#he just needs an enforcer on the ground that not afraid to her her hands dirty…

[leviackermanstoes]

Girl, your stories are so GOOD! I love reading your fics. I just saw you may be taking fics for Jayce or Viktor. Is there any way I could request a Jayce x Viktor x Reader fic where the reader is very naturing, cuddly, and gentle with both of them, but maybe she hides all her stress and struggles cause she deems theirs more important? Like, she always knows when they want coffee, how they each take it, covers them up when the lab is cold or they pass out at the desk, rubs their shoulders when she sees them shrug too much, just very attentive. Yet, she’s not a scientist and thinks that being stressed over literature projects and teaching is ridiculous cause it’s not as difficult or as important (in her mind) as hextech. So she just ignores her needs until these two notice.

I’m so sorry if that is too much! I hope you enjoy the third act when it comes out. Thank you so much for reading this! 🩶

OH ABSOLUTELY I CAN DO THIS. 😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND LIKING MY STORIES IT MEANS SO MUCH.

--fem reader. Fluff. Small sad. Angst if you squint. Cute throuple time.

--

The laboratory is cold, and the rain that batters piltover decorates the window like glass tears. Your eyes droop tiredly as you watched viktor twist the cogs in the next hextech project and listen to the sound of slow puffs of steam every few minutes that came from brass pipes on the walls.

Jayce is unmoving as he sits at his own desk, sorting through two stacks of papers. You hate it, hate watching them so vulnerable and so tired. Both are so hard-working and loyal to their studies.

"Allow me to help you both," you spoke as you stood up.

Reaching for two soft blue blankets stored in the corner, you walked firstly to jayce and draped the blanket across his shoulders and gave his cheek a soft kiss.

"I can't have my boys going cold now, can I?"

You spoke as you walked to viktor to drape a blanket across his much more lean shoulders, kissing his cheek, too. Viktor looked up at you and smiled tiredly.

"Thank you, my love." it never failed to make your heart flutter hearing viktor call you that, especially when his accent made it so smooth and endearing.

"Are you staying with us tonight?" Jayce spun in his chair, leaning an arm on his knee.

"I um" you cleared your throat.

The truth was, you had things to do. Your own assignments and activities to tend to. But viktor and jayce's eyes were gleaming deep brown in the dim laboratory light and so often you found yourself missing them when they would make you go to bed without them because they were afraid you would pass out after spending so long with them doing work.

"I have no where to be"

Paperwork

Documents

Assignments

Blueprints

Papers

Papers papers pap-

"No," you shook your head. "I have nowhere to be"

You smiled as you walked over to stand by the window, viktor and jayce came to stand on either side of you. The rain still pounded the glass, crystal city and enforcers were hounded the soaking streets each night, like a herd of elephants stampeding with metal boots.

"You need not worry about what's happening down there." Jayce put his hand on your shoulder.

Viktor turned his head to you. "It is not our worry, my love" he spoke ever so softly.

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, as you thought over so much.

"You both must be hungry," you stated.

You stepped away from them both before you walked over to the door. You would make them cups of hot tea and nice warm soup. bread and butter.

"Stop right there, doll" Jayce spoke loudly.

You froze and turned around to see jayce holding up your textbook. You gasped and realised they had indeed caught you.

"When were you going to tell us you had assignments to do?" Jayce asked.

Viktor turned around to face you, his head tilted. You looked at the ground defeated before them, and began to cry.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you both. I was so entranced with helping you with your dreams that I forgot about my own, " you frowned and sighed.

The two of them walked over to you and hugged you tightly. If they had known you were in such troubles, they would have chained you to the table and glued a pencil in your hand.

"I love you both so much, and I'm so sorry that kept it from you." .You looked at them with gentle and sorrowful eyes.

"You need not be sorry. But It's time to start taking care of yourself, my love. " viktor held you close to him

You nodded, making them both smile admiringly.

"We love you, pretty girl"

You gave them both soft kisses to their lips and smiled. "You know I'm still going to take care of you both"

They were your boys. And even if you were working every day and night on your own papers, you would find ways to still make sure they had their breakfast lunch and dinner and were always hydrated and healthy. You loved them both dearly and they too loved you too.

"If I find out you aren't focusing on yourself, I'll take back my promise to buy cupcakes" Viktor spoke.

Not only did you gasp. But beside you, the man of progress did too.

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (14)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Word Count: 3.5k

Im back, but will dive right back into hibernation lol. It was supposed to snow these last 2 days and sadly it didnt hit my side (Texas baby) and i am so upset- i got to see snowfall again after YEARS and me loving nature i cried lol. But enjoy!

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A few days later, your injuries behind you, you found yourself padding through the polished corridors of Piltover’s grand tower. This was Caitlyn’s section, her domain. The enforcers posted at regular intervals straightened at your approach, their eyes flicking toward the scars still faintly visible beneath your shirt, and you offered them polite nods in return. Their expressions held a new measure of respect, perhaps even awe; so much had transpired in so little time.

When you reached the doors to Caitlyn’s office, you gently rapped your knuckles against the polished wood, then slipped inside. She was already mid-conversation with a man you’d never seen before—pressed suit, serious features, and a briefcase clutched in one hand. Tension radiated in the space. Caitlyn looked livid, her jaw set tight as she spoke in clipped tones.

“…I need legal grounds to act,” she was saying. “I won’t jeopardize what we’ve built, but I will not let Mel roam free any longer.”

The man exhaled slowly, turning as you entered. You saw Caitlyn’s eyes soften slightly the moment she noticed you. You approached her, circling an arm around her waist in a gentle but public display of unity, and glanced questioningly at the briefcase man.

He introduced himself formally, explaining, “I’m assisting Commander Kiramman in bringing Mel to justice. But, ah, I’m afraid nothing can be done until… the wedding happens.” His voice wavered at the last part, anticipating your reaction. “Once the vows are official and there are witnesses, your status changes legally and strengthens our case. Until then, our hands are tied.”

You felt a swell of annoyance, rolling your eyes at the formality. “I see,” you muttered.

Caitlyn’s composure snapped back into place. She squared her shoulders, and that familiar Commander presence filled the room. “You have your orders, then,” she said curtly, her voice a razor’s edge. “Make the arrangements. I want every legal thread in place. I won’t tolerate any slip-ups.”

The man gave a clipped nod, gathering his papers and briefcase. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, before stepping out.

Caitlyn watched him go, then let out a ragged breath. Instantly, you pulled her closer, one arm still around her waist as you tilted your head to press a kiss against her temple. She melted, tension easing from her shoulders.

She caught your gaze, worry etched across her features. “I’m sorry about all this,” she whispered, voice so unlike her usual commanding tone. “I know it’s a mess. But after everything… I want you safe. Really safe. And I won’t let Mel walk free to threaten you, Jinx, or anyone ever again.”

You shook your head, letting your forehead briefly rest against hers. “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I’m alive—glad we’re here. Mel can stay away forever, for all I care.”

Caitlyn’s eyes darkened. “No. That’s not enough for me. She abducted you, tortured you… threatened our future. I refuse to let her slip away without consequence. I’ve never felt this way—this protective—about anyone. And now there’s you, Jinx, Isha… This is my life. I’d risk everything—my rank, my position, everything we built—to keep all of you safe.”

Her voice cracked at the end, trembling with emotion. You cupped her cheek, your thumb brushing over her skin. “And we’ll deal with it,” you assured her. “I trust you.”

She exhaled, leaning into your touch. You felt her trembling slightly. In that raw openness, you wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, fingers tangling in her hair that had come undone from its usual ponytail. Her breath hitched, and you hummed a soft, comforting sound, feeling the frantic beat of her heart begin to steady.

After a moment, she pulled away gently, giving you a tender look. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, her voice still thick with emotion. “I wanted to show you some flowers in the tower’s garden—see if there’s anything you’d like for the… wedding.” Her cheeks colored at the word, but she bravely held your gaze.

You flashed a wry smile. “Are we sure Jinx wants flowers? She might prefer bombs and glitter.”

A hint of laughter crinkled her eyes. “We’ll compromise,” she said, stepping back and straightening her uniform. “Come on.”

The two of you left her office, walking side by side through the tower until you reached the skybridge leading to the gardens. The air here was fresher, a gentle breeze brushing past. But halfway across, you tensed: Mel was there, flanked by a small unit of her personal guards. They caught sight of you and Caitlyn at the same moment you saw them.

Mel’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile as she drank in the sight of you. You felt Caitlyn stiffen, fury emanating from her. Mel took a small step back, her eyes never leaving your form, the desire in her gaze as potent and unnerving as ever.

Caitlyn lunged forward, her face contorting with rage, but you quickly wrapped your arms around her waist from behind, restraining her. “Caitlyn, don’t—” you hissed urgently.

Mel’s expression was calm, almost amused, though the tension among her soldiers was palpable. They shifted, weapons half-drawn. Caitlyn’s enforcers rushed forward, forming ranks at the foot of the skybridge, ready to defend her.

“You,” Caitlyn spat, voice cutting through the air. “Abducted them. Tortured them. Tried to ruin everything we’ve built. You’re lucky I’m using the law first, or Jinx and I would make you pay in blood.”

Mel arched an eyebrow, smirk slipping into place. “So I’ve heard,” she purred. “A wedding, is it? How… quaint. I wonder how Piltover itself will react once they realize their stoic Commander has tied herself to a—” She paused, letting her gaze drift meaningfully to you, then back to Caitlyn. “Never mind. Congratulations, my dear.”

You could feel the tremor in Caitlyn’s body, her desire to rip free and attack. Her strength rose, nearly prying your arms off her. It startled you; you had to muster that advanced shimmer-fueled power in your veins to hold her back. “Easy,” you murmured, eyes still locked on Mel.

Mel’s eyes flicked to you, locking onto your arm around Caitlyn’s waist. “I see you’re healing,” she remarked with a sinister calm. “No matter what I did to you, you come back stronger. I admire that. Perhaps one day you’ll realize we belong on the same side.”

The statement chilled you, stirring that old rage. But you forced your voice to remain level. “Don’t try anything until everything’s in place—legally.” You caught her gaze, letting her see the quiet fury in your eyes. “You know exactly what I’m capable of now that I’m free. And trust me, if you make one wrong move, you won’t get to enjoy the chaos you crave.”

Mel smirked, but her stance betrayed a flicker of caution. “I’m not here to fight,” she insisted in a measured tone, raising her hands slightly to calm her soldiers. “A war would tear Piltover apart, after all… something I hear you’d hate to see.”

Caitlyn’s breath hissed between her teeth, and she snapped, “You’d start a war if it meant controlling them. You can’t accept that they’re beyond your reach now.”

Mel took a single step closer, eyes dancing with dark amusement. “We’ll see.”

You carefully released Caitlyn, stepping in front of her and letting your own presence bleed intimidation into the air. Her soldiers tensed at your motion, but they recognized you. Fear licked at the corners of their resolve.

“I’m no longer chained in your dungeon,” you said calmly, eyes boring into Mel’s. “And I carry a new rage I’m not afraid to unleash. If that happens, your name, your face, your entire army will be wiped from the face of the earth—Piltover and Zaun included.”

A hush fell over the skybridge. Enforcers and Mel’s soldiers alike glanced at each other nervously. Mel herself maintained her poise, but you saw it—the faint flicker of something like fear in her gaze.

Caitlyn parted her lips, a barrage of threats on the tip of her tongue, but you felt her hand tremble against yours. You squeezed it gently, a silent reminder that this needed to remain words, not bloodshed—yet.

Mel exhaled softly, turning to her soldiers. “Let’s go,” she commanded, giving Caitlyn one last mocking half-smile. “Until next time, dear Commander.”

She and her unit withdrew, the tension lifting only when they’d fully vanished into the distant corridors. The hush was heavy as you and Caitlyn remained on the skybridge, your heart hammering, your blood blazing with adrenaline.

Caitlyn leaned against you, the fury in her posture slowly dissolving. “This isn’t over,” she whispered, but her voice was calmer now, resolved.

You nodded, casting a final glance down the empty passage where Mel had disappeared. “No,” you agreed, voice gravelly with intensity. “Not by a long shot.”

With that, you turned together, guiding Caitlyn away from the confrontation. There would be more battles to come, more nights of endless strategy and tension. But for now, the city’s lights glimmered around you—a testament to all you had fought for, and all you still had to protect.

You were in the cluttered comfort of your work area, sorting through gears, ribbons, and tiny shimmering baubles you’d collected in hopes of crafting a strange, mismatched bouquet for Jinx—something that felt like her rather than the typical flowers. The hum of a single lamp illuminated the pieces, and you hummed to yourself, losing track of time as you combined metal bits and bright ribbons into a small homage of your affection.

The door swung open without a knock, drawing your focus. Jinx stood in the doorway, her lean form draped in shadows. Her eyes glittered in the low light. You smiled at her, greeting her name in a warm rush—only to feel the atmosphere drop several degrees when she stepped closer, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your little run-in with Mel?” Jinx’s voice was deceptively calm, a dangerous edge lurking underneath. Something coiled within you, the same dread you felt whenever she was on the cusp of real anger. You swallowed, fumbling for an explanation.

“I… meant to, but—”

The rest of your words were swallowed when she moved in, swift and practiced, pinning you lightly against the workbench. Your back pressed into a half-finished contraption, and you stilled, uncertain. Surprised more by how controlled she was rather than openly furious. She stared you down, her eyes making you feel small and, if you were honest, a little thrilled at her intensity. You breathed shallowly, waiting, until she spoke again.

“You don’t keep things like that from me,” she whispered, leaning in until you could feel the warmth of her breath against your face. “You and Caitlyn matter to me. I won’t have either of you getting hurt without me knowing. If you hide something—anything—I’ll handle it. My way.” Her gaze bored into yours, reading every flicker of emotion. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding.

Jinx’s fingers found your chin, nudging your face down to maintain eye contact. “You’re my lover,” she said, voice thick with promise, “before you’re anyone’s hero. Don’t forget that.” You parted your lips, the quiet desire stirring in your chest, leaning in for a kiss. But her grip tightened just enough to guide your mouth away, denying you. A smirk ghosted across her lips, and you could almost taste the tease on the tip of her tongue.

She stepped back as smoothly as she’d approached, leaving you momentarily unmoored. “That’s your punishment,” she purred, amusement dancing in her eyes. A swirl of her hips brushed away from you, an unapologetic display of confidence as she strode toward the door. She turned back, waving a plain envelope that bore both your name and Caitlyn’s in looping script.

“Cute how your last name looks next to ours,” Jinx called, a giggle threaded through her words, then slipped out the room. You stood there, mind spinning, the half-finished metal bouquet still clutched in your shaking hands, uncertain whether to laugh or catch your breath first.

You followed Jinx into the hall, your footsteps soft against the metal floor as you tried to catch up. She didn’t make it easy, glancing back every time you inched closer only to flick her wrist and slip her hand away from yours. You frowned, pouting in that faintly dramatic way you knew might soften her demeanor—but she was in no mood to oblige immediately.

Finally, you managed to close the gap, your voice low and earnest. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, sounding a touch exasperated with yourself. “Really. I… I just didn’t want things to escalate further with Mel. You know how Caitlyn can be when she’s angry. I’ve never seen her that furious in my life.”

Jinx paused, turning on her heel so suddenly you nearly bumped into her. She was smaller than you but still exuded that fierce, contained power. She leaned in, her voice a hush. “Prove it.”

Your heart stuttered at the challenge in her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, you slid an arm around her waist, drawing her close. “I’m sorry,” you said, quieter this time, letting each word fall from your lips with weight and sincerity. “But you know we’re walking a thin line. One wrong move, and Mel’ll have cause to start a war none of us are ready for. And after seeing Caitlyn almost lose it…” You sighed, shaking your head at the memory. “She was at her breaking point. I couldn’t add to that.”

Jinx watched you, her gaze unreadable for a moment. Then her lips quirked into something mischievous. “You’ve gotten so soft,” she teased, though her voice held a fondness behind the jab.

You feigned a hurt expression, pressing your forehead lightly against hers. “Soft?” you echoed, sliding your free hand along her cheek and trailing light kisses from her temple down to the corner of her jaw. She gasped softly at first, but her lips curved into a shy smile. Your voice dipped lower. “I’m only saving my rage for when it’s really needed. Mel’s going to see it eventually—she won’t give us much choice. But right now, I have you, Caitlyn, and Isha to look after… I can’t leave you again.”

Jinx tilted her head back enough to meet your eyes. Her gaze flickered with that faint glow of purple you recognized in both of you when emotions ran high—an echo of the shimmer that pulsed through your veins. She drew in a slow breath, and a softness replaced her earlier tough stance. “I’m really glad I found you that day,” she murmured, referencing that moment of chaos when you first crossed paths, Garrett’s face meeting your fist. A small, fond grin tugged at her lips. “You punching that idiot was the best thing that happened to me.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “I had no idea it’d lead to all… this,” you admitted, the corners of your eyes crinkling in amusement.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, standing there under the flickering overhead light. Jinx’s eyes flicked between your pupils, reading the depths of your soul. Then, quietly, she broke the silence. “I love you,” she whispered, so softly you almost believed you misheard. But the sincerity in her gaze—her voice trembling just so—made it undeniable.

A gentle ache filled your chest, a warmth pressing behind your ribs. You let your hand drift up into her hair, pulling her close enough for your lips to meet. The kiss was slow, purposeful, a silent testament to everything you both had endured. And in that moment, the world shrank until it was only you and Jinx, hearts throbbing in sync.

When you drew back, your foreheads touched, and the sting of tears pricked at your eyes. “I love you, too,” you murmured, speaking the words plainly and clearly for her ears alone. Nothing else needed to be said—the two of you simply breathed, letting that confession take root in the hush of the corridor.

The rhythmic click and clang of metal against metal filled the warm air of your little workspace as you carefully attached the final piece to one of your metal “flowers.” The creation was equal parts eccentric and lovely—a reflection of Jinx’s influence, no doubt. You’d gone ahead and made two bouquets: one for Caitlyn, one for Jinx. Each trinket “petal” was shaped from painted gears or shaped scraps of steel, creating a bizarre but charming bouquet.

You looked up from the workbench as the door clicked open. Caitlyn stepped inside, her hand resting gently on Isha’s shoulder. The little girl’s eyes instantly fell on the glimmering trinkets, but Caitlyn’s fell on you. A warm smile curved her lips.

“I never realized just how creative you could be,” Caitlyn teased softly, crossing the room.

You shrugged, lifting your goggles off your forehead and letting them rest around your neck. “All thanks to your partner in crime,” you joked, nodding at Jinx napping on the couch, half-shadowed by the open balcony door.

Isha, though, had other plans. She darted across the room with surprising stealth, launching herself onto Jinx’s lap. A small noise of alarm escaped Jinx as she jolted awake. “Kid!” Jinx yelped, bleary-eyed, but the surprise faded quickly into a sheepish laugh. She held Isha close, pressing a playful kiss to the top of the girl’s head.

You let out a low chuckle at their interaction, only to feel a light pressure on your shoulder—Caitlyn leaning in to kiss you. Her lips met yours with a soft familiarity that made your heart lurch in that comforting, welcome way. When she pulled back, her eyes flicked over the half-finished bouquet in your hand. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“I try,” you murmured, smiling. “Besides, Jinx is the real muse behind these metal monstrosities. She’s the one who taught me ‘normal flowers are too boring.’”

Jinx’s voice drifted from behind you, still groggy but amused. “You’re lucky I have good taste,” she said, smirking around another yawn.

Meanwhile, Isha slid off Jinx’s lap, scampering across the room to your workbench. Her wide eyes shone as she studied the trinket ‘flowers.’ You laughed softly and reached for a particularly bright purple one, holding it out to her. Isha’s face lit up like a lantern, and she sprinted back to Jinx, waving the flower in her face in a triumphant display.

While your focus lingered on Isha’s happiness, Caitlyn took advantage of the moment. She slipped into your lap, one arm hooking around your shoulder. You felt the warmth of her body settle against you, the soft brush of her uniform grazing your forearm.

Her voice was a near whisper, meant just for you. “I never saw myself with such a family a few years ago.”

You teased her with a gentle roll of your eyes. “You were pretty invested in your job. ‘Commander Kiramman, the unstoppable law of Piltover’—ring a bell?”

She tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a faint sigh. “I was. Still am, sometimes. But… after we all marry, I’ve been thinking…” Her voice dropped even lower. “I might resign or at least step away from the Commander role.”

Your entire body went rigid with surprise. “What? Caitlyn—no, you’ve worked so hard for that position.”

“It’s just a thought,” she muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth when she saw your alarm. “A fleeting one, maybe. But with everything that’s happened… you, Jinx, Isha. You’re my priority now.”

You shook your head, about to protest further, when Jinx’s mouth pressed a playful kiss to Caitlyn’s temple from behind, her arms circling both you and Caitlyn. She pressed flush against your back, murmuring, “Speaking of priorities, we should go see Vi and Sevika soon. They’ll want in on wedding details.”

You turned, enough to kiss Jinx’s lips in a half-twist. A quiet hum of pleasure escaped your throat. Caitlyn watched the exchange with an indulgent smile—though her cheeks pinkened slightly.

Your impromptu make-out session was cut short by a tug on your shirt from below—Isha, pointing at an unpainted gear near the base of the latest flower. You blinked, sheepishly grinning. “I knew I forgot something,” you said, picking up the paintbrush with your free hand.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Lucky the kid’s here to keep you on track,” she teased, heat dancing behind her eyes. “Otherwise I’d punish you for that incomplete job.”

Caitlyn cleared her throat, fussing with her uniform as she tried to disguise the fact that her face had turned a few shades redder. “Don’t get any ideas,” she warned Jinx lightly, though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Jinx just snickered, stepping closer to Caitlyn with an almost predatory look. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like watching me kiss them…”

Caitlyn stiffened, her ears practically steaming. “I—it’s not that, I just—” She stopped, spotting the grin spreading across your face. Rolling her eyes, she glanced away, cheeks aflame.

You could barely suppress your laughter. The moment was so domestic, so absurdly sweet in its own way. This was your life now—full of warmth and teasing, with a bright-eyed child demanding your best, two fierce women protective of your heart, and the promise of a wedding that would seal your family’s unity forever.

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Hope you enjoyed! Sorry- its not proofread :(

[kkskdeaddove]

KKSKDD2025 Wrap-Up (Complete!)

HELLO KAKASAKU DARK FIC LOVERS!

So sorry for the previous post which was incomplete (more coffee was needed this morning). THIS post contains the titles and summaries for all 27 fics that were published for this year's KakaSaku Dead Dove Week 2025. The fics can all be found in this year's AO3 collection.

Please read the tags before checking out the full works. If something is going to make you uncomfortable, don't read it. You are responsible for curating your own fanfiction experience.

Thank you to everyone who participated, encouraged, commented, read, kudosed, and cheered on our amazing creators! Looking forward to future kksk dd events 🖤 Without further ado...

Compatibility level 99.6% by BelleDayNight

Post-war birthrates in Konoha are low. The Fire Daimyo issues an order to boost those numbers. Sakura is part of the science team to create an algorithm to find the most compatible partners amongst the shinobi of Konoha. Soon to be Rokudaime, Kakashi feels obligated to participate in the Daimyo's pairing lottery. He shouldn't ask his people to do something he's not willing to do himself. Kakashi and Sakura are partnered with the highest compatibility score -- they aren't complaining!

Night Watch by xylazine

Kakashi has a suggestion to make time pass more quickly during a long stretch of night watches. Sakura agrees, not quite knowing what she's agreeing to.

Sweet Dreams by Anonymous

He was supposed to be on lookout, watching for any wayward enemies who were unfortunate enough to stumble upon them while they were this far away from civilization. But the sounds of her soft snores drew his attention more than the dark and quiet treeline. 

Tell No Tales by twofortea

The last thing Sakura remembers is stopping by Hokage Tower, and now…

Kakashi's Kunoichi: A Lesson in Piss by rosebrided

She sat up a little straighter. A special lesson? Part of her beamed at the idea of having his sole attention without the others, for once. No Naruto, no Sasuke. Just her and Kakashi-sensei. But whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Not after he caught her red-handed. Kakashi took half a step closer, forcing Sakura to scoot backwards—and collide with a tree. With her back against the trunk and the rough bark digging into her palms, she was trapped. Why was she afraid? She had no reason to be afraid of him. This was only Kakashi-sensei. Team Seven's leader. She trusted him. Or: Sakura tries to catch a glimpse of Sasuke peeing and Kakashi catches her.

Ramen Glory Hole by xylazine

Naruto shows Sakura an exclusive new ramen spot. A confusion of doors leads to something else entirely.

Just Another Hole in the Wall by Anonymous

As always, most of Sakura’s adventures in life began with a push (or a dare, or a threat) from Ino. Traveling to other countries just to explore, rather than run herself into the ground with her work at the hospital? An Ino-enforced idea. Eating spicy food until she built up to the tolerance of a normal person? She and Ino had suffered runny noses and stinging lips together for the duration of a month. Finding herself stuffed halfway through a hole in the wall, waiting on a stranger to pull her legs apart and show her a good time? Sakura didn’t even want to think about the night of drunken admissions and dares that led her to this situation.

The wolf and the lamb by xylazine

Sakura receives a mysterious invitation to the Midnight Masquerade. What surprises await her there?

Dirty Little Secret by MikaOfTheLeaf

Sakura has developed a crush on her Sensei and writes all about her secret desires in a diary. Kakashi has always liked reading, and he's itching to get his hands on that little book she's always toting around.

The Hound's Desire by XXYandereChanXX

Kakashi’s job should have been simple—kill the man who had stolen from Mayor Minato and leave a message for anyone else who thought it was a good idea to cross his boss. A quick, clean job, something that was child’s play for him. But then he met Sakura, the niece of Keitaro Haruno. Kakashi, a seasoned hound for Konoha, had never wanted anything as much as he wanted her. The moment their paths crossed, everything shifted. Her innocence, her strength—it was intoxicating in a way he couldn't quite explain, a draw he couldn’t resist. In all his years of ruthless work, he had never been so consumed by desire, so captivated by someone. Sakura, sweet and unaware, had unknowingly stepped right into his trap. She would never see it coming. Kakashi had carefully constructed every move, every word, every detail—he would have her, and she wouldn’t even realize the danger she was in until it was far too late.

polarization by xylazine 

In need of cash, Sakura signs up for a "sleeping beauty" service. Little does she know the dark path this will lead her down.

In Such Bitter Desire by twofortea

Kakashi wasn’t expecting to go into a sudden rut while out on a mission. Luckily, the ninken have a plan.

disquiet by xylazine

Kakashi's worst nightmare unfolds when he and Sakura are captured by rogue missing-nin.

At Least You’re Alive (You Might as Well Be Useful For Once) by Fusionblitz28

Her hand weaves through his hair until she finds a patch to hold onto and pulls his head backwards towards her face, “You shouldn’t fight so much, it won’t do you any good,” she whispers. “You’re mine now, Sensei. Now Sit.” She uses her chakra to push him down and he tumbles forward, a heap at her feet. Kakashi awaits his death sentence. Instead he becomes a pet under new ownership. He isn't Konoha's bitch anymore. He's Sakura's.

Prisoner of Your Love by arichii98, Koneko_taichou

After being spurned by her long-time love interest, Sakura is through waiting around for him to realize they belong together. They're going to create a life together and be happy. Whether he agrees willingly or not.

fervent by xylazine

An induced rut claws beneath Kakashi's skin and relief comes in an unexpected form.

impartment by xylazine

Duty always comes first. Until Sakura makes a request he's unable to resist.

Kakashi's Lying Kunochi by XXYandereChanXX

Sakura lied all the time—it came as easily as breathing. But she never lied to her teacher...until she did. She shouldn't have done that.

Ravenous by xylazine

Kakashi realizes he views Sakura as more than just a teammate and friend. Only, instead of his words, he takes matters into his own hands. In pretty much the worst way possible.

young and beautiful by twofortea

The next phase of Sakura's training starts now.

revolting by xylazine 

Kakashi dreams about teaching the solider formerly known as Haru a lesson she won't forget.

We've Only Just Begun by MikaOfTheLeaf

After losing everything, Sakura finally has a chance to finally start rebuilding her life when she receives her first mission orders since before the end of the war. It's been months since Sasuke disappeared in the middle of the night again, leaving her and the village behind for a second time. She hasn't seen Kakashi in a year, and she has no idea when she walks back into his life that he's been struggling with his feelings for her ever since he saved her life under the Samurai Bridge years ago. Will she be able to trust herself enough to let him in, or will the damage done by her first heartbreak be too much to overcome?

Fangs Of Passion by XXYandereChanXX

The Hatake clan is said to take only one mate, but what few know is that they recognize them the moment they meet. Kakashi tried to deny it, but when a jutsu caused his kekkei genkai to surge uncontrollably, his instincts took over. There was no escaping the truth anymore—he had to accept it. Hopefully, Sakura could handle the undeniable truth—that she was his.

as desperation takes hold by twofortea

Everything falls apart in seconds.

Sweet Girl by LolaLot

“Kakashi-sensei?” Sakura looked up at him with those same eyes she had when she was twelve and his student. Hungry for guidance, a little scared, but still so sharp. “How far am I supposed to go to help others? How far is too far?” Staring down at her, Kakashi didn’t have an answer. Being a war hero hadn’t saved him, and it wouldn’t save Sakura either. For them, there were no heroes.

Her Soul For Mine by MikaOfTheLeaf

“Promise me,” Tsunade said. “Promise me you won’t back out, that you won’t let him break her.” Kakashi's rage flared and he shot her a venomous look, speaking before he could stop himself. “It’s better for me to break her instead?” He hissed, unable to restrain his anger at the situation any longer. Tsunade’s eyes softened, but she couldn’t look him in the face as she quietly said, “You won’t,” she sounded so sure of herself, as though she had absolute faith in him. It made him sick. She continued, “You’ll leave her with her soul, Kakashi. Sakura will be able to heal, she’ll find a way to move past this. Do you think she’d fare so well with him?”

groom by doveonlifesupport 

Groom: 1. (Noun) A man just married or about to be married 2. (Verb) To prepare someone for an objective or purpose Kakashi is given a second chance, to fix what Uchiha Madara broke. But avoiding the Fourth War isn't the only thing he's determined to change.

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #2

He loves animals.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

---

Dart wasn't afraid to admit it aloud: ever since the regime change, he had been utterly, out-of-his-mind bored.

His fellow pilots refused to agree publically lest they get assigned scutwork, but Dart would rather spend three hours chasing down Senator Whatshername's pet tooka than sit on his ass in the hangar. He could only spend so long pining at his ship, wishing his boots weren't touching the ground, before the inactivity drove him crazy.

There used to be plenty for off-assignment Guard pilots to do, back when old Wrinkly McSithface was around. Datawork needed filing, senators needed babying, the Coruscant Security Force needed their asses wiped and their jobs done for them. But with the signing of a ceasefire with the Separatists and Bail Organa officially sworn in as Chancellor, instead of their work increasing, the Guard actually had less to do and actual free time.

(It was mandatory. Breaks and downtime were official edicts and viciously enforced by the medics. Dart hated it, but when he'd expressed that opinion he'd been dogpiled by his fellow pilots and informed in no uncertain terms to shut the fuck up.)

So, to keep busy, Dart started volunteering to do a lot of the odd jobs most troopers didn't enjoy. Not datawork--he would rather die--but anything that kept him moving was fair game. Commander Stone started tossing him the low-priority assignments and Dart happily took them on, doing anything from delivering packages clear across the district to hunting down senators who kept 'forgetting' to put their signatures on important documents.

Unfortunately this sometimes led to such undignified situations as Dart tumbling out of an access shaft, his armor covered in dust and scratches, to land on his ass right at the feet of one Commander Vertex. 

Vertex, cup of caf in one hand and a datapad in the other, looked down at Dart and tilted his head slightly to the side.

Dart blinked owlishly back up at him.

The tooka in his arms yowled its displeasure.

Dart scrambled to his feet, keeping the murderous feline squished against his body with one arm as he offered a slightly-unsteady salute with the other.

"Commander Vertex, sir!"

"Dart," Vertex greeted. The Commander had been with the Guard for just under two months now and had proven himself a certifiable badass, and Dart was absolutely mortified getting caught looking like an idiot. "I see you've found Mr. Tinkles."

Dart stared at him. Then he stared down at the squirmy white tooka trying to dig its claws through his armor.

"The fuck kind of name is Mr. Tinkles?"

Vertex snorted, and while his expression didn't change, his eyes crinkled with laughter.

"You'd have to ask Senator Veph, though I believe she inherited him from her predecessor."

He reached out to stroke between Mr. Tinkles' ear cones, the almost-smile softening to a real one as the tooka happily accepted the petting--all nice and docile as if it hadn't just spent the last three hours trying to gnaw Dart's helmet off.

The gossip network that Dart definitely wasn't part of had mentioned seeing Commander Vertex feeding the stray tookas that skulked around the commissary, but he hadn't actually believed them.

"She'll be happy to see him back," Vertex continued. "She usually gives sweets to whoever returns him."

Dart perked up, abruptly much more interested in this assignment. He, like most clones, had a sweet tooth a parsec wide, but more importantly: candy meant bribery material.

Vertex's eyes glinted like he knew what Dart was thinking, but he didn't say anything; he just patted Dart on the shoulder before continuing past him.

"As you were, trooper."

So cool.

Later, when Dart was busy with his self-appointed duty delivering caf to the poor sods stuck doing datawork--and certainly not trading sweets for intel or collecting gossip at the same time--he spent a little more time finding the best mug for Commander Vertex. It was tucked in the back of one of the cabinets and he had to dust it off, but when Dart carried it into the commander's office, Vertex's eyes immediately zeroed in on it.

"Here, sir," Dart said proudly, setting the steaming cup on his desk. "You like animals, right?"

Vertex reached out slowly, wrapping his hands around the mug with a soft, wondering expression on his face. He pulled it toward him, looking down at the engraved motif cupped between his palms.

The mug looked like it belonged there.

"I suppose I do," Vertex said softly. "Thank you, Dart."

Dart beamed.

He made sure to keep bringing the Commander his caf in the red vulptex mug from then on.

[vickillaman]

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

(non-native english speaker’s rumbling here, be warned) So far so many of the “critical“ takes of the viewers consist of pure emotion, misinformation and personal biases. Look, everyone has a tendency to fall victim to the lenses of their own belief system through which we perceive and assess the story and I’m no exception, but it’s extremely frustrating to see people choosing one side or another, highlighting certain traits and acts while downplaying and erasing others in a celebration of their own perspective, in a show that makes a heavy emphasis on a complexity and contradiction of human nature. “Silco had done bad things for a good goal”. The people that he wanted a better future for are addicts, forever scarred with effects of Shimmer. Children that he wanted a better future for were working in the factories to produce said shimmer. Moreover, he was willing to kill children of a woman to whom he promised a better future for. Does the end justify the means here? But, on the good side, Piltover was clearly afraid of Zaunites, the council and the citizens did view the undercity with contempt but, as Jayce stated, “enforcers are afraid to step foot in the Lanes”. Silco is a flawed character whose initial motive was building a better Zaun for future generations to come. He saw one of his closest friend’s body on the ground adding to a pile that are loved ones to Zaun and animals to Piltover. And the other friend, the one that was like a brother to Silco, enraged and lost his mind with unattainable loss for absolutely nothing in return, betrayed him and cruelly left him to die. And Silco decided to leave everything good that he believes made him weak and therefore needed to be left behind in order to win and achieve his ultimate goal. And that’s what made him willing to hurt and abuse vulnerable citizens that are already hurt and abused by the hands of the government that despises and looks down on them, and their own city desperate to fight for whatever little scraps of food and coins they are left with because he wanted to rise to power and for Zaun to become independent and feared. Silco firmly believed that base violence is necessary for change. And in pursuit of creating The Nation of Zaun he used that said nation as a stepping stone: preying on the vulnerable and elevating the powerful.

“Caitlyn poisoned the air with the Grey, innocents got hurt”. She used a factory smog as a chemical weapon to target specifically the chembarons and dismantle shimmer that crippled people for years. It’s not long-term and it dissipates. That is not an ideal solution, but it certainly serves as a much better alternative to the full-scale invasion. But I feel like the use of the Grey became a symbol of a new wave of hatred and a reinforced disdain. And honestly? This is the least concerning thing out of what she has done. The worst of all is a moment when she points a rifle at Jinx while a child clings to her. She’s so desperate to not miss the shot and hesitate again that she doesn’t even allow herself to think of what could happen if she missed (Caitlyn is an excellent shot, yes, but she also just got shaken by the hextech glitch and clearly missed when she aimed for Jinx) or what if she didn’t miss? That child would’ve been forced to live with a scarring memory of a cold-blooded murder of the person who protected her and gave her a sense of hope for her future. Caitlyn is a flawed character whose initial motive was to complete the investigation and get to the truth, to put it simply. But that motive is rooted in a desire to be seen for her own achievements and not an an extenstion of her family’s legacy, and to see the real world. She’s generally detached from Piltover and Zaun: she despises the council of and never felt like she belonged in the first, and was scared but intrigued by the latter. Her investigation that’s supported by the privileges of feeling untouchable and having limitless resources as a Kiramman and possessing an empathetic nature and a moral code paired with undeniably excellent skills as Caitlyn led her to realise that Piltover holds completely unjustified prejudice against Zaun and from there, she’s determined to do everything in her power to help. Her good heart and well placed intentions left her in a midst of guilt and grief and a new responsibility to earn and uphold her name’s legacy. She goes on committing a chain of questionable acts with a goal to erase potential threats to Piltover but, most importantly, a goal to get herself another shot. And when grief starts to subside bit by bit and the sharpness of emotions dulls with months passing by, she questions herself and everything around her: “Why is peace always the justification for violence?“ She sees a monster and a reason for everything that said monster has done right in front of her and she’s instanly brought back to her mother’s funeral, and understands that she is no better. And when the fog in her mind is finally cleared, with no one to reaffirm the worst intentions in her, she’s left with an immense amount of self-frustration and self-hatred. But Caitlyn is willing to do everything to make up for it even though she feels like it will never be enough.

If you make an entirely positive or entirely negative assessment of the character or their acts, your assessment is wrong.

Tell the full story. Say what happened. Recognize the character for who they are, recognize the actions for they are, don’t twist them and don’t erase them. Try to put your prejudices aside and understand. And you can argue that Arcane has many flaws but even so, it is still an incredibly rare piece of media and art that was crafted with outstanding care and respect to its audience. And one of the purposes of art is to teach you to see. To see all of it: the good, the bad and the ugly.

[tams-writeblr]

Love in a hopeless Place 12

Synopsis: She was barely grown up, when she stepped into the bar that was the center of Zaun's resistance. The people she met there would forever change her life, and one of them especially. Silco x reader/OC; first-person POV; overall rating: E for Explicit; canon-compliant (though I might make a stretch on the timeline here and there to make things fit my symbolism); age gap! (younger female, older male); 9 chapters; 45k; cis female reader/POV; no beta-reader; completed Chapter ratings/warnings: T for Teen, somewhat strong language Wordcount: <1k Author's note: Please note, that the first paragraph doesn't represent my opinion on this topic, imo Kid has all the right to be angry. Ah Claus, the father everyone wished they had growing up, right? I really try to write him as just a really good dad, and he's just always worried about his daughter. I mean, who would want their daughter to date a naughty revolutionary? My dad was freaking out about a kind mechanic, haha. And of course smooth bastard Silco does his magic... Comments would be appreciated!

Today's music recommendation: Dick Brave - Take good care of my Baby

<- previous | next ->

Act II

Chapter II

Part 2/3

Work was a welcome distraction. Chatting with my favorite customers made my mood go up again, so that I didn't have to think about the fight all day. Still in the calm moments I was wondering if I had overreacted or could I have shown him more clearly that I didn't want what he was doing. Just like that, I was hanging in my thoughts, filling the racks with new goods as the doorbell rang.

"Ah, Silco, my friend!", I heard my father chirp. "Gods, lad, what happened to your face?"

"Ah, some enforcer-bastard didn't like it."

"Yeah, yeah, always the same with them. What can I get you today?"

"Actually, Claus, I'm not here for you today, but for your gorgeous daughter."

As I heard him talk like that, a glass of preserved mushrooms slipped my fingers and shattered at the ground.

My father called my name and asked if everything was alright, but Silco was already next to me, helping me pick up the pieces.

"What the fuck are you doing here?", I hissed, and took the shards rudely out of his hands. Of course, I cut myself doing so. I cursed under my breath, letting the pieces fall back to the ground.

Silco quickly took my hand and placed my bleeding finger to his lips. 

Looking into his green eyes, I felt my anger be washed away like junk on the shore.

"I'm so sorry for this morning. I couldn't let you go like that."

Before I could answer, the sound of my father clearing his throat made us both jump.

"What on Runeterra is going on here?" His eyes were fixed on my hand that was still in Silco's.

He gracefully stood to his full height. "This is part of the reason why I'm here, old friend. I just can't square this with my conscience anymore. I've been seeing your daughter." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "For a while, already."

My father looked at me, and I also raised to stand straight. "Do you know how old she is?", he growled, while not looking away from me.

"In fact, this was the first thing I asked her. Indirectly."

My father growled lowly and gave Silco a look that I truly didn't like. "So it was you all this time? I should have known by this stupid jacket she's been carrying around all the time. And those ugly red shirts she was wearing."

"Okay, I got that you don't like my fashion sense, Claus, but I hope this doesn't stand between us, on a professional basis, I mean. You need to know that I love your daughter."

I gasped at the confession, and my father gave me a short, warning look.

"Don't get cocky, pal." He seemed to be going over the last half year and finally faked a smile. "But, I'm afraid I'm not in the position to tell her who she's seeing." He looked at me with as friendly a face as he was able to. "Love, please go get a broom and a towel. I'll escort your boyfriend outside. He's clearly distracting you too much." The word "boyfriend" cut like a knife, and I cringed, quickly running to the broom closet to get everything I needed to clean up my mess. As my father returned to the store a few minutes later, I didn't dare to look at him. "You could have told me yourself!", he scolded, and I heard the disappointment in his voice. "I thought you told me everything." He clicked his tongue at my weak apology. "Silco of all people. You know that he attracts trouble, don't you?"

I nodded weakly. I had caught a glimpse of it just now.

Claus sighed. "At least he seems to be in earnest with you."

"What makes you think so?", I asked carefully.

"That he had the nerve to talk to me like that. I remember when I dated your mother. I was shitting my pants when I met her father. But he had to meet me. You were on your way." He gasped. "Gods, don't tell me you're-"

"No!", I quickly cut him off. "No! We're being careful."

My father covered his ears. "I don't wanna hear about this, you hear that?"

I laughed and hugged his broad frame. Planting a big kiss on his cheek, I thanked him for always being there for me.

[shivunin]

Two of Hearts

I meant to post this with the full piece by @ndostairlyrium but sadly I didn't finish it in time to post them together--regardless, here it is now! (the larger version is here. Cannot recommend commissioning her enough; she is a delight of a human being!)

(Fenris/Maria Hawke | 1,541 Words | CW: alcohol)

“Belt off, Hawke,” Varric said the moment she and Fenris stepped into the dwarf’s room in the Hanged Man. “Cloak, too.”

Hawke paused mid-step, one foot through the door and the other on the threshold. Fenris caught himself just before he would have run into her.

“Andraste’s eyebrows, Varric—if you wanted me naked, you ought to’ve asked years ago. I’m afraid my heart belongs to another now,” she sighed. “What a terrible shame for you.”

The room was better-lit than the larger dining room downstairs. It was often so on the nights they came for cards, as if Varric was trying to beat back the Kirkwall night outside. The firelight caught in the curls of Hawke’s hair, left loose today for they’d hardly left her manor before they’d come here. When she tilted her head, Fenris saw the faint curl of a dimple in her cheek. Trying not to smile and failing; a night with Hawke when she was feeling capricious could be dangerous, but he could not find it in himself to feel concerned. He knew very well what had put her in such a good mood, after all. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric rolled his eyes.  “Off, Hawke.  If you want to sneak in that extra deck of yours, it’ll have to be some other night.”

“I am outraged,” Hawke said, unclasping her cloak and tossing it in the general direction of a cabinet. It slid to the ground with a soft thud. “Outraged, I say!”

“Oh, stow it,” Isabela said. She sat at the end of the table nearest Varric, her face dissatisfied. “He already took both of my boots, if you can imagine. If I’ve got to suffer, then so do you, Hawke. This floor is like ice.”

“There’s a carpet, Bela,” Varric said, shuffling his own deck. “Boots, too, Hawke.”

“And?” Isabela shot back. “The least you could do is lend a pair of socks.”

Hawke’s belt and boots were set aside, too, and she flounced to the table with visible indignation. Fenris, still standing in the doorway, watched her until she sat, shaking his head slightly. Hawke looked back at him and held out a hand. 

Dangerous. Fenris lifted a brow at her and crossed the room, setting the bottle of wine they’d taken from her cellar on the table. His fingers brushed against her outstretched palm while he climbed over the bench. In turn, she touched the small of his back lightly before turning to the cluster of glasses in the center of the table.

“Added more rules, have we?” she asked, sliding one glass to Fenris and taking another for herself. He lifted the corkscrew from the table and passed it to her in turn. 

“Just enforcing the usual ones,” Varric tilted the cards up until they shuffled downward again, then cut the deck. He waved half of it at Isabela and Hawke in turn. “I saw the two of you last time. If you can’t play nice, maybe someone has to make you.” 

Hawke gasped, still busily twisting the corkscrew. Fenris steadied the other end of the bottle. 

“Cheating at Wicked Grace is the point of playing Wicked Grace, as you well know,” she said, and the cork popped loose. “I cannot believe you are interfering with a time-honored tradition when you never even returned my second deck—”

“The one you intended to cheat with,” Varric said, tapping the cards back together again with a snap. 

“—oh, allegedly—I never did any such thing—”

“Can’t we just start playing?” Aveline asked from the other end of the table, looking between Hawke and Varric. Hawke poured Fenris’s glass of wine first, then her own. 

“—and why don’t Aveline and Fenris and Sebastian have to give up their belts or turn out their pockets, hm?” Hawke went on, glancing between the three of them. Aveline sighed heavily and took a long draught from her goblet. 

“Aveline never wins,” Varric told her. “If she’s cheating, she needs the practice.”

“I’ve no need to cheat,” Sebastian added calmly, accepting his cards when Varric slid them to him. “I can win well enough without it.”

Fenris snorted and took his own cards. Under the table, Hawke looped her stockinged ankle around his. 

“Why would I cheat?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around the stem of his glass. “Watching you try is more entertaining.”

“I am positively surrounded by spoilsports,” Hawke announced with an air of great tragedy. She accepted her own pile of cards with a sigh. “Where’s Merrill tonight?”

“Some holiday in the alienage,” Isabela said, shifting until her legs were crossed before her. “I told her I’d bring her regrets, but she said she’d be along eventually.”

While Isabela spoke, Hawke shifted on the bench beside Fenris, sitting back and bouncing her leg, then leaning forward again. He took a careful sip of his wine and glanced sidelong at her. Hawke ignored him and drank deeply from her own cup. 

“Well, go on, then,” she told Varric. “If we’re to be proper about this.” 

“One silver,” he replied, tossing a coin onto the table. “Hawke?” 

She set a coin of her own on the table (nobody seemed inclined to ask where she might have produced this from; Fenris, who’d felt the tug on his own belt pouch, said nothing). 

The round progressed. To the outside observer, Hawke might have seemed entirely engrossed in the round. Fenris knew better—but then, he could feel how close she sat on the bench, could feel the occasional brush of her fingers against his back or arm. She never demanded any show of affection from him before the others, for which he was grateful. What they had was for them, not for everybody else’s entertainment or speculation. 

Even so, she was still herself; he did not begrudge the small gestures she offered instead. She held his hand beneath the table sometimes, or sat so close to him that their legs pressed together. And sometimes, like tonight—

Fenris straightened and turned to look at her, narrowing his eyes. Hawke smiled winningly and rested her stack of cards face-down on the table—a stack of cards slightly thicker than it ought to have been. He reached for his glass of wine, shaking his head at her, and the dimple at her cheek deepened. 

“Whatever are you looking at me like that for, messere?” she asked in an undertone. 

“You know quite well.”

“Truly, I’ve no idea.” 

This time, he felt it when she tucked the card into his belt. Hawke tilted her head and rested her hand on his back for a moment. 

Ridiculous. Of late, he spent more than half his nights in her company and yet something in his chest still caught when she looked at him like that. 

“Hmm,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything to say except her name. Hawke leaned closer and turned her face away from the others. 

“You did promise,” she whispered, “but if you’re having second thoughts…”

“No,” he said, because he had promised, “go on.” 

“Thank you, dearest,” she said, and leaned away again.

“Now, what are the two of you whispering about?” Isabela asked, peering at them over the lantern that rested between them on the table. Fenris lifted his wineglass and took a long drink, studying his cards. 

This was…most of a winning hand. He was certain he hadn’t been holding these cards before. He’d intended to fold when the round returned to him, in fact. 

“Something terribly boring,” Hawke told Isabela, still smiling. “You couldn’t possibly be interested.”

“Try me,” Isabela said. 

“Hawke?” Varric asked. 

Hawke lay her cards on the table face-up, not bothering to glance at them again. Fenris studied them briefly, though he’d already known what he would see. They were his cards, with an extra tucked beneath. She had traded her hand for his

“If you must know,” Hawke began, lifting her glass and gesturing broadly with it. It was fortunate that she’d drunk most of it or the two of them would certainly have been doused. “I was reminding him that we need to stop by the market tomorrow. I have been wanting to buy a new pair of boots, you see; the ones I have now pinch awfully and it is rather pleasant to be playing without them on. It is so hard to find a good pair of shoes these days, don’t you think? What I wouldn’t give for one of those fine sets from Antiva with all of the tooled leather and that embroidery that looks—”

“Alright, alright,” Isabela said, taking a bun from the table and rolling her eyes. “Go on then, Fenris.” 

“Raise,” he said, and set two coins on the table. 

Aveline groaned. 

Beside him, Hawke set her glass down. She’d finished the last sip of it and she was smiling to herself, gathering her cards into a neat stack. 

When Fenris rested his hand on the table again, his elbow nudged hers as if by accident. Beneath the table, she pressed her knee against his thigh. A thanks, offered and accepted. 

After the round ended (Fenris’s belt somewhat heavier for it), he did not turn again when he felt her hand at his back. He knew very well what she was doing—and he had promised, after all.

[quicksilverdrabbles]

At Rorikstead

Gaia: We have arrived.

Lucien: Your digital map really is something to behold, Gaia. Even though the landscape and civilization is completely different from the first era, you can navigate it so efficiently.

Gaia: That would be thanks to my Observers. *two small drones materialize at both of her shoulders, round and much smaller than her head* They fly about Skyrim, invisible, and send me the data they find about the land's people and cities. They are very advanced compared to normal Observers, much like myself against typical Gynoids. I made them myself.

Xelzaz: How interesting. Are you able to speak to them at all?

Gaia: Yes. On a certain level, I can communicate with all Dwemer machines. I can only control the ones I create with my own hands and technology.

Taliesin: How does that work on a moral level? A machine controlling other machines, I mean.

Gaia: Similar to a general commanding her warriors. They are well aware of what they fight for. They fight for me, because I gave them life.

Taliesin: I see..

Lemkil: *in the distance, his crops, he shoves Sissel to the ground* Stupid brat! Look at you! Snivelling in the dirt when you're supposed to be working!

Sissel: *crying, sitting on the ground at her father's feet* I-I'm sorry, Papa! B-Britte took my- *hic* my shovel and I-I couldn't do what you wanted me t-to without it!

Lemkil: I don't want to hear your excuses! Time and time again you waste daylight standing around doing nothing but cry and survive off of what I earn!

Gaia: *turns toward the source of shouting, spotting Lemkil* Hostile Lifeform Detected...

Lucien: What? In Rorikstead?

Kaidan: Look there. Bastard.

Xelzaz: Indeed. What should we do, Gaia?

Gaia: ... Wait Here.

Inigo: You are going to confront him alone?

Gaia: If I must. Kaidan, when I direct his attention, see to the girl.

Kaidan: Aye.

Gaia: *nods, walking towards Lemkil and Sissel, her irises fading from yellow to red as her expression falls to a glare*

Lucien: ... *breaks away from the group and walks alongside her* If I may.. You look upset, Gaia.

Gaia: I am not upset. That Nord is a threat to the people of this settlement. He must be detained. Go back with the others.

Lucien: What if you need backup?

Gaia: I never do.

Lucien: Really? What about that one time with the Dunmer-

Gaia: *grabs Lemkil's shoulder, pulling him back just as he slaps Sissel across the face* Pardon me.

Lemkil: Huh? And who the hell are you?

Gaia: My name is Gaia. It has come to my attention that your are mistreating this child. Please step away from her.

Lemkil: What does it matter to you, huh? You some sorta hired thug? I bet that screwy wizard hired you into scaring me away from this worthless brat, eh?

Gaia: No wizard has done anything of the sort. I am here of my own accord. *her grip on his shoulder tightens* And I recommend you follow your given orders and Step Away. Or else I am afraid I will have to use force.

Lucien: I quite think you're already using force.. *watches as Lemkil winces under the pressure of her grip*

Lemkil: Get the hell off of me, you bitch! This has nothing to do with you!

Gaia: On the contrary, your endangering of a human life, especially a child, has everything to do with me.

Kaidan: *sneaks behind the group and lifts Sissel up, shushing her when she cries* C'mere, let me see. It's okay.. *brushes the red mark on her cheek with his thumb* ... Gaia-

Gaia: Yes. Take her somewhere safe.

Lemkil: Wait! You son of a bitch, don't you dare touch my daughter! Get your hands off of her!

Gaia: Please do not refer to my companion in such a vulgar manner.

Lemkil: I'll say whatever the hell I want! You aren't guards! You have no authority to do this to me!

Gaia: Perhaps not. All laws in this era, however, are.. very loosely enforced.

Xelzaz: Gaia.

Gaia: Xelzaz.

Xelzaz: I took a moment to ask some of the townspeople about this man and his two daughters. It seems to be a relatively common occurrence. Why nothing was done about it is beyond me.

Gaia: I see. *switches her grip from his shoulder to his neck, grabbing him by the base of his throat and forcing him to the ground* So this is merely a regular day for you, hm? To abuse your children?

Lemkil: It's none of your business, I said! What I do to my daughters is my business!

Gaia: Wrong Answer. *her free hand grabs the arm he slapped Sissel with, tightening her hold until a loud snap comes from his wrist*

Lemkil: AGH! What are you doing?! St-Stop it! Please!

Gaia: How quick you are to beg. Would you like me to break it? As of now your wrist is only dislocated.

Lemkil: N-No! Let me go!

Gaia: Why do you hurt your children?

Lemkil: T-They killed my wife! She-she died bringing them into this world!

Gaia: Should you not have cherished what your wife left behind, then?

Lemkil: I-I-

Gaia: Too Slow. *the hand around his wrist rises to his bicep, closing around the middle and squeezing, the limb snapping quickly*

Lemkil: A-AAAHH!! STOP! PLEASE- LET ME GO!!!

Gaia: Goodness, you're loud. Have you learned your lesson?

Lemkil: YES! Y-Yes I swear! Please, you don't have to do this! I-I'll be better, I promise!

Gaia: Good. Now listen here. *pulls him forward, her face inches from his. Frost creeps up from her fingertips and spreads at every point of contact between them* You are a disgusting man, incapable of caring for and protecting what your wife gave her life to bring into this world. You do not deserve to be a father. You did not deserve to be a husband. If your wife could see what you have become in her absence, she would take her daughters and leave you.

Lemkil: ...

Gaia: And if you ever harm this little girl again- *stops, staring into his eyes. Sees fear, but not remorse. Panic, but not guilt.*

Lemkil: *whimpers, gripping the hand around his throat in terror, broken arm dangling uselessly at his side*

Gaia: ... No. That is an outcome I cannot risk. *drags Lemkil up by the throat* Taliesin.

Taliesin: Yes?

Gaia: Cover our tracks. Ensure the guards to not follow. *turns and walks away, avoiding the main roads and routine patrols. Lowers her arm and drags Lemkil behind her, unwavering despite his struggles to escape*

Taliesin: ... Of course. Please do try not to make too much of a mess, though

Lemkil: N-No wait- please-!

Gaia: Shut up.

Lemkil: I-I swear! I won't hurt her anymore, I promise! Please you can't- You can't kill me! PLEASE!

Kaidan: *sitting in the field covering Sissels ears as Gaia drags her father away, cradling the trembling girl to his chest protectively*

Inigo: *trailing close behind her passively* I know a good place some ways away.

Xelzaz: *walking at her other side* I'll have to make a potion that eliminates the stench.

Lucien: *walking at Inigo's side, looking unnerved, but unopposing* What of the other girl? She was mistreated too..

Gaia: Britte was a victim as much as Sissel was, but she weaponized her pain. She shouldn't remain with her sister. It is better for both of them.

Lucien: And the father?

Gaia: ... Some things are better off eternally gone.

~

*distant screaming*

Rorikstead Guard: Hm? What on earth was that?

Taliesin: *changed back into his Thalmor robes, a hood covering his dark hair* Nothing to be concerned with, citizen. Move along with your patrol. To investigate would be to interfere with official Thalmor business.

Rorikstead Guard: O-Oh, I see. Forgive me.

Taliesin: *watches as the guard walks away* Gods, I've always hated saying that.

Kaidan: *carrying Sissel, now asleep. Walks out from behind a nearby house* Guess it does have some uses, though.

Taliesin: Yes, I suppose so. *sighs, wiping gently at a streak of dirt on Sissel's face* She's filthy. Makes me wonder if he made her sleep in a pigsty...

Kaidan: Should we wait for the others?

Taliesin: ... No, let's go back home and wait for them there. I'm of a mind to think if we wait they'll just return covered in blood. We don't want to risk her waking up to that.

Kaidan: Worst possible outcome, aye?

Taliesin: Hmph, you really are starting to sound like Gaia.

[i-love-oldermen]

I hate you? Pt.4

Y/n x Spencer Reid

Warnings: language

You move toward your mom slowly, carefully—like she’s glass already cracked and ready to shatter.

She won’t look at you. Just stands there, frozen, clutching the phone so tight her knuckles are white.

Y/n: “Mom? Who’s on the phone?”

No answer.

Your chest tightens as dread coils in your stomach. Something’s wrong—very wrong.

You reach out and gently take the phone from her hand. She lets it go like it’s burning her.

You press it to your ear.

Y/n: “Hello? Who is this?”

Silence.

Y/n: “Hello? I said—hello?”

Still nothing. Then… you hear it. Muffled sobbing. Screaming—faint, broken, distant. Your blood runs cold.

You grip the phone harder.

Y/n: “Who the fuck is this?!”

A pause. Then a voice—low, familiar, and sharp as a blade—slithers through the line.

???: “Ah… that’s what I was waiting for.”

You stop breathing.

Y/n: “Who is this? What do you want?”

???: “Welcome back to town… Ruby.”

The line goes dead.

Your hand drops to your side, the phone still clutched in your fingers.

The name hits you like a punch to the gut.

Ruby.

A name from your past. A name soaked in blood and fear and silence. A name you swore no one in this life would ever say again.

You barely register the sound of your mother collapsing to the ground until you hear her sobbing. Full-body, collapsing grief that echoes through the walls.

Your vision tunnels for a moment. Rage, panic, guilt—it all floods in at once.

You turn at the sound of the doorbell, snapping your head toward it, your body already moving on instinct. You shove your gun into the waistband of your shorts and approach the door like a loaded spring, ready to draw.

But when you pull it open—

Kids: “Trick or treat!”

Three kids stand on the porch: a tiny zombie, a Spider-Man with crooked eyeholes, and a skeleton missing part of its mask. They giggle, oblivious.

You blink, disoriented.

Y/n: “I’ll… I’ll be right back.”

You turn the corner, grab a bowl of candy, and return. Your hand trembles as you drop sweets into their little buckets.

Y/n: “Here you go, guys. Stay safe, okay?”

They thank you and run off into the night.

You close the door and lean your forehead against it for a moment.

Your mother is sitting on the couch now, still crying quietly, her eyes red and unfocused.

You pull out your phone and do what you never wanted to do.

You call your team.

Hotch picks up immediately.

Y/n: “It’s me. I need to tell you what’s going on…”

You tell them everything. Almost everything.

You don’t say the name.

You don’t say Ruby.

When you finish, Hotch’s voice is steady, clipped.

Hotch: “We’re on our way.”

You hang up and glance back at your mom.

Y/n: “Don’t worry. My team’s coming.”

She doesn’t answer—just cries into the same spot on the couch cushion, her hands clenched.

You pace for a second, then dial Garcia.

Garcia: “Hello, princess! Need your techie knight in shining armor?”

Her voice is a brief balm—but you don’t have time.

Y/n: “How long till the team gets here?”

Garcia: “Give me one sec.”

You hear the furious clicking of keys.

Garcia: “Ten minutes. They already left the station and are en route.”

Y/n: “Okay… I need one more thing.”

Garcia: “Anything. Say the word.”

You hesitate.

Y/n: “I need you to check for any recent activity… on a gang called Ojos del Diablo.”

A pause.

Then the keys resume—faster this time.

You wait. Jaw clenched. Nails biting into your palm.

Then she gasps.

Y/n: “Garcia. What did you find?”

Garcia: “I—I have to tell the team—”

Y/n: “No. Just tell me.”

Another pause.

Garcia: “One of the reports says they arrested a guy connected to the gang last year. He wouldn’t speak. Said he was too afraid of someone named… Ruby. Oh my God.”

Your heart stops.

Y/n: “What else?”

Garcia: “There are sealed witness statements. They say she—Ruby—was brutal. Broke fingers. Arms. Led operations. Not just some enforcer. She was feared.”

You swallow hard. Garcia spoke one more time fear laced in her voice "She took eyes... Y/n she took eyes"

Y/n: “Do they know who she really is?”

Garcia: “No. No name. No face. Just… stories.”

Y/n: “Thanks, Garcia.”

Garcia: “Y/n?”

Y/n: “Yeah?”

Garcia: “Be careful.”

You hang up just as there’s another knock on the door.

Your heart lurches. You look through the window—a kid. Alone. Small. Tears in his eyes.

You open the door slowly.

Kid: “This is for you, Miss… Ruby.”

He holds out an envelope and a black duffel bag with shaking hands.

You take them.

Y/n: “Okay, honey. Thank you.”

The boy’s lip quivers before he bolts into the night.

You shut the door and lock it.

Your hands tremble as you open the envelope. Inside—photos.

Of you.

Handing out candy. Walking into the police station. Sitting with your team. They’re all taken today.

You spread them out on the coffee table, the pit in your stomach growing colder and deeper with every photo.

Then—you freeze.

One photo stands out.

It’s of you and Spencer. He has one arm behind you, subtly blocking Wes with his body. Protecting you.

Whoever took this thinks he matters to you.

Which means… he’s a target now too.

You clench your fists just as another knock echoes through the house.

But this one—this one’s different.

You peek through the window and see a familiar silhouette.

Gun already drawn, you press against the door.

Y/n: “Who is it?”

Hotch: “It’s us. Open the door.”

You pull it open and step aside.

The team files in.

And in your gut, you know:

It’s going to be a very long night.

A/n: Heyyy guys sorry I haven’t written for a while, I’m already working on the next part so shouldn’t me much of a wait. Thank you guys for all the likes ❤️❤️❤️

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

as long as you're with me (you'll be just fine) Chapter 2

Ao3 | 1.2K | Sam's POV

TW: fantasy racism, police violence

__

Sam wondered with a sort of uninterested mirth, how he always ended up in these situations. He would consider it bad luck it didn’t seem to stick to him like gum to his shoes. It seemed almost too extensive at this point in his life, to all encompassing to be a string of misfortune. He had more misfortune than regular old life.

Sam was in a back alley behind a club, his cheek pressed against a rough, filthy brick wall. His skin healed as fast as it was scratched up by the too-rough movements of the Department Enforcer who was patting him down.

“You think it’s fun to fuck with unempowered drunk girls, huh, feeder?” The word slipped from his mouth so seamlessly. Sam tried to imagine how many times he said it in a day for it to sound so natural. Sam bit his tongue, his fangs slicing into the soft meat.

This kind of thing never happened to Vincent. Pretty Privilege, he thought, rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t feeding on her.” Sam ground out into the brick. “She was unconscious on the ground and scratched up from her fall. I’m a healer.”

“Oh, so you’re breaching covert too?” The man at his back had the distinct aura of a fire elemental. Sam had met plenty of reasonable fire elementals in his time, but this one didn’t seem to be afraid of the stereotypes. Hot headed, overly aggressive, trigger happy.

“My God,” he couldn’t help the disrespect that bled into his tone. The enforcer responded in kind, pressing Sam that much harder into the wall. Sam knew better. Mouthing off and resisting only made it worse. He’d dealt with enough cops and enforcers in his time to know that. He let his muscles go slack, forced down any instinct that told him to resist, to fight back. “I’m not answering any more questions until my King is present.”

At the very least, the drunk girl, most likely a college student who got separated from her friends, was taken care of. The fire elemental’s partner, a demon of some sort, although Sam couldn’t place what type, had her sobered and her memory altered in a matter of minutes. Sam watched as she walked safely out of the alley dazed but in one piece. That’s all he had wanted in the first place.

David and Asher’s bachelor party wasn’t exactly his scene. He wanted to be there, of course, but he needed to step out every hour or so for a breather. It wasn’t a good look, of course, him being a vampire bent over an unconscious girl. It was just a shame that the enforcers hadn’t waited to see him help her up and offer to walk her home like he’d planned to.

Oh well. Most likely, they’d rough him up a bit and put him in holding. He’d get a call to William who would straighten all of this out. He’d be out before the wedding tomorrow night.

He had better fucking be, at least.

He closed his eyes, took in a few deep breathes as the enforcer tightened the dampening cuffs on his wrists, just a hair too tight. He just had to endure this. Twenty-four hours and he’d be done. He could put up with this for twenty-four hours.

“Sam!”

With an undignified grunt, the weight on his back was lifted, and a big, too-warm hand pressed between his shoulder blades, steadying him more than holding him in place. A snarl ripped through the air that made the hair on his neck stand on end. The animal instincts in him knew that there was a predator at his back, but he didn’t flinch away. He craned his neck to see David’s back, heaving against the confines of his leather jacket, flashing teeth to the enforcer.

Sam was delighted to see, as he turned, that said enforcer had been thrown on his ass, and was staring up at David with acute fear painting his features. His partner was at his side, holding their hands out, trying to deescalate.

“Sir, this vampire was attacking a drunk girl. We are pursuing an arrest for improper feeding and you are impeding a Department investigation.” They said coolly.

“First of all,” David ground out around the growls still forcing their way through his teeth, “Don’t call me sir. I’m the Alpha of the Shaw Pack. Speak to me with respect.”

Sam was able to turn around, but David’s hand moved to grip onto his shoulder, holding him firmly in place. He watched, from his place behind David, as the information registered on the demon’s face. That look of shock and horror that painted their features was almost enough to make this all better.

“Second,” David continued, “this vampire is a member of my pack and the Duke of the Solaire Clan. So think very carefully about your evidence before you accuse him of something like that.”

A beat of silence. Sam could hear the heartbeat of the fire elemental skyrocket. That brought a smile his face. The demon sighed and held out their hand to their partner, who, after a moment of resistance, placed the keys to his cuffs in their palm. They tossed them to David, who snatched them smoothly from the air. He turned and unlocked the cuffs on Sam.

“David-” He started.

“Shut up,” David snapped, frustration pinched between his brows. “Rotate your wrists. Check your circulation.” Sam did as he was told, not bothering to mention that he didn’t, strictly speaking, have circulation.

David turned back to the enforcers, throwing the cuffs and keys at their feet. The fire elemental scrambled to his feet, and Sam could feel the temperature in the alley rising. David squared his shoulders.

“You,” he pointed to the demon, “will be hearing from me. I’m expecting a full report on your partner’s abuse of power and your negligence, as well as a formal apology to myself, Mr. Collins, and William Solaire first thing in the morning.” Their face was twisted in discomfort, but they nodded. David turned to the fire elemental. “And you,” he growled. “I’ll have your badge. Get the fuck out of here.”

After only a moment of resistance, the demon managed to steer their partner towards the mouth of the alley and away from the fight he was sure to lose. The air began to cool again, and David’s breathing evened.

“I’m sor-”

He didn’t get all the way through that sentiment before David’s hands were on him. Sam was always so surprised by how tactile the wolves could be. David grabbed his wrists, watched as the bruises that had formed there faded into his skin. Both of his palms landed on Sam’s cheeks and turned his head either way, dark eyes searching for any sign of injury. Once he was satisfied, one of David’s hands slid to rest firmly on the nape of his neck, and David crushed their foreheads together with enough force to bruise.

His core lit up, sparking as the bond he didn’t even know was there made his threads sing. His chest filled up with something warm and whole. Alpha, his core sang, with the same magic it sang mate.

“Come on,” David said as he pulled away, “buy me a drink before I have to call your King.”

“Oh Lord,” Sam grinned, his head fuzzy with the remnants of the magic, “I have to hear that conversation.”

[cannoli-reader]

What did you mean about Catelyn Stark? What do you consider her worst actions and what do fans treat her unfairly for? Also, Cersei lives in a society that would murder her children for how they were born and Skyler White's husband is a drug dealer & a murderer. They ARE just trying to protect their kids

Okay, worst action, generally, is her treatment of Jon Snow. She should not be faulted for being a bad mother to him, she had no such obligation, her husband's treatment of him was disadvantageous to her, because of how their society works, and he is a legit threat to her children's inheritance. The problem is also not her behavior at Bran's sickbed, where she is in an extremely emotionally wrought state, and probably sleep-deprived. It's whatever she did over the years to make a near-adult young man who has volunteered for military service, afraid to enter his brother's bedroom with her present. It's whatever she did over the years to make Robb (who loves, respects & trusts her) worried when Jon mentions visiting Bran.

Tactically, and politically, her worst move was releasing Jaime Lannister, because she was gambling a lot on a deal she had no way of enforcing, with people who had already proven on multiple occasions that they were not trustworthy. Ned's judicial murder and the covert-ops team concealed within the escort of an envoy, plus Tywin's history of massacres of people not generally considered acceptable targets, means you need a lot of guarantees built into any deal, rather than just hoping Tyrion would keep the promise he made in court, at the same session where he arranged for treachery under a flag of truce.

On the other hand, I don't think it was all that consequential. Having Jaime in the dungeon would probably not have deterred the Boltons and Freys all that much from carrying out the Red Wedding, since they could not afford to miss their shot if they were going to ditch Robb. Cat's death was not in the original plan, so they were likely just hoping that they could trade her & Edmure back to whoever was holding Riverrun in exchange for Jaime's release.

The most consequential error, though not as egregious a blunder at the time she did it, as freeing Jaime was, turned out to be putting Rodrik Cassel in charge of Winterfell, as he left the castle and his king's only male heirs sufficiently unguarded as to fall to less then a platoon of ironborn. That was purely a blunder on Rodrik's part, and not something Catelyn could have been expected to foresee. My point here is, she does not deserve to be roasted for her conduct as an envoy to the Baratheons, or her advice to Robb, or her decision to accompany him instead of going home to Bran & Rickon, and especially not her arrest of Tyrion.

As for Cersei, the danger to her children was brought on them by her own actions. Her failure to keep her affair with Jaime secret does not justify attempting to murder a child in his own home, where she is a guest, to protect her children from the consequences of the affair coming to light. She was also offered an out by Ned and chose instead to bet her family's survival on winning the lottery, and did.

Skyler White is initially a victim, if not the greatest wife in the world, but like Cersei, she had opportunities to get out, and recognized the danger, but threw away those chances out of pride and greed. Everything she correctly said about the danger Walt was bringing on the family with his activities, she subsequently ignored and tossed out the window when she took the opportunity of Hank's shooting (despite her certainty that the shooting was due to Walt's drug activity) to offer to pay for Hank's treatment, with dirty money, to spite Walt, and to one-up her sister and claim the eternal high ground in all family arguments from then on. She gave Walt increased access to the family and their home in exchange for his cooperation with her scheme to defraud an immigrant out of his business, rather than admit that she knew nothing about money laundering, and let the men with actual knowledge and expertise run their criminal enterprise without her. Skyler had a lawyer lay out a plan to legally distance herself from Walt, and turn him in to the police, she had cops standing in her living room begging her to give them a reason to arrest Walt and remove him from the house, and she refused. Unlike many other people who might find herself in that situation, she had a sympathetic ear in the DEA, in her brother-in-law, a ranking agent, with a good professional reputation. Short of the family of the federal prosecutor, no one had a better chance of getting leniency from the feds than Skyler. When your marriage is not arranged by ambitious noblemen, a lot of times you do, in fact, find someone who is a good match. In the White marriage, two arrogant, proud, greedy & controlling people found one another, and shoved and pulled each other along the road to hell.

If Cersei wanted to protect her children, she should have refrained from sleeping with her brother where she could get caught (which she did in places other than Winterfell, since the whole Small Council [save Barristan] is aware of their affair by the time Ned comes to court). If Skyler wanted to protect her children, she should have said "hell no" to Walt's money and told Hank her reasons the day she asked Walt to move out.

[ofwrxth]

BASICS

Full Name: Katherine "Kat" Anderson

Age & Birthday: 32, May 2

Hometown: Las Vegas, NV

Occupation/Role: Soldier (Stolen Goods & Fencing)

DETAILS

History with The Saints: Bobby Anderson was a mean man who fell in with The Saints in the 70s and remained until he went to prison in 2022. While in prison, a hit from the Northside Kings took him out for good. No one was particularly upset by this. Bobby was a piece of work whose presence brought chaos and strife despite his useful connections around town. He was a soldier, having been demoted from enforcer for infighting. Kat grew up around The Saints courtesy of her dad and brothers and joined when she was eighteen.

What They’re Known For: Kat is known for being one of the best thieves around. From petty theft to helping organize bigger-ticket items she’s confident she’ll be able to offload. If you need something, no worries, she’ll get it for you. If you need to get rid of something, not a problem, just hand it over. She’s got a way of making things happen, and most people don’t question the method so long as they get the result.

PERSONALITY

Core Traits: Clever, Grounded, Resourceful, Scrappy, Independent, Scathing, Uncompromising, Vindictive 

Strengths: Growing up the way the Andersons did meant that Kat grew to be scrappy. She learned to be clever enough to know when to act and grounded enough to take life’s hits as they came. Kat learned early on that the only person looking out for her was herself (and her brothers when they weren’t off stirring up trouble of their own), and in order to do that, she had to be smart and resourceful. She also had the sort of trauma-bonded loyalty to her brothers which meant she looked out for them too. When she joined the Saints, she started off as a petty thief before proving that she had good instincts and strategy for moving products fast.

Weaknesses:  Kat can be independent to a fault, which bites her in the ass. She’s not used to asking for help, having learned to rely on herself for most things. She can be uncompromising, which makes her particularly scathing at times too; words shooting off without a care in the world, much like Bobbie used to do. She can also nurture a grudge like no other—her vindictive nature carrying it around until the right opportunity presents itself to set things right in her book.

What Keeps Them Up at Night, If Anything?: She worries about her brothers in prison at times and wonders if they’ll end up dead like their dad. But she’s practical enough to know that worrying from the outside won’t help them on the inside, so it’s not often she’s kept up by this.

How Do They Handle Conflict?: Kat doesn’t shy from conflict—she’s an Anderson, after all. She stands her ground and is stubborn in an argument but also isn’t afraid to throw hands when necessary. Her vindictive nature comes out in a fight, and she’s not afraid to fight dirty. Anything to get the upper hand.

HISTORY

Current Situation: The recent deaths are a shock to the system but Kat continues her work regardless.. There is a part of her that has some interest in the recently vacated Capo position, thinking that she’s more than earned her right to a promotion.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 1 - Flowerbed

"Mashita, do you really think we'll find any clues, this deep into the forest?" Yashiki asked his partner, sighing. It was already very late into the night, and he already had first-hand experience into what it is like, searching around aimlessly, with a flashlight alone, and the fear of ghosts breathing into the back of their neck. "Not much we can do about it." Mashita was curt. "Unless you're suddenly afraid of the dark, I see no reason why we should back off already." "We have found absolutely nothing." Yashiki completely ignored the ex-detective's snarky sarcasm. "Do you want me to hold your hand so badly?" Yashiki needn't even look at his partner's face to see that shit-eating smirk. "You're incorrigible." Kazuo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. As soon as he swung his lantern aimlessly and rather bored, he stole a glimpse of red velvet ribbons on the ground, blending in with the deep green grass. "Mashita, over here!" he whisper-yelled, adjusting the fascicle of light to put in the spotlight the thing that he had seen. "... Is that a woman?" Satoru frowned, rushing to crouch by her side. Even now, his policeman instincts didn't dim.

He took a quick look at her - A rather attractive young woman, most likely in her twenties, long red hair, pale skin, yet the flush of life was clearly painting her flesh. She was dressed in a beautiful dark blue dress, the skirt flowing down her mid-thigh. It had a constellation-like pattern. She seemed to have no signs of having been attacked in any way - In fact, she looked as though she had just fallen asleep peacefully on the soft grass. Next to her were laying a few different types of flowers and a large book - She seemed to have been drawing the flowers onto the yellowing pages and writing information about them. Some plants were also already taped and pressed between its pages. Interesting hobby, he thought. 

"She's been cursed." it didn't take Satoru long to notice that abysmal scar that ruined her otherwise flawless skin. The Death Mark, looking as though it was tattooed onto the side of her neck. "Do you think this is also the work of Shimi-O?" "Do you think she wanted to kill herself, then?" Satoru frowned - And for some reason, despite his mind telling him that he shouldn't dismiss any possible theory - He found himself shaking his head negatively. Was it his intuition? Or, perhaps, the little hints that the 'crime scene' narrated its unique story? As the two men shared looks between them, they barely noticed the woman stirring awake. With lazy lashes, she opened her eyes. Despite her confusion - Why was she on the ground? Why was she sleeping? Why was it so dark outside? - There was a worse evil out there. The two men staring down at her. At once, the red haired woman whimpered and jumped to her feet, stumbling due to the vertigo caused by the sudden move, and she hid behind some tree, seemingly ready to bolt off into the depths of the woods and search for the main street. 

"Calm down, miss. We won't hurt you. I work in the law enforcement." but Mashita's attempt at reassuring her worked for naught - She looked even more scared. Even through the darkness, he could see the gleaming of fright sparkling in her eyes. She looked so much like a scared baby fawn that it was almost made him feel pity. The amount of cases he had, revolving around women assaulted and/or killed by men were countless, and there were not few cases of law enforcement workers abusing their power. He soon realised there might be nothing he says that could calm her down and listen to him properly - After all, how could someone paralysed with fear believe such a silly ghost story, especially when your mark is in a place where you cannot see, such as himself and Yashiki, scarred on their wrist? "Miss, please, don't run away, we need to warn y--" Yashiki tried to reach out to the woman, only to get stopped by the ex-detective. "Don't." the brunet warned him sternly.

Slowly, Mashita took out a ripped piece of paper and a pen from his coat, and he scribbled something that Yashiki had no idea what it was - He reached out to her bag and placed the note inside, before closing it and leaving it on the ground. He then carefully got up and stepped backwards, dragging his partner with him. "Miss. If you see a scar on the side of your neck or experience amnesia or any kind of loss of memory and confusion, look for me. I gave you the address to my office. I can help you." with this explanation, he noticed the red locks coming out from behind the tree, and she peeked timidly as they walked away all the way from where they came from. "Are you sure that was the right call?" Yashiki asked. "Can we save her?" "If she was cursed by Shimi-O, then whether she comes by seeking help or not, is irrelevant. We're going to purify it anyway." contrary to the serious and weirdly careful and empathetic side that he displayed just previously, Mashita had returned to that aloof and stoic self. Well, it was far more reassuring, knowing he's back to that sarcastic jerk he met him as, back at the school.

Watching the two men leave her sight, the woman spazzically scurried to her bag and ran out of the forest, all the way back to her home. It was so far away into the city - Why in the world would she go on foot so far away? Was she kidnapped? But... She wasn't hurt at all... It hardly made sense. Could that man truly have been a policeman and he saved her? And what about that scar thing he spoke of? Her skin didn't hurt, why would she have a scar?

No, it mattered little, she felt extremely shaken up, to the point that the only thing she could do was huddle under the blanket, her lights on the whole time, with some relaxing music on the radio and for the first time in her life, she prayed that she will never again experience such fright. The only comfort she had left in this life was a plushie with which she's been sleeping since she was three years old. Her mother gifted it to her on her birthday, and it was her most precious possession.

She missed her mummy so much.

Perhaps, for the night, after such a creepy encounter, she could afford to be a little, whiny crybaby and wallow in self-pity. But only until tomorrow morning. Then, she will be back to her proper self, and will go to work, and life will return back to normal.

Or so she hoped.

Unlike the way she expected her morning to go, settling in to her usual routine, as soon as she entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror, she noticed not the bags under her eyes, nor the messy look of her untamed hair - Instead, her green eyes stared with horror at the intricate mark that branded the soft skin on her neck as if she was cattle. The design almost looked like a large beast-like bite. She felt terrified - Was this what that man warned her about the previous night? Does that mean he is trust-worthy?

The woman took a deep breath, stopping herself from trembling under the sheer pressure of the unknown, and got ready to go out. Before she left though, she wanted to call a sick day at work - But she completely forgot where she worked. How could that be possible? She wasn't unemployed, was she? No, she couldn't be. She remembers waking up every morning to go to work, and she remembers vividly a lot of animals, and the cute outfits she wore. By instinct, she went to her bag, and there she saw the familiar medical costume - The cutest light blue outfit filled with little pandas. A rather adorable design... But she made it. Yes, she remembers sewing this costume, as well as all the other costumes. Now she remembers her graduation day - She was a Veterinarian Doctor.

With this little mystery unveiled, she was able to call in sick, and stared at the piece of paper in her hand - The scribbling was rather messy, but readable. She could give the address to the taxi driver and see where that got her - Hopefully, she wouldn't end up in some kind of weird back alley or some criminal neighbourhood.  Thankfully, that wasn't the case, though she doubted this place was actually the man's office. Rather, his residence. But it didn't matter anymore, she needed answers, and more than that, she needed to solve this issue before it could disturb her day to day life. Not only she forgot her workplace, but she had that nasty scar too - That man warned her about it, so she had to be careful.

Not forgetting to pay the driver, she looked up at the block in front of her - It wasn't an expensive neighbourhood, but it wasn't the cheapest either. It at least didn't creep her out, nor necessarily gave her bad vibes. There were some children playing around in the park nearby, and enough people going up and down the street, like bees going to do their errands. With one more look at the paper, she went up to the block and took the elevator to the seventh floor, before stepping in front of the apartment, and she rang the bell.

She didn't have to wait for too long. As soon as the door opened, the detective appeared in the door frame. His hair was far messier than the night before, and he was wearing his coat no more, but his shirt, half-unbuttoned, and with his sleeves rolled up. He looked down at the red haired woman, watching her shift uncomfortably under his fixed gaze, as she cleared her throat. She couldn't pick a better time to come by, could she? She just had to come now, when he was in the middle of work and he looked completely disheveled and unlike any trust earning detective.

Sighing, the man ran his hand through his hair and stepped out of the door, nodding at her to get inside. "Forgive the intrusion." her voice sounded so eerily calm now, as opposed to the previous night, it almost surprised the man. "I invited you over. It was a mistake on my part that I didn't expect you so soon." he closed the door, guiding her to the living room. "Coffee?" "Yes, please. Milk and sugar if you can." how demanding, Mashita almost smirked, going to the kitchen to prepare the coffee. It wasn't anything high quality, but it did the trick in keeping him awake when needed, at least. Though, he drank his coffee black, he was pleasantly surprised to see he still had some unspoiled milk and some sugar. Must be the habits that his mother reeled into him from an early age - Always keep the bare minimum and the non-perishable ingredients in your house, just in case you have nothing to eat and need to whip up something quick. Smart woman, his mother.

After a not so long wait, he brought the tray over to the small glass coffee table and served the beautiful woman sitting to stiff on the couch. She looked like a proper lady, her back straight as a pole, her hands placed over her lap, manicure perfectly clean and in a short cut, her legs were in a lady-like position, and there was no hair out of place from the hair-style she made for herself. Not even her earrings were dangling, but the gold and jewels of her rings and necklaces were softly glowing in the dim-light made by the light-bulb. He loved the way he could rotate the light switch and manipulate the light output.

Though a brighter room kept him awake, keeping a dimmer ambiance relaxed him and helped him work more efficiently. Even in this cheap light, however, the gorgeous hue of deep scarlet that her hair was seemed to be brightening up his bleak home. Even her soft chiffon dress that flowed and hugged her silhouette so perfectly, seemed to make her look like a gracious and elegant woman, though he couldn't help but be amused by the princess-like colour of it - The most delicate pearl pink. She looked like a doll, and as soon as he sat down on the armchair opposite of her, he could get a better look at her face too. Her make up was simple, yet the way her pink lips shone, and the twinkle of vitality in those green eyes of hers... Or was that mint? Turquoise? Aquamarine? That was a shade that he couldn't pin-point. Perhaps it changed with the light? Who knew.

Still, he must have appeared like the  most anti-social and awkward man on the planet, keeping quite and staring at her enough to make her even more uncomfortable - Though he doubted it was possible at that point - But at least she did a good enough job at keeping herself calm and unshakeable. She sipped from her coffee, gingerly holding the ugly porcelain tea cup - It really didn't suit her - But she seemed to be satisfied with the taste of the searing hot beverage. "I'm Mashita Satoru. Yesterday, I lied to you, claiming I work in law enforcement. In truth, I just recently left my job and now work as a private detective." the woman nodded at him in acknowledgement, thought she bothered naught to utter even a single word. Interesting. "Since you're here, you must have noticed the scar." she nodded. "What do you think about it?" "I don't like making baseless suppositions over things that I have no knowledge of. Medically speaking, it's a non-sensical enigma. The coagulation factors don't work so fast, nor do they affect only the lesion place alone - Provided that I had been carved... Rather, considering its placing, how would I get my skin cut so perfectly thin that the carotid artery didn't get severed? I would have died in 15 seconds from blood loss. Not only that, but the mark itself looks akin to an animal bite, but it's not 3-Dimensional, nor does it hurt, so it cannot be that either. And it's no tattoo, since there's no irritation or redness in the surrounding area of the skin... And it didn't get wiped away with water and soap either."  "So you're a medic." the woman nodded. No wonder. The way she spoke, so analytical and professional, it only made sense. "What is your name?" with a question alone, he was able to see the cracks in her composure. The slightest widening of her eyes, as well as her pupils darting to the side, made it obvious that she wasn't remembering the most basic of information about herself - Her own name. It wasn't a good indication of her state - Though he couldn't help but wonder how come she knew other things, but not her own name? Well, Yashiki wasn't too far off from her situation. Perhaps this curse is more mysterious than he thought.

The woman buried her hand into her rose-gold purse and took out a beautiful, feminine wallet. She took her ID card and gazed at the picture. Yes, that was her. "Hasashi Kisara... January 3rd... Born in Kyoto. I'm 25 years old." she spoke clearly, as though she was reciting some kind of poem for the first time. She nodded, as if she was agreeing with the information she was reading. "Yes, that sounds familiar." she said. "I work at the Veterinary Hospital in the city center. I called in for medical leave this morning to come here." "Do you remember why you were in the forest last night?" the man asked. He almost sounded like a therapist with his client. "Every weekend I go to the park or the forest to look for plants for my Botany book. I like flowers and have a particular interest in poisons and medicine from ancient times. I like to compare and see how far we've come, you see. I tape and press the plants to one page, draw it on the other, and write random trivia of all kinds about it - Whatever I find in books. Yesterday was a day like no other. I remember seeing the Sun setting though... And I remember wanting to go home before it got too late. Why have I not left, however, I do not know, nor why was I outright sleeping there." she explained - Mashita nodded. Her memory matched with what he had seen that night. "So you didn't want to kill yourself." he spoke, watching the confusion painting her beautiful face. "Why would I want to kill myself?" her voice came as a whisper. How precious. "If I told you that your scar came from a ghost that cursed you, would you believe me?" he asked. Her face twisted, cringing at the mere notion of the supernatural that defied all kinds of rationale - Though, after a few seconds, she sighed and closed her eyes, coming up with a semi-believable affirmative answer. "That forest is said to be home to many people who took their life. The ghost that resides in it is also said to curse those who are willing to kill themselves." "...You have no idea how much I want to make fun of what you're saying." the woman scoffed, and Satoru himself couldn't help but smirk.

"I am no different. I never believed in this crap either. But this is the second time I got cursed, and the only way I escaped alive the first time was thanks to my partner, who purified the ghost that had cursed me, and others." the uneasy expressions of disbelief that she was making were absolutely making his day better. "Fine. Even if I don't believe in ghosts - I have no choice but to, otherwise I'll die. So, to save myself, I have to purify this ghost, yes? How do I do that?" he was surprised with how well she took that information. For a woman who didn't even remember her name, she was rather level-headed. For now. "We investigate the area where the ghost is located, find more information about it and the circumstances of its death, then... We exorcise it, I suppose." it all must have sounded like a really bad horror-mystery movie. "Forgive me, I left my priestess outfit at home. Let me get my gohei and kagura suzu. Do I need some Buddhist holy beads too? A rosary, perhaps? Holy water? ... Ofuda talismans?" Satoru let out a small chuckle at her sarcastic and exaggerated response. "You'll need none of that, though if you really want to, we won't stop you." he said, and for some reason, her vibe changed. "You kept saying 'we'. Who is 'we'?" with a wry smile, Mashita showed her his mark. It was rather visible, and he was almost surprised she hadn't spotted it already. She must have been too focused on her fright, and he couldn't blame her. The whole situation as a whole was rather... Unbelievable. "Oh. I'm sorry." she muttered. "Then, that partner of yours. The one from last night. He, also...?" Satoru nodded. "... Are we the Ghostbusters now, or what?" "Might as well." he nodded. "I suggest you change into an outfit that's more appropriate to chasing around blindly through the thicket and running from ghosts." "At what time and place should we meet, then?" she asked.

After listening to Mashita's plan, Kisara got to her feet and walked towards the exit, the soft clink of her heels echoing rhythmically into his head. He never cared for the sound shoed made on the ground, but for some reason, he didn't quite mind this. As she stepped outside of his apartment and said her formal farewells, she stopped herself abruptly, before looking past her shoulder, right at him. "Thank you, Mr. Mashita. I owe you." It must have been that sweet voice of hers, or the sparkle in those vixen eyes that although looked so pretty, held some kind of twinkle of brilliance that he felt so attracted to - Or maybe it was that she didn't bother wasting time speaking non-sense, which in turn, transformed him into the rude, sarcastic jerk that people always describe him as... He didn't feel compelled to snark her, the same he does to Yashiki... And anyone else, for the matter. "Satoru." Her surprise showed for exactly a split second, and it was replaced by an enigmatic smile, with the tiniest hint of timidness. She shifted her gaze back forwards. "Kisara." she spoke out her name, before walking towards the elevator to leave. 

On first-name bases so quickly, Miss Hasashi? Mashita thought to himself, as he closed the door, stealing one last peek at the beautiful woman. What an interesting individual. For once, Satoru felt rather energetic and was looking forward to investigating this case together with her. She gave off an effortlessly confident and self-assured aura, calm and collected, and incredibly calculated - But in the face of supernatural dangers that made absolutely no sense and defied any law of rationality and logic, will she continue being so pragmatic and down to earth?

Oh. Mashita's eyes widened, before he found himself chuckling - Perhaps he should have given her the option of just staying in the comfort of her own home, away from any kind of threat - After all, his own life was bound to this very ghost, and had to purify it, otherwise, he'd die. Whether she's there to help with the investigation or not, would make no difference either way. Was he cruel for omitting such an important detail? Perhaps he will tell her... At some point. It wasn't often that his curiosity was piqued. It was going to be a rather fascinating night.

For once, however, he wondered if Miss Kisara was as curious about him, as he is about her. That was going to be revealed, from the moment he goes to pick her up from home, to the second he escorts her back to the manor Yashiki's staying at. Speaking of Yashiki, he should give him a heads up about Kisara joining in the investigation.

Or maybe not.

Where'd the fun be in that?

Next Chapter >

[realityhelixcreates]

By Talos, This Can't be Happening pt 6: Bruma County Blues

Oh is it going to let me post this one? Marvelous!

Our heroes(citation needed) finally reach Bruma! What absolute horseshit awaits them there?

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions @whocares-idont

?~?~?~?~?

Helix thanked the elves profusely while Swag laid out their single bedroll. Yeah, this wasn't going to enforce the elopement theory at all. Oh well. It was probably better than saying oh yeah, we're super into each other, years long relationship, but we're both so traumatized by previous experiences that we're mutually afraid of commitment baybeeeeee~

Yeah no.

What they had was fine, and he didn't worry about it.

Helix and the elves got a fire started and some food cooking. The elves swapped stories of their people and their old home at Helix's curious prodding, sang elven folk songs in a lovely, flowing language Helix seemed able to understand. Hearing their words tumble from her lips lit a little flame in him.

It was funny. She could speak the languages of elves and dragons, demonic and celestial beings, but on Earth, only English. His grasp of Italian delighted her.

Well, it was very sexy after all.

While Helix caroused with the elves, Swag located the needle and thread he'd appropriated from the waystation, and began fixing his damaged clothes and backpack.

“Oh, you've a steady hand.” one of the elves pointed out. “Didn't think Nords were really into that sort of thing.”

“His family are tailors.” Helix lied rather easily. “From Markarth. That's how we met.”

“She's been my canvas ever since.” he said locking eyes with her over the fire. If they were going to craft this lie, they were gonna do it together. She smiled, and the elves exchanged knowing looks.

Yeah, yeah, they were adorable. But more importantly, they now had a more solid existence in this land. Just so long as they didn't run into anybody else from 'Markarth', wherever that was...

They ate dinner, and Swag finished repairing his things, then Mels bid the 'youngsters' retire in preparation for their early morning.

“Does he not realize that we're like, thirty-seven?” Swag whispered, once they'd crammed themselves into the bedroll.

“Maybe not.” Helix whispered back. “Elves live a really long time, so they might not be good at judging human ages. Besides, you still look fantastic.”

“Right back at'cha. You are timeless.”

“Here's hoping.”

With a quick smooch, they settled down.

Twin red stars in a twilit world, the air floral perfume. His eyes stung from incomprehensible beauty, scent, sound, sight, overwhelmed, but two red stars, always.

They blinked.

“Challenge.”

Feminine voice, everywhere at once, inside. A woman in a dress of flowing starlight, a statue given breath.

She lifted her arm and pointed to the west and green. A grimy man lifted his arm and pointed to the west and green. A monk lifted his arm and pointed to the west and

Red.

A path split, and split, and split again, into rays like starlight, starlight, starlight-

“Mornin' Starlight.”

They wore rings and lived a cozy life in a stone walled shop in the largest and most prosperous city in the world. She was happy, even though she barely remembered anything these these days, and he took what joy he could in caring for her.

Like starlight, starlight, starlight-

“Stay with me, Starlight.”

He knelt before the statue with her in his arms, like a Pieta in parody, making a pledge to the being whose evil crept up from the ground to claim the words from his mouth.

Rays like starlight-

“I miss you, Starlight.”

The rope was tight around his neck, and a thousand eyes were on him, waiting to see the ultimate fate of the Gray Fox, but he was simply relieved to be finally leaving this tiresome world behind.

Rays like starlight, which curled back in on themselves and disappeared as in dawn. There was no road before him. It was on him now, to step into that unknown, and set himself on one of many possible paths.

He lifted his foot.

He opened his eyes.

Nice and snug with Helix in their shared bedroll, and a gleaming white statue gazing down upon them.

Helix mumbled at his movement, floating into wakefulness.

“Mornin' Starlight.” he yawned. “Weird dreams?”

“Mnn. No...none at all.”

“You're awake? Excellent. Pack up and get prepared.” Mels said from the other side of the clearing. “I'm afraid I really can't let you stay any longer. This is no campsite, after all.”

It was fair. Back home, the churches talked a big game about mercy and generosity, but they sure as hell didn't let the homeless shack up in the sanctuary. The Daedra priest had shown more forbearance than them.

They got their things together, and tended to their hygiene as best they could, then followed the elves back to the main road.

“Hey sorry again about the troll.” Swag said, and the elves waved him off.

“It wasn't as if you did it on purpose.” Mels said “Who would expect such a thing to happen? I haven't heard of there being any trolls in these parts for many years.”

Swag could feel the eyes of the statue on him, mocking and amused. He bid the elves farewell, grabbed Helix firmly by the hand, and began walking off to the west.

“No more going off the road, okay?” Swag said. “If something is growing within arms reach, fine, but we can't get lost like that again. We're not equipped to take on monsters.”

“Agreed. We'll get to Bruma, and then do something to scrounge up enough money for some equipment. Don't know what yet, though.”

“You leave that to me. I've got skills. Now don't you judge.” he said, noticing her side-eying him.

“No, of course not. I just don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

He barked a short laugh.

“Baby, I regret so much. Don't worry, I won't do anything I wasn't already willing to do. Meanwhile, why don't you tell me anything else you know about this world?”

She spoke as they walked, about the world being created by Aedra and Daedra, about the moons being the body of the one who tricked them into doing it, and the sun being a hole torn in the firmament, created when the god of magic decided to abandon the project and return to his home dimension. About the great towers scattered across the world, places of enormous power that supposedly stabilized material reality.

The White-Gold Tower was still visible from the road, rising high and slender through the morning mists. Maybe it held the key to getting home?

The road began to wind upward again, though this time he could just barely see the top of a crenelated stone wall poking out above the snowy trees.

“You think that might be it?”

“I think that might be it.”

A city. Civilization at last, for whatever that meant here. Helix of Verdancy might be an ethereal forest witch, but Edward Nigma was definitely a city rat. The cities he was used to didn't have things like tall stone walls or guarded gates, but they also didn't have bandits and trolls and giant rats. Well not that kind of giant. You saw things on the Gotham subway, but still...not like that.

The gate guards wanted nothing more than their names and business, and that was easy enough. Helix and Edward, and just passing through~

That was all this world needed from them, but he felt like it was going to try and take more.

Bruma looked old. Lived in, but built on the bones of history, in the way one could go walking down the street in Europe and be suddenly confronted by a building from the sixteen hundreds. A reminder that people had been here for centuries before you, and would be after.

The city was split into clear business and residential districts, centrally divided by a huge stone cathedral. It looked like the kind of church that could be found in the older portions of Gotham, though he doubted there were any crosses hung in this one. Houses clustered around it, like chicks around a dark, brooding hen, or orphans around a dark, brooding bat, while shops and public buildings squatted on stone tiers like a collection on display.

Helix approached a guard who was warming himself next to a large brazier.

“Pardon. We're new here, could you point us to a boarding house?”

The guardsman looked the two of them up and down, and from the slight sneer on his face, Swag guessed they didn't make a favorable impression.

“Yeah, you'll want the Tap and Tack. It's...inexpensive. Other side of the chapel. Keep on the right side of the law while you're here.” he said dismissively.

Helix shrugged and they headed toward the chapel, Swag throwing one annoyed glance back over his shoulder at the brusque guardsman.

Dick.

The Tap and Tack certainly looked...inexpensive. Like a rickety shack that would blow over in a storm more like, but it was clearly a high traffic area, and warm inside. Customers filled the common room which smelled strongly of ale, bread, and smoke, and they were shouted at upon entering to hang up any weapons they had that were larger than a dagger.

Helix held up her hands.

“Sorry man, they don't come off.”

A few half-hearted laughs from other patrons, and they were promptly ignored again, having to shove their way up to the bar.

“How much for a room and a meal?” Helix asked.

The innkeeper eyed them both with the same dismissive attitude the guard had shown them, and shrugged.

“Three septims usually, but if you're short, I'll take that polypore you got.”

Helix had collected so many plants that she'd had to string them around her waist and over her shoulders. She removed a yellow mushroom from a string, and plopped it down on the counter. Swag had watched her pry the sulfurous thing off a rotten stump two days ago, and could not imagine at the time what use it might be.

The innkeeper supplied two wooden bowls and utensils, half a loaf of bread, and directed them to the stew pot over the fire. They opted to eat in the room provided, instead of trying to squeeze in at one of the crowded common room tables.

Swag had hoped for a bed, but there was only another furry bedroll. At least it was clean.

Helix lit the lamp and settled on the floor, laying out her large collection of plant parts, organizing and bundling them up. She selected a handful of stalks, and began stripping their silvery leaves.

“Is that going into the soup?” Swag asked, going through their backpacks, taking inventory of their remaining supplies. One of their water bottles had been cracked in the troll attack and was slowly leaking. Their bread had been soaking it up all day, and Swag drooped a little more with each handful of mushy goop he scooped out.

What a damn shame. All that effort, wasted.

Her lips tightened slightly at the sight of the loss.

“Sorry.” he said. “Troll fucked it up.”

“Better that than you.”

She took his hand, pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles, and went back to her silvery leaves.

“These aren't going into the soup. They could, but they're more valuable for other things.”

“They smell great.” it was a green, herbaceous scent, hard to place yet somehow familiar.

“It's mugwort. Were you ever into absinthe?”

“I've tried it. Great aesthetics, but didn't enjoy it like I thought I would.”

“Mugwort and wormwood are related. Tomorrow, I will seek out whatever mage, alchemist, or apothecary this city has to offer, and I will sell this, along with whatever else I've gathered that I can get decent value from. Some of these are uncommon, not things that can really be cultivated. I might also be able to get some information out of whoever I sell to. Some clue about what to do next. How to proceed.”

They ate in relative silence, Helix getting her wild wares prepared while Swag examined his knife, looking it over for dirt, damage, or rust. There were two bedrolls now, so they had space to stretch out, but...

They pulled the furry sleeping bags close to one another, so they could rest to the sounds of each other's breath.

?~?~?~?~?

[wolfwoocl]

The scent of singed flesh has barely cleared his nostrils and he can already see Vash examining him with that bleak, guilty wince. Every Goddamn time. If they had the time, he’d be shaking Vash by the shoulders right about now to dislodge whatever stupid ideas were taking root in his brain. Time might convince Vash if not another handful of ill-advised electrocutions. Evidently the word of a priest doesn’t amount to much these days. He wouldn’t be here if he were truly afraid of traveling in the Humanoid Typhoon’s wake.

For now, they dart through the streets, bound over stacked barrels and crates, weave through clotheslines, and scurry across the rooftops. All eyes are trained on the red tails of Vash’s coat as calls to follow go out. They aren’t focused on him. Fear pulls them to Vash.

“Well, that won’t do,” Wolfwood mutters under his breath, dashing down a parallel alley and grabbing a milk crate in each hand. He throws both out, scattering empty bottles into the thoroughfare as law enforcement gives chase along the main thoroughfare. Satisfied with the yelps of confusion and breaking glass, he quickly spies a path up to a balcony using exposed vigas jutting from mud plaster as handholds. 

No unorthodox route goes untraveled without an ear-splitting shriek or two when he blunders past some poor woman’s living room after climbing in through her window. He helps himself to a fresh, heaping plate of spaghetti off the edge of the dining table while dodging a thrown frying pan.

“Sorry, lady! Ain’t got time to explain,” he yells, tossing out a handful of crumpled double dollars from his pocket as an empty can of tomato paste goes flying past his head. Some of it splatters against his cheek and across the popped collar of his shirt.

Spaghetti in hand, Wolfwood launches from the top rail of her balcony and lands in a crouch inside their hotel room. There, the Punisher leans shadowed from the sun. He wrenches it up by the strap. Any vines lingering at its base disintegrate as he hefts it against his back proceeds to rendezvous with Vash.

His ears are still fucking ringing.

“Needle-noggin!” he shouts, more to announce his presence as he hefts the weight of the Punisher entirely to one side to keep the saddle clear as he throws a leg over his bike and throws it into gear as Angelina’s engine roars to life. 

They really need to look into getting a damn sidecar. 

The Humanoid Typhoon is somewhere nearby, but Nicholas feels no present need to verify exactly where. It goes without saying that their paths would converge here. An instinctive glance to the rooftops, and he hollers, “Get on!” as a fresh wave of bullets pepper the ground behind Angelina’s rear wheel.

Driving straight is no problem, but turning represents a challenge when he’s carrying the Punisher in one hand and balancing a plate of pasta in the other. Keeping his knees braced against the sides of the Angelina, Wolfwood releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he finally spies the head of familiar blond spikes just by the edge of his periphery.

The front wheel is starting to wobble.

Adrenaline swoops through his stomach and throat while his heart pounds in his ears. They can still pull this off, even with enraged townspeople behind them.

“Take the handlebars! Ohh, fuck, oh God.” 

Vash can only watch the scene unfold in front of him in horror as the shock blasts Wolfwood mercilessly. Sure, the man can heal it up with vials but...

A shock like that could kill a man.

Any other man would've died.

He... could've killed the one person who stands behind him through thick and thin, his best friend, his partner—oh, oh...

Bile rises in the back of his throat, and he can feel himself freeze to the ground, but Wolfwood is right. Staying here would be dangerous for both of them, so he... he has to leave. A part of him says to leave, to run and run and never turn back; that he's too dangerous to be around—but these are the same thoughts that led to all this in the first place.

Soundlessly, Vash mouths the word, 'Okay,' before turning to bolt. He can feel the tears threatening to spill as he zigs and zags through tight corridors and alleyways; even as his lungs cry out for air, his throat feels like it's closing up. It's pathetic, crying and running away like this—he doesn't deserve to cry about it, he just needs to run—

No. No, Wolfwood just nailed it into his head that he would stay. They're... they're partners. If he ran it'd hurt him more than the shock did, probably.

Wolfwood loves him, and Vash loves him in turn—more than anything.

Fully distracted, Vash rounds a corner into a wide street. Angelina is a few blocks away—so close, yet so far—and the sounds of footsteps and clacking guns and shouting draws ever nearer. He needs to find high ground, get on top of one of these buildings, something before he gets caught and causes more trouble for Wolfwood.

The red tails of his coat billow behind him as he leaps onto a dumpster, then a fire escape—nearly taking the latter down with him as he climbs up the rusted iron ladder and stairs. Shots ring out from below; a few bullets graze his coat, some go wide and shatter brick or glass. Someone is seriously trying to use a sawed-off shotgun from a distance, which Vash has to admit is quite optimistic (and very loud).

With unnatural speed, the blond leaps from building to building, taking small breaks behind rooftop structures for cover. At the end of the road however, a lone man in a leather duster guards the way out of town with a rifle over his shoulder and a revolver holstered at his side.

That's the sheriff? He looks like an outlaw!

'Shit.'

His back can shrug off bullets without issue, but his front is typically vulnerable. It's dangerous, but Vash needs to run parallel to Angelina before Wolfwood catches up—he can't give away the location of their getaway ride, or else the man might do something to it.

The next building is taller than the one he's currently on, and doesn't have a fire escape—just windows to scale it. It'll be risky, but he needs the high ground, so Vash makes the leap, managing to catch a windowsill and heave himself up, then up again.

A rifle shot rings out, and Vash can feel it—the bullet strikes him in the back of his thigh, then another in the same leg but lower this time. Unfortunately, the man is a good shot and called his shot in the small, weakly-armored space between where his coat covers and the protection of his knee-high boot.

It's fine! It's fine it's fine it's fine it's fine—

He manages to scale the building without getting hit again, and rests out of sight until he can hear the pounding of Wolfwood's steps as he runs carrying the Punisher. He'll deal with the bullets later.

[makeyoumine69]

Starboy

● PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

● SUMMARY: When on one day Mr. Bateman came to your office, you never knew how far it could go.

● WARNINGS: Implied flirt, seduction, small innocent touches, sweet-talker Patrick Bateman himself, minor possessive behaviour.

● WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

● A/N: One more prequel about Patrick and his little Cupcake, I enjoy writing their backstory so much! Btw, I was inspired by this American Psycho edit. As always, I hope you like this chapter!💕

● SONG REC: The Weeknd - Starboy✨

● LINKS: [Sweet like a Cupcake Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

The days after that “little accident” with Mr. Bateman felt like a horrible nightmare.

You were constantly thinking about losing your job, strolling around your office and watching the sun's rays breaking through the window. What if you just stayed silent and let him ground you into the dirt, soaking up all the shit he was saying–would your boss be satisfied with you then?

The click of the door opening caught your attention before Cindy’s sonorous voice reached your ear.  “(Y/N), we should go get coffee! Our favorite barista finally came back. Woohoo, no more shitty coffee!”

With a dull smile on your face, you tapped the papers on your desk. “I need to finish this by the afternoon.” You looked over the documents again, and then sighed. “Just go without me.”

She whined, disappointment clear in her voice, and when you looked at her, she was already standing in the doorway, checking the time on her watch. “I’ll just rush, so our coffee won’t get cold. Do you want a latte or cappuccino?”

“Dealer’s choice,” you chuckled and took your place at the deck. “Just… Don't spill it… Okay?”

“Alright, alright…”

Then she walked away, leaving you alone in your office again. Back to work.

Leafing through the documents was a kind of meditation for you–it helped soothe your mind, distracting you from obsessive thoughts. 

Your edits were quick, slashing across the page, adding notes in the margin with a well-loved red pen. The door opened again. “What did you forget this time?” you asked, not looking up. “Cindy, could you also bring me a cupcake–”

“Good afternoon.” A familiar, tenor voice caused your whole body to taut like a string. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Ever hauntingly perfect, Patrick Bateman was standing in the doorway, casting a studying glance at you. You stood up abruptly, anticipating nothing but the worst. He might really be so vindictive to come in person with your termination notice.

“(Y/N), isn’t it?” he asked smoothly, closing the door behind him. 

“Yes, that’s me,” you replied, attempting to sound as confident as you could. “How can I help you, sir?”

“First, call me Patrick,” he gave you his most cocky snow-white smile, roaming around your office and getting closer to your desk. “And please, relax. I’m not here to fire you.”

The corners of your mouth twitched slightly, but that didn’t really ease the tension. His presence here was making you feel weirdly thrilled.

"As you wish, sir, but I’m afraid that a first-name basis breaks the subordination rules of our company,” you pressed the pen against the tabletop, leaning a bit on your other hand. “Penalties are strictly enforced for things like that.”

Amused, Bateman was standing in front of your table, so the smell of his cologne easily hit your nose. “Our previous meeting was… Well, it was horrible as hell,” he said, watching you nervously rap the pen. “I just want to apologize, and I hope you’ll let me take you to lunch, at least.”

With a sharp click, your pen flew away in an unknown direction, but you just ignored that, continuing to act naturally. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I usually don’t have time to eat, 'cause I’m pretty busy and–” you stammered a bit as only now you noticed you were looking into each other's eyes for over thirty seconds straight.

“‘And’?”

“My boss won’t be happy if I don’t have these reviews done by–”

“Wait a second.” Patrick held up a finger to stop you before he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m your boss, sweetie.”

Gulping, you had no choice but to turn your face into a friendly expression and grin politely. “With all respect, sir, you’re the boss of my boss. And, I really need to finish these.”

Patrick huffed as he stared at you, his hazel eyes spinning with green and brown, until they were a hypnotizing spiral that sucked you in. “Okay, I think I get it.” He shook his head, smirking all the time from how timidly you were batting your eyelashes. “Now listen (Y/N), in two hours I will be at Four Seasons, the one down here,” he quickly checked his Rolex, and then glanced at you again. “I’ll be waiting for you there. Don’t be late.”

As if he didn’t want to give you a chance to refuse, Bateman turned around and left your office. The silence filled up your ears after the door closed. Your chest was rising and falling so quickly; you couldn’t really believe what just happened. Biting your lower lip, you thoughtfully slid your hand against the tabletop–a creeping panic was growing in your gut, making it hard for you to breathe.

When Cindy returned fifteen minutes later, you didn’t say even a word about what had happened just before she came back, because it would sound completely absurd. And considering her previous reaction to what you told her about Mr. Bateman, she would probably burn with envy. But there was one more problem–how to sneak out from the office without anyone asking questions?

“Erm, Cindy…I’m going on a quick break,” you mumbled as you got up to grab your coat. 

“Wait, wait! Where are you going?” 

“It’s nothing interesting,” smiling sheepishly, you wrapped a woolen scarf around your neck. “Oh, did I thank you for the coffee? It was really nice!”

“Hey! Stop messing around!” she protested, standing up from her seat, with arms crossed. “You usually don’t go anywhere for ‘breaks’!”

Sighing, you took your bag and glanced at your watch. Plenty of time. “I’ll tell you when I get back, okay?” a small bluff wouldn't be an issue–you concluded, watching Cindy sadly pouting. “One of our colleagues asked me for lunch, that’s all, you know. Nothing special…”

“And who’s this cutie pie? Ah, don’t tell me, I think I know who it is!” She clapped her hands, and her voice trilled with excitement. “If you say that it’s that nerd from our computer department, I’m gonna die!”

Humming, you gave yourself a few seconds to think before replying: “Yes, it’s him.”

“Eeeee!” she giggled, shushing herself with a palm. “Oh, my gosh, poor ‘Romeo’ finally made a step!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chided, holding out your hands to soothe her. “I don’t have much time, and I still need to find the place where we’re having lunch. So, see you later… Oh, and Cindy, if the boss calls, please tell her I’m out for some office supplies.”

On that bright note, you left your office, with mysterious excitement.

It was your first time at Four Seasons, though you heard a lot of positive reviews about this place from the top management of P & P. Once you made just one step inside the restaurant, you met at least three or four good-looking females, all dressed with expensive clothes and jewelry. After a quick examination of yourself, you had to admit—your office uniform was looking unsuitable for this kind of an establishment, but who would care? If one arrogant snob didn’t force you to come here, all restaurant visitors wouldn't have to suffer from your “super luxury look”—you giggled sarcastically to yourself before you approached the maître d' — a young blond lady with a very deep neckline. As soon as she noticed you, she gave you a suspiciously friendly smile and greeted you:

“Good afternoon, Miss and welcome to the Four Seasons. My name is Veronica. How can I help you?”

“Oh, hello!” you smiled back. “There should be a reservation under Mr. Bateman.”

The last words you said made her face change literally before your eyes and now it was not as friendly as one minute ago. “Let me check please,” she was sorting through the pages of the logbook, looking at you from time to time from under her long lashes. “Please, follow me.”

The closer you were getting to the table, the more you felt an uprising fear in your chest and you couldn’t really understand what was really scaring you that much: him, this fancy place, or all of these things together. Wrapped in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice you had already reached the place as the maître d' extended her hand, inviting you to take the seat just across from Patrick, who at that moment was studying the menu, with his face half covered by it.

“Have a good time!” The blonde glanced at you contemptuously for the last time before she strolled away.

“Thanks…” You replied to no one, nervously undoing your scarf.

“Glad to see you again, sit down.” Bateman murmured, putting the menu aside, his brown eyes were exploring your frame like a scanner. 

“I hope I am not late.”

“No, you are just in time,” he smirked as you finally sat in front of him, your hands nervously fixing the sleeves of your white blouse. “What do you usually prefer to drink? Tea, water, maybe coffee?”

“I had enough coffee today, but thank you,” you looked at him more confidently, as your strategy for this lunch was pretty simple–be nice, friendly, and polite. “This place is so lovely!”

“You think so?”

“Uh, yes. Well, I’m not the type of person who goes on lunch to such places,” you paused as you noticed how attentively he was listening to you, raising his right eyebrow. “So, I don't know what to compare it to, but this one looks exquisite.”

You heard him chuckling softly before Bateman took a sip of his whiskey, pointing at the menu with his stare. “Choose what you want to eat.”

With a warm grin on your face, you took the menu but once you saw the prices–you felt your hair standing on edge. “You know, I’m not really hungry.”

“Stop pretending, sweetie,” damn, did he call you like that again? “If you were not hungry you wouldn’t ask your friend to bring you a cupcake, right?”

Stunned by his sudden trick, you hid behind the menu for a second to reflect on what to answer him back. “You have a significant memory, Mr. Bateman.”

“It’s Patrick,” he smiled at you flirtatiously while his piercing gaze seemed trying to catch any little weaknesses of yours. “As you should know, my type of work requires such things.”

“Of course.” You nodded.

“And… I really prefer you to call me Patrick, but on the other hand, the way you say ‘Mr. Bateman’ sounds kinda hot.”

You nearly let out a nervous laugh but you held back yourself as you gave him a confused look. 

Unlike you, Bateman couldn’t help but snigger at your reaction. “Relax, silly. I’m joking.”

“That's what I thought…” You were acting as if nothing happened, desperately trying to suppress an unknown frisson inside your body.

Then, a tall dark-haired waiter got your attention as he came across your table, with a notebook in his hands. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Beef Steak with Grilled Vegetables and Sweet Potatoes,” Patrick pointed with a finger, forcing his golden Rolex to wiggle on his wrist. “(Y/N), did you make your choice?”

“To be honest, I’d rather eat something sweet,” you glimpsed at the waiter with hope, because you didn’t even see the dessert menu. “Maybe you can recommend something to me?”

“We have amazing cheesecakes and tiramisu-”

“A dessert for lunch?” Bateman asked in surprise, cutting off the waiter and leaving you a bit embarrassed. “I think Sweet Pea and Tuna Salad sounds better,” he waited for the busboy to take away the menu and then added: “It’s healthier, and it tastes delicious. You are gonna like it.”

Confused, you watched the waiter walking away when you suddenly blurted out: “Actually, you could make an order without asking-”

“I could, but I wanted to give you a chance,” the way he kept interrupting everyone was really pissing you off. “So, how long have you been working in our company? Cause I can’t really remember you,” frowning a bit, he leaned on the back of his chair. “You must be a new one?”

With a cunning smirk, you took a glass of mineral water that was already standing on the table. “Well, you can say that,” you smiled again before continuing: “I’ve been working as an accountant in Pierce & Pierce for two years already.”

Satisfied with how awkward he was looking right now, you made a victorious sip of water, waiting for his next step.

“Two years… Huh, that’s a lot!”

“Yes, but it’s fine we never met,” you stated, meeting his languid gaze more decisively. “Usually, top management doesn’t see any of its workers and it’s okay.”

Bateman nodded, humming something to himself as if the puzzle inside his head finally completed. “Mm-hm, I hope you’re happy with your job and you don’t feel overworked.”

Was it some kind of test? As much as you wanted to lament about all of your grievances, you couldn’t take any risks–how could you even trust the guy who first antagonized you and then asked you out for lunch… in Four Fucking Seasons. That was so weird. 

“I love everything about my work. But of course, it’s not perfect but nowhere is.” You replied confidently. 

“Don’t you mind if I smoke?” Before Bateman asked, he was already having a cigar in his hand.

Even if you did, what would you say? 

“Go on.”

And then you suddenly lost it, as you watched him lighting his cigar after your words, and you could swear to God–never in your life, you saw a man who was smoking sexier than that. Mesmerized, you couldn't take your eyes off of his beautiful features, especially his ideal cheekbones, which looked so sharp–you thought you could cut yourself if you touch them… Touch them?

Meanwhile, Patrick was definitely rambling about something, but you could only see how his perfectly shaped lips curled whenever he was speaking, and damn… His side profile seemed to be forged by a sculptor, as you didn’t really have any other explanations for how this man could be so fine… Wait, what were you even  thinking?

“(Y/N), are you listening?” His concerned voice took you out of your thoughts. 

“Oh, yes… Sorry! I just remembered about my report, which I should finish today and-”

“So, you’re really overworked if you can’t even stop thinking about your job while being here with me.”

Did he sound really offended, or it was just your slightly clouded mind–you couldn’t really find an answer as he added:

“Maybe I should speak with your boss about this?” he puffed on his cigar, giving you a challenging glance. “And guess what? I think we should have dinner.”

“Dinner?” 

“That’s exactly what I said,” smirking, Bateman blew some smoke rings, his dark eyes glowing with excitement. “Dinner, where we can chill a bit and have a proper conversation. Not like this.”

Just as you were about to reply, the waiter brought your meals, how unfortunate–you thought before taking a napkin, and of course, you touched his palm because Patrick was doing just the same thing. As if you were in some romance movie, you took your hand away like from fire, but that only spurred him to catch your palm again, stroking it nearly notably, and somehow, this time you didn’t even make a move—you only gasped. Rising your eyes on him, you could only see a devilish grin of satisfaction on his face and there was nothing really left for you to do, rather than ask yourself if that was really happening.