawn at work when i had nothing else to do. i do like drawing (most of the time) but getting the motivation to draw is a whole other beast. so i tend to share most of what i draw to try n siphon some more motivation through people’s responses. which. is not always a good idea on tumblr. but it’s whatever

11 // do you listen to anything while drawing? if so, what?

usually!! i listen to a lot of music in general so odds are there's something playing while i'm doodling :) as for what i'm listening to, unless i'm drawing something that has a certain Vibe, i just play whatever music i want to hear that day. for instance i've been listening to a lot of musicals lately!! i Finally watched / listened to the legally blonde musical n Boy is it a Blast!!!! gotta be one of my new favorite musicals :D

30 // what piece of yours do you think is underrated?

MERMAY 2022 DAY 1. god i am So Fucking Bitter that one flopped. granted, it wasn't visibly dsmp-related in that first prompt but i was so hyped for that au n i just. lost All motivation for it b/c it barely got any response. i spent Hours on that painting too. tumblr has its upsides, especially compared to its competition, but holy shit does it really suck for artists if you don't have a big following / followers that rb your shit. n i'm not saying that to make anyone that follows me feel bad- it's your blog, put whatever you want on it. i'm just tired

[pawsitivelymiraculous]

A chat can never have too many flowers (Part 1)

Summary: It's been two years since Hawkmoth was defeated and Adrien left the city he had called home. Now he's back walking through the streets of Paris trying to escape the ghosts he thought he'd moved on from. That is until he bumps into an old friend. Who reminds him of all the good things of his past. Adrien finds himself inexplicably drawn to her and wants to spend time with her. The problem? As far as Marinette knows Chat noir is back in Paris, not Adrien, but it's not like a cat themed superhero buying plants from a random flower shop almost every day would be weird right?

Hi! I have no self control :D so here is a full fic of this idea. I will try to update weekly. Thank you so much @vroomtaka for beta reading and encouraging my crazy ideas! Please let me know what you think! Comments really motivate me to keep writing.

Memories, everywhere he turned Adrien felt a flood of memories wash over him. Some filled him with longing. They reminded him of the happiest days of his life. But those memories were overshadowed by the bad ones. In his eyes he wasn't seeing the beautiful streets of Paris he had grown up in. No, he was seeing the broken city he had fled from. 

Two years had passed, Paris had healed, its citizens had moved on. Still, now that he was back Adrien realized that he hadn't, not completely. He'd be left behind with the ghosts and remains of what had happened on that fateful day.

~~~

"Plagg claws out!"

Chat didn't want to think that by transforming he was running away again. But just walking down a Parisian street was getting overwhelming. Vaulting from rooftop to rooftop had always helped him clear his head. Besides, it would be easier to find Ladybug that way. 

Before he left, Ladybug wanted for them to reveal their identities, something that Chat realized would have been very useful for him now that he wanted to find her, but back then he had been the one to refuse. Which had surprised Ladybug, since he was usually the one who wanted desperately for them to reveal their identities. 

But after Hawkmoth's defeat, he felt ashamed. Ashamed of literally living under the same roof as the villain they had been fighting for years and never suspecting a thing. Ashamed of almost falling for his father's trick sand helping him get his mother back. Ladybug could never find out who he was because Chat knew that she would be disappointed in him, and that thought alone hurt worse than his father's betrayal.

Chat stopped at one of the rooftops when he realized that he didn't have much of a plan. Wandering around wouldn't really help much if she wasn't on patrol. So he took out his baton and called his lady. 

Unsurprisingly, she didn't pick up, but Chat figured a voicemail would probably be his best bet to find her. "Heyyy bugaboo," he said. He paused as the nostalgia hit him. God, he really missed the old days.   

After taking a deep breath, he continued "I just wanted to let you know that I'm back in town so if you want to meet up and catch up let me know! You know where to find me." Chat hung up and prayed that she would remember their special place.

Once he put away his baton, Chat realized that he now had another problem. He needed to find a way to kill time until Ladybug responded. He really did not want to continue his trip down memory lane, and he didn't want to bother Nino since they were going to meet the day after. So he didn't really have much to do. 

Chat was starting to contemplate the idea of just sitting on the rooftop until he got a response when something caught his eye. Just diagonally from the building where he was standing, there was a flower shop. It was perfect! He could find Ladybug a gift while he waited for her response!

With newfound enthusiasm, he grabbed his baton and lowered himself to the ground. Then he headed towards the flower shop. 

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette took a step back to examine her handiwork. She was in charge of redecorating the storefront of the flower shop, which was one of her favorite tasks of her job. She had to make sure that all the hanging flower pots looked even and with a healthy mix of colors. Change the flowers of the bicycle prop, this time to a beautiful basket of multicolored tulips. As well as make new bows to go with it.

There were also flowers and succulents lined up neatly in some upside-down wooden crates surrounding the bicycle. The only thing missing were the small chalkboard signs that stated the prices. So Marinette went inside the shop to get them.

She stopped for a moment when a new bunch of carnations caught her eye. Immediately an image of a beautiful red dress came to her mind. 

That was another thing she loved about her job. Not only did it pay for her design career, but it was also a source of endless inspiration for her designs. She was already thinking of the fabric she could use when she heard someone clear their throat.

"Mmm Marinette?"

Marinette quickly snapped away from her thoughts feeling embarrassed that she had gotten distracted again. A sketch of the dress would have to wait for later. The signs were more important at that moment. 

"Sorry," Marinette said sheepishly to her coworker Michelle. 

Michelle was the owner's niece. She was doing a music major and had become one of Marinette's closest friends after working together for almost a year. Michelle laughed. "It's fine Mari! I know how you get when you get inspired. Though I'll never understand how you can see a sad little flower, and make a whole outfit out of it."

Marinette giggled. "If your aunt hears you talking about flowers like that she's going to fire you."

Michelle made a face. "She can try."

Marinette grinned, she wasn't wrong. Despite all the things Michelle pulled, her aunt didn't do much other than laugh and threaten to kick her out.

Once again Marinette remembered the reason she was there. "Hey, have you seen the chalkboard signs?" She asked.

Michelle nodded. "Yep! They are in the back inside a plastic bin next to the extra flower pots."

Marinette thanked her and went to the back. Sure enough, they were in the exact spot Michelle had described. Marinette grabbed a box of chalk and placed it on top of the bin. Then she picked it up and headed towards the door.

Unfortunately, trying to hold the box and open the door at the same time proved to be a horrible idea, because Marinette didn't notice the person on the other side of the door until she crashed into him. The box of chalk went flying as Marinette struggled to catch her balance.

Then she heard an all too familiar voice say. "Whoopsie Daisy." Immediately Marinette's head snapped towards the source of the voice.

Marinette's breath caught as she saw the man she had bumped into. Startled blue eyes met wide green ones as Marinette gasped. "Cha- Chat Noir?"

I will be making a tag list for this so let me know If you want to be added

 ~♡~♡~♡~ Permanent Tag List ~♡~♡~♡~ 

(If you want to be added please let me know)

@charme-de-malchan , @theatreandcomicfreak , @m3owww , @elliebelliegirl , @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha , @t1dwarrior-of-earth , @waffleyunsure , @technicallyburninggarden , @azuremayscarlet , @vroomtaka , @emistar0 , @ichigorose , @maskedpainter , @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry , @alysrose-starchild , @jayjayspixiepop , @abrx2002 ,  @nathleigh , @icerosecrystal , @jumpingjoy82, @adrestar , @toodaloo-kangaroo , @animegirlweeb , @bakergirl13 @unoriginalmess

[kinda-iconic]

Untitled D&D WIP

Just a little drabble (400+ words) of the next fic in my D&D series; hope to write more tomorrow, but it currently 11:40 and my brain needs a bit of a break.

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @princess-geek - if anyone else would like to be tagged in future instalments, please do not hesitate to let me know!

NOTE: This is a longer extract then I'd normally post, as I thought that it would be nice to post a little more this time - I rarely ever get the time/motivation to write anymore :( Hope you enjoy!

TW: Mentions of drinking

Luke meanders over to the fireplace, holding a dainty glass of bourbon in his outstretched palm. He tilts his head towards the spirit, his expression unreadable.

‘I know it is not much,’ he admits, carefully pondering the appropriateness of his following admission, ‘but I thought that it would be best not to supply you with too much whiskey should the Doctor need to discuss anything with you.’

Ernest takes the glass from him, bowing his head in quiet appreciation.

‘Is that something that you have decided upon yourself, or did the others influence that decision?’

When he is met with no immediate reply, he shakes his head, a despondent sigh escaping his lips.

‘The amount I drink is no concern of yours, nor should it have ever been a talking point for your gossip.’

‘Forgive me, Sir,’ Luke appears hesitant, aware as to the severity of Ernest’s emotional state, ‘but we had no choice but to discuss it.’

‘My,’ Ernest retorts, his response almost sarcastic, ‘has the rumour mill already run dry?’

He downs the contents of his glass without pause, heading over to the decanter; his brows furrow in concentration as he fixes himself another drink. He takes a swig, only turning to face Luke once his second glass is almost fully depleted.

‘I am sorry that you have drawn the short straw tonight, Mr Harper,’ his tone is hollow, his words laden with defeat, ‘I am not exactly what one would call ‘pleasant’ company right now.’

Luke frowns, ‘that is not true in the slightest.’

‘You were previously close to referring to me as a drunkard.’

‘We are worried about you,’ Luke takes another step towards to his counterpart, yet choosing to remain at a respectable distance, ‘if ever you would like anyone to step in and look after Mary or sit at Amelia’s bedside-‘

‘I have no desire for either,’ he stops himself short, giving in to his frustration, ‘I will take care of my family. They are my responsibility,’ Ernest takes one last sip of his drink, the glass shaking slightly in his grasp as he forcefully slams it onto the table, ‘I’ll be damned if anyone else shoulders that.’

‘You need rest, Ernest,’ Luke approaches cautiously, placing a comforting hand on Ernest’s arm, ‘you have not slept since Amelia delivered, neither have you been eating properly.’ He replaces the lid on the decanter, holding it by its neck before moving it elsewhere, ‘I can go and ask Briar or one of the kitchen maids if they could prepare-‘

‘I will eat when my wife is well and not a moment before.’