#i think this is the first time i draw the gem on Dagger's back + their connection point

[laugtherhyena]

Fighting game brainrot makes me think back to the fighting game ocs

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease. 

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.” 

“She’s here!” 

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms. 

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call. 

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals. 

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes. 

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting. 

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?” 

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this. 

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself. 

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist. 

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.” 

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute. 

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon. 

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves. 

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!” 

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids. 

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens. 

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you. 

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!” 

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow. 

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders. 

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom. 

A tool. 

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!” 

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high. 

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you. 

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass. 

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen. 

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid. 

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic. 

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!” 

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing. 

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.” 

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer. 

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!” 

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think! 

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing. 

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!” 

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin. 

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand. 

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl. 

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control. 

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?” 

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.” 

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny. 

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension. 

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually. 

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment. 

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth. 

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust. 

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood. 

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease. 

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic. 

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart. 

He wouldn’t kill you…would he? 

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate. 

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat. 

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?” 

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes. 

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin. 

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—” 

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth. 

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be. 

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close. 

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter. 

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it. 

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness. 

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table. 

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated. 

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood. 

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches. 

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.” 

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands. 

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers. 

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer. 

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words. 

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly. 

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering. 

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous. 

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?” 

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?” 

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…? 

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that. 

You’d never live like that here. 

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could. 

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist. 

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.” 

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window. 

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think. 

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck. 

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone. 

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.” 

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you. 

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.” 

“...Stay with me?” You ask again. 

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?” 

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood? 

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want. 

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

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[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

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Chapter Six

"There you are, Fraye. I've looked all over for you.", she hears.

Fraye turns to find Ser Jamie smiling down at her. She walks over, allowing him to hug her.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in days?!", she asks.

"Official knight business, dear. Why are you hiding away?", he asks.

"I just needed to think for a while.", she tells him.

"Is something the matter?", he asks, holding her shoulders so she can look at him.

"No... A little. I am just a little confused. That's all."

"About what?"

"My name day."

"My father always gets what he wants. I don't even want you to marry if I must be truthful... You're smart and you'd do great in the kingsguard one day. You could be the first woman knight, Fraye."

She smiles, "I would love that but your father refuses to let me wield a sword."

"Good think I taught you in secret... I have something for you."

She raises an eye brow when he pulls a dagger from his belt.

"It's yours.", he smiles.

She takes the dagger in her hand. The sharp silver, detailed with swirls. There's gold detail on the handle with an amethyst gem adorning the middle.

"This is beautiful!", she smiles, hugging him.

"I knew you'd love it. Keep it safe, Fraye. You never know when you might need it."

She nods with a grin.

"Really. This is the best gift I've ever received."

"I figured a dagger would suit better than a sword. You are fast and sly like a cat in battle."

"Still think you can beat me?", she asks, raising a brow.

He moves back drawing his sword.

"Bring it on, Hill."

She holds her dagger, parting her legs and waiting to strike. He starts to swing his sword and she dodges every blow. She laughs as her dagger touches his sword arm.

"How are you so quick?", he laughs, proudly.

"I don't know. I just am."

"You are going to give the man you wed, a hell of a time.", he laughs.

"Yes. But I will not marry someone who believes pretty little ladies have no brains."

"Well, my dear, that will prove difficult but you'll manage."

"I always do, ser."

                   ••••••◇•○•○•♡•○•○•◇••••••

 Later that evening. Fraye sits in the library, reading about the history of daggers and those who mastered the weapon.

Fraye sighs, turning the page on her book. She can feel her nerves rising with each passing day. She has less than a fortnight to choose a husband. She doesn't want to marry. She finds it ridiculous that she must.

Her thoughts linger to the hound. All she can think about is him. They way he looks at her. The way he calls her kitten. Something about his tone when he says it, goes straight between her legs. She didn't expect to feel this type of attraction to him but it's growing every day.

She's pulled out of her thoughts by Tyrion Lannister.

"I figured i'd find your here, Fraye.", he smiles, taking the seat across from her.

"No one ever comes in this library. It keeps me from unwanted encounters."

"Well, I'm sorry to impose."

"Well you are one of few that ever feel that way."

"You are the smartest man I know, Tyrion. Your company is one of few I can enjoy."

"Well, I am honored Fraye, truly."

He looks into her eyes, noticing dark circles forming.

"You seem troubled.", he tells her.

"I'm to find a husband soon."

"Yes, I'm sure Joffrey has your best interests in mind for the right husband. no doubt you'll need his say-so on who you choose.". he says with sarcasm.

"I'm not sure what to do Tyrion."

"Have you taken an interest in anyone?"

"... One person.. sort of."

"Pray tell who, my dear."

"I can't... He may not reciprocate. I would never force."

"You could never force. All of the knights and lords have been after you since your sixteenth name day."

"I just can't say, Tyrion."

"Well, what do you find so intruiging about this man, then?"

"There's just something about him. I can't get him out of my thoughts."

"As he done anything to you? Made advances?"

"None. He seems to be avoiding me actually. Trying to scare me off I think."

"I don't think you should consider him, Fraye. Any man would be lucky to wed you. I don't think he could be in his right mind to turn you down."

"I think he may be scared of me."

"I can not tell you what to do. But I promise that in the next week, if you haven't chosen, I will send Ravens for suitors. They will be invited to your name day and you can choose any of them. I know that Joffrey will choose someone awful if it is left to him."

"Thank you Tyrion. You have always been someone I can count on."

Tyrion touches herhand with a smile, "You are a smart girl. I know you will follow your heart."

As he walks out of the library, Fraye feels conflicted. Should she even consider the hound? She knows he wouldn't be a loving and understanding husband. But, she is running out of time and she knows she'd prefer him over some random lord or knight whom she doesn't know at all. Plus. She knows he would pay no mind to her knack for fighting. She even thinks he'd prefer it.

She sets down her book, deciding to go back to her room before she has to speak to anyone else. As if it was fate, Sandor happens to be standing near.

"Hello Ser Clegane.", she nods.

"I'm no ser.", he replies.

"You are to me."

She looks up at him, wondering if he really does find her dreadful.

When he looks back at her, she sees that he looks quite tired. As if something is worrying him.

"Are you alright?", she asks.

"Will you stop asking me how I am."

"Not a chance. So?... Are you?"

"I'm just fine m'lady... Are you alright?"

She smiles, thinking maybe he does care a little. Sandor suprised his own self by asking. But, considering he heard her conversation with Tyrion, he knows she's not happy and it's partially his fault.

"I could be worse, I guess. Finding a husband is worrysome. The knights wanting to be between my legs, as you put it, only worries me more, in fact."

"You'll be alright, little kitten.", he replies.

She smiles at him, feeling her chest tighten a little.

"Thank you Sandor. I must bid you farewell, I'm afraid. But, really... Thank you."

He wants to pull away but doesn't when she touches his hand as a thank you. His face turns a darker shade of red. She nods her head, before walking away. She leaves Sandor, dumbfounded and blushing. She can feel her plan working and she couldn't be happier about it.

[carissimipaixao]

uhh lupin w/ bliss #16 of that prompt list? if requests are still open that is!!

─ i. WHAT A THING TO ADMIT

published on: january 20, 2023 requested by: anon pairing: arsène lupin iii & reader prompt: “i don't think i've ever loved someone this much.” word count: 5.6k+ note: part one of this request! part two will be released shortly after. ask to be tagged if you want to be notified as soon as it is released, or follow! reblogs are highly appreciated!

The first time you meet Lupin III, you nearly cut his nose off.

You have found yourself hypnotized by the beauty of an exotic gem — your target — when a voice suddenly speaks from behind you. Out of pure instinct, dagger in hand, you turn, swinging your blade as fast as you can towards the face of an unknown man. He reacts just as quickly, with a shriek and eyes that nearly boggle off its sockets.

‘Careful where you swing that thing!’ He cries out, taking a long step back with a hand on his face. ‘What would I say to the ladies, if they saw me without my beautiful nose?’

You grit your teeth, firstly cursing yourself for lowering your guard and secondly cursing him for appearing in the first place. You are in a defensive stance, standing in front of the opened vault as the tip of your dagger points directly towards his sternum. Any move he decides to make will be his last, you think and you grip the dagger tighter. ‘I don’t know. They aren’t exactly missing out on anything, really.’

The man clenches his chest with a fake gasp, and, while he dramatizes how you must’ve hurt his feelings, you observe — as you always do. You’re searching through your brain and your memories, because there is something oddly familiar about his face. Have you met him before? Has he ever been a target?

‘Best you back off, monkey,’ you threaten. ‘Hate to inform you, but this is mine.’

‘Well, I hate to inform you,’ he begins as he straightens his back, ‘but I’ve already decided that I would have it.’ His hands are inside his pockets, and his smirk widens. The overconfidence only makes you more resentful — and, on edge. Your eyes narrow at his stance and you try to spot any sort of weapon that could be possibly attached to his body. He is yet to draw it, of course. Does he think, however, that he’s some kind of overpowered deity? Does he think he has any chance against her? Oh, hell no. ‘I’ve already sent a calling card, you see.’

A calling card? You blink, a clear realization echoing through your mind. But, before you can say anything—

You barely catch the subtle click before you dive back below the counter, just a curtain of bullets begins raining above your head. The thief shrieks — ever the freaking clown that he is — as he dodges the bullets, searching for cover. You make eye contact, and he shrugs with a sheepish smile. You only roll your eyes.

The shooting stops, though only for a moment. ‘Lupin!’ A rough, old voice rings through the deadly silent room. ‘Such a pleasure to have your delightful company.’

‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Lupin smirks, pulling out his iconic weapon. ‘Same as your little treasure.’

‘Ah! As if,’ your target scoffs, although you can already imagine how his face has darkened. ‘I’m sorry to inform you that you won’t be getting out of here with my treasure. Let alone alive! The same goes to the little mouse you’ve brought along with you!’

‘Huh?’

‘Excuse me—,’ you begin, feeling perhaps the most offended you’ve ever been in your life. You? With this man? Never.

‘You can’t fool me!’ He shouts. ‘It’s time I finally get rid of you, Lupin! Now, die!’

In an instance, the rain of bullets falls upon you once again. You press yourself harder against the counter, gritting your teeth in annoyance. You turn to spare a glance at Lupin, narrowing your eyes into the nastiest glare you can muster once you meet his eyes. He grins sheepishly, switching off the safety of the gun.

You shake your head, and, instead, turn your head in the other direction.

The ruby in the vault glints tauntingly at you. It’s still there, waiting to be stolen, waiting to be taken away from the greedy and wealthy. You wet your lips, your blood rushing through your veins. You can already imagine how much money you could make with that gem. It is bigger than a diamond, and more beautiful than all jewels combined.

You adjust your position, having already begun to plan your strategy. You are beginning to know how many seconds it takes for all men to fire, for all men to reload and fire again. The voices of Lupin and the ganglord are muffled as you take deep breaths.

Unfortunate as it may be for Lupin, you had already set your eyes on this gem for a little over a week. The saying goes “finders, keepers”, after all — and, in your opinion, you were already meant to be its new owner.

You wait a beat.

And, another.

And—

You throw a smoke bomb into the ground, hearing the hiss of the smoke as it begins to involve the room. The guards are shouting in a second, and you run towards the open vault. Lupin yells something from behind you, but you pay no mind to it. You have nothing to do with this man. When your fingertips brush against the sharp edges of the gem, you feel your face stretch, a grin forming on your lips.

You use your free hand to raise a piece of fabric around your neck, thus covering your mouth and nose. ‘Sorry, Lupin,’ you begin, finding his eyes through the smoke that is starting to surround him. ‘This is where we part ways.’

You don’t wait for a response as you jump through the broken window, a victorious laughter echoing through the night.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The chandelier glints in the ceiling. It is to be expected, when it is made out of diamonds. The owner of the estate clearly loves to show off his property and wealth, despite the unwanted attention the diamond chandelier and other goods receive and will receive. It attracts thieves like you, after all. From the distant, thoughtful and greedy eyes that are also sparing long glances at it, you suspect they are part of the Underground, just as you are.

You sip the champagne with a subtle curl of your lips. You’re not aiming to steal it, but if it were to be stolen… How much money would you make out of it? What if someone tries to steal it, and you steal a diamond from them, instead? So many possibilites and thoughts, but you’re trying to lay low for now, trying to restrain yourself from theft, after nearly being caught for stealing (and being robbed) that exotic gem from last month.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

A sudden voice from behind you makes you jump. You barely save your glass from spilled liquor and curse under your breath, before turning to look over your shoulder. For a moment, you brush the person off — until you do a double take and turn fully to look at them.

‘It’s said to have been a gift to Marie Anne de Bourbon,’ he continues, using his index finger to push the glasses in, while the other hand remains behind his back. ‘From her father, le Roi Soleil himself.’

‘Daddy’s little girl, then,’ you conclude with narrowed eyes before turning back to the chandelier. Though, to the outside world, it merely looked as if you were watching the crowd, glass in hand as you twirl it in deep thought.

‘Aw, don’t you look happy to see me?’ Lupin teases you, leaning towards you. You take a step to the side, turning your head to glare at him. His smile only widens. ‘I wonder if fate is bringing us together.’

‘Aren’t you a comedian,’ the sarcasm, as you fake a chuckle, drips through your voice like honey, but so does the venom that hides underneath.

The thief puts a hand on his chest, giving you a pout. ‘I see your heart remains cold, but that’s alright! I’ll just have to warm you up to me.’ He winks.

‘Is that your pick-up line?’

‘No. Did it work?’ He sounds hopeful for a moment, and he leans over again, invading your personal space. You use your arm to push against his chest, with an exasperated sigh, and the thief steps away with a giggle. Then, he turns to the chandelier, as he stands next to you. ‘Are you planning to steal that?’

‘I’m laying low. Not that it’s any of your business,’ you reply curtly. But, you are curious as a cat; and so, after a beat, you look at him from the corner of your eye, twirling the glass in your hand. ‘Are you?’

‘Why, of course!’ He puffs out his chest in all of his contemptuousness, not unlike a peacock. ‘I never back away from the promises I make.’

‘What are you talking about?’ At your question, he reaches inside his jacket and hands you a little paper. You hesitate, and you glare into his face. For all you know, there could be something inside. You’ve taken your time since the previous encounter to further research him; after all, you knew little of him when you first met him, for the exception that he was considered “a master thief” by some and constantly alerted his targets of his intentions. You’ve discovered he can be quite crafty and unpredictable.

Yet, in that face, you find nothing but pure contentment and composure. He appears relaxed and unhostile. Would he really harm you like this? In public and in the middle of a crowd? You don’t think he would be foolish to take the risk, but… what if…?

When you grab the paper that is held between his fingers, he puts his hands back inside his pockets. You glance at him again, wearily, and then, you open the paper. The first thing you notice is the little sketch on the bottom right corner of the paper, almost like a caricature. Even in his infamous calling cards, he acts like a clown. Then, you look at the contents of the letter. But, alas, you don’t understand it. You frown as you attempt to recognize any of those words or to find a possible translation, based on the spelling.

‘Ce soir, à neuf heures, je volerai le grand lustre de Madame Marie Anne de Bourbon,’ he reads the letter to you in a mischievous voice. ‘“Tonight, at nine o’clock, I will steal the great chandelier of Madame Marie Anne de Bourbon”.’ You sigh and hand the paper back to you, which he refuses to accept. ‘Keep it, as a memento of our delightful meeting.’ He gives you a wink.

‘What’s the point of all this, really?’

‘It gives me a challenge, you see,’ Lupin explains, observing the treasure up and down. His eyes narrow in calculating thought. You look quickly at your watch; it’s five to nine. ‘You say, “what’s the point of warning your target”, but I say, “what’s the point of a challenge if there’s no risk involved”. If there is no challenge, thieving just isn’t as exciting. If it weren’t for these—,’ he points at the calling card in your hand, ‘—I wouldn’t have to deal with obstacles or thrilling chases and enemies, such as that one.’

The thief points towards the opposite side of the ballroom. You follow its direction, until your eyes land on a man that is clearly not dressed for the occasion. In a long, brown coat and with a brown hat on top of his head, the man frowns with his hands in his pockets, as he inspects the room, looking for a specific face in the crowd. Then, he moves his left wrist close to his face and says something that you obviously can’t hear from this distance.

‘The police are here,’ you say and swallow for a moment. You quickly turn to glare at the man, who puts his hands up for a moment, as if afraid you’ll jump and attack him. ‘I’m laying low, and you bring the police.’

‘Had I known, I would’ve been more considerate,’ he smiles. ‘Don’t worry, if anyone catches you, I’ll rescue you, chérie.’

‘What did you just—’

At that same moment, the lights go off. You gasp and take a step back, taken by surprise. The entire room screams in shock, and you swear you hear the voice of the police inspector in the background, as the staff run blindly through the room, yelling for someone to turn on the generator. As you do, a hand gently grabs your own and you feel the slow touch of lips on the back.

‘Until we meet again.’

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you had suspected from the start, the chaos that followed the heist on Madame de Bourbon’s treasure, surveillance had tightened and the law enforcement, most particularly Interpol who was only there to catch your newest rival, looked through the crowd of guests to find any more collaborators. No one seemed to have been found, but they did find you.

The shackles around your wrists are too tight for your own liking, and your glare is heated as you mumble under your breath. You have been pushed into the back of a police van, and you can see the Inspector from Interpol talking to the owners of the estate. The old woman attempts to gain sympathy from the man, weeping openly into his arms. The man grows awkward, and coughs into his fist, politely pushing the woman away under the scandalous and jealous stare of the husband.

The policemen are wrapping up for the night, and you see two approaching the van you’re sitting in. You immediately tense up and grit your teeth. If only I hadn’t brought this dress—-no, if only that ugly monkey hadn’t shown up…! Your escape would have been almost guaranteed.

However, another police officer shows up from around the van.

‘Excusez-moi, messieurs, mais je dois escorter la criminelle dans son pays,’ he begins. Some of the words you are fortunate enough to understand, and you can’t help but notice the slight accent. The men look between themselves in confusion. ‘N’est pas de nationalité française, et on nous a ordonné de l’emmener dans un commissariat de son pays, où la criminelle pourrait être jugée pour ses crimes conformément à la loi nationale.’ He moves to stand in front of the van, as he moves his hand around, the other inside his pocket. Perhaps, he is indeed a fellow Frenchman. You snort internally.

After a moment, one policeman shrugs and waves off the conversation, turning on his heel as he does. ‘Si tu dis… Alors, emmenez-la.’ The other one appears a bit reluctant, looking back and forth, before he inevitably gives up. The third one huffs, and turns to stare at you quietly. You narrow your eyes at him.

‘Take a picture, pal. It’ll last longer,’ you say.

The man scoffs. ‘You’re not worth the picture.’ He replies fluently to you, the slight accent still present. He climbs into the van, closing the door promptly. He knocks against the wall that separates the back of the van from the driver, and the van starts up. You lean back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Not now, you think. Once I’m out of this van, then I’ll know what to do. You need to know more about your current situation.

‘So, where are you taking me?’ You ask. ‘Back to my country?’

The officer stretches his leg to be able to pull, from the pocket, a box of cigarettes. He holds it between his lips as he searches for a lighter. ‘No.’

That makes you pause. Then, it makes you tense. Elsewhere—

An annoyed grumble comes from the man as he finishes lighting his cigarette. ‘The things that idiot makes me do—listen, lady, I’m only doing this as a favor to my partner. If, by any chance, you do want to go to jail, I’ll have this van turn back.’

‘A favor to your partner?’ You take a close look at his face. You cannot see much of it, anyway, as the hat has been pulled as down as possible, concealing his features. Yet, seeing the slacked-off posture, the cigarette and the neat and well trimmed beard pulls at your memory. This type of loyalty — you have seen it somewhere before.

‘Lupin sent you?’

The officer — Jigen, you remember — groans as he exhales a cloud of smoke, as if you suddenly reminded him of this unfortunate task. ‘Yes, but I’m yet to see why. As far as I can tell, you’re just another woman that is trying to get to him.’ He tilts his back upwards, burning his eyes into yours. ‘Well? What are you plotting, exactly?’

‘Plotting?’ You are at edge. You remember his skills, the long list of enemies and targets that he has taken down. You certainly wouldn’t dream of joining that list.

‘What is it that you want from Lupin?’

You narrow your eyes, not wishing to appear intimidated or cornered, ‘I don’t want anything from him. What I do want is for him to leave me alone. He has stolen my trophy before, he has endangered me because of his methods, and he just got me arrested.’ You haven’t forgotten how he pulled that stunt, taking the exotic gem you had stolen. I never break a promise, he’d said with a wink as he fled.

‘He has asked me to come to rescue you from the police,’ he interrupts you. ‘Clearly, there’s a reason for your rescue.’

A voice interjects from the driver’s seat. ‘As long as it is a beautiful woman,’ the man starts, ‘there shall always be a reason to safeguard her.’ He speaks in an earnest way, contemplative.

‘Sure, and what about just keeping it in his—’

‘Either way,’ you speak over the gunman, ‘I have nothing going on with Lupin. He is only competition. I did not ask to be saved, he did all of it on his own. It’s not my fault that he made that decision by himself, neither is it my fault that you two were dragged into it.’ You sigh. ‘Just drop me off somewhere, and I’ll be on my way.’

‘The police may be heading this way to come after you,’ the driver says. ‘They might have already confirmed that you are not being detained by the authorities.’

Jigen groans. ‘Goemon…’

‘I shall keep my word to Lupin. He has asked us to take her to the safehouse.’

‘And she might report it, or she might attack us—’ 

‘Jigen,’ the hitman is stopped mid-rant, ‘despite what destiny might befall us, we will know what to do. Lupin will know what to do. However, Lupin needs us now.’ Jigen heaves a sigh. ‘Ma’am, you are in safe hands. No danger shall fall upon you.’

The eloquence behind his words is weirdly calming. You nod, before you voice your thoughts, knowing he may not see you, ‘Thank you… Goemon.’ You spare the upset man in front of you a glance. ‘You too, Jigen.’

He scoffs.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A little over a month has passed since the incident in France. Even if the gentleman thief rescued you, having kept in mind your “situation”, it still feels embarrassing — especially for your ego — to have needed the help from someone you hardly know, from someone you consider to be a rival or competition within the thieving business.

From someone like Lupin.

You try to understand the reasons that may possibly be there for him to save you, but there is nothing in sight. You are a thief just like the many others out there; although you pride yourself on your stealth skills and charisma (when you need to be in the public scene), you truly believe you aren’t that special. You don’t have any unique talent that stands out, like Arsène Lupin III’s genius,—

Don’t ever tell him that I said that…!

—Jigen Daisuke’s masterful skills in gun handling and weaponry, or Ishikawa Goemon XIII’s mythical sword that can cut through anything and anyone.

Either way, you want to keep your distance from him. So far, he has done nothing but give you unnecessary trouble. You had left France before the police could confirm your supposed arrest at the hands of your country’s authorities; instead, you chose Olinda, Brazil, as your hideout. It acts as a resting place, as if you are on vacation like any other citizen, as you think of your next target and as you come up with a plan.

The beaches are beautiful, however, and that cannot be denied. If you were, indeed, like any other citizen, clear from the life of theft, you would’ve chosen to stay there forever. But, work is work, and it is how you earn a living. You wouldn’t be able to afford these places or travel as much as you need (even if it is to escape the police), if it weren’t for the jewelry, the museum pieces and the money you have stolen over the years.

It is nearly time for lunch, and you get up from the deckchair. You have gotten a little bit of tan from the sunbathing, which feels like a new breath of air — as if you are already someone else. You’re not a thief, or “the Thief” — a Ladra — as you hear the Brazilian news call you. You put your sundress back on, and fix the hat on your head. Yet, it is when you begin walking back to your hotel that you feel your peace shatter. 

All good things must come to end, you tell yourself, displeased.

A man stands in front of the entrance, leaning against one of the pillars. He, too, sports a pair of sunglasses, and he wears shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He looks like a tourist, but, even from this distance, you recognize that insufferable smile.

As you approach, he raises his arm to wave at you. You clench the bag on your shoulder tight, trying to contain your temper. I’ll strangle him. Just let him say anything else, that is how you try to be composed in public, as you sadly get closer to the French thief. However, you do not regard him. In fact, you pretend like he is not there, as you walk right past him.

‘Bom dia. A senhora vai subir?’ The receptionist greets you, smiling.

‘Sim,’ you reply, unable to keep the frown off your face as you hear the sandals behind you, hitting against the floor. ‘Me traga uma garrafa de vinho para cima, por favor.’

You have apparently amazed Lupin, for he whispers charmingly, ‘Is that for us two—wait!’ You manage to press the button to close the elevator doors, before he can enter. He stares after you with a stupefied expression, as you wave your fingers, saying goodbye.

When the door closes, you heave a deep sigh. ‘Goddamnit.’ I just can’t have a break, can I?

You put your sunglasses on top of your hat and hear the elevator chime upon arriving at your floor. When you step out, Lupin appears from your right, having climbed the stairs. He puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath, holding out his hand. ‘W-wait!’

You huff and keep walking to your hotel room, doing your best to ignore the monkey-faced man. I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him! Yet, despite your annoyance, you know you wouldn’t do it. There may be a lot of things to say about your character, but “killer” isn’t one of them. Perhaps, same as him, even though you are aware that he has spilled more blood than you did.

Lupin runs up to you, as you turn the key, ‘I have something for—’ 

‘Do yourself a favor, and leave me alone, will you?’

You start to close the door, but he puts his foot and hand in front of the door to keep it open, even if for a little. Yet, instead of insisting to speak with you, as he has been doing, something pokes through the gap. You pause to look at it and widen your eyes. At your silence, the man says, ‘I said I had something for you.’

You hesitate.

‘Can I come in, chérie?’

You bite your lower lip, clenching the doorknob tighter in your grip as you think it over. You have only really interacted with him twice — well, it has actually been the double of that, considering the moment he stole the gem from you, and when he tried to invite you inside his safehouse in France, despite the disapproval from his right-hand man. So far, one thing is certain; everything is a game for him.

Clearly, there’s a reason for your rescue, you remember the conversation with  Jigen. Perhaps, indeed, there is a reason why he persists following after you. What is it that you have that he needs?

As long as it is a beautiful woman, those had been Goemon’s words. You hardly gave it a second thought back then, but now—

You shake your head forcefully — as if to push those thoughts away — and tear the door open, the man nearly falling onto the floor with a shriek, before he catches his balance. ‘Make it quick.’ You turn your back to him and walk to the couch that is near the window.

Closing the door behind him, Lupin chuckles to himself. ‘Well, that’s the first time I’ve heard a lady telling me that. It’s usually the oppo—’

‘Are you going to tell me what you want, or not, Lupin?’ You interrupt him, ignoring the sudden heat that you feel on your face. You sit down with an angry huff.

The Frenchman raises his hands, as if in surrender. ‘Alright, alright.’ He rubs the back of his head, sheepishly. He looks out of his element when he is not wearing a suit, you realize. ‘Are you still mad at me?’

‘Whatever made you think that?’

The doorbell rings. Lupin sighs. ‘Je suis désolé, chérie. You know I have no intention of putting you behind bars.’ He opens the door and warmly takes the bottle of wine from the hands of the hotel employee, thanking her with a flirtatious purr. You hear her gasp and reply flusteredly, before the door closes.

‘No, I don’t. In fact, I don’t know you, Lupin,’ you reply. ‘You might as well stop acting like you know me, though. Now, before I lose my patience, will you just tell me what it is that you want?’

He fetches two glasses from the kitchen, filling them up with the wine. ‘There will be an auction for the Premier Rose Diamond, the diamond that I have shown you. I believe the future former owner is selling it to pay off his debt.’

‘Debt?’ You reluctantly accept the glass that he brings to you. You eye him carefully, and he responds by giving you a smile.

‘Gambling. As you know, that’s a richman’s best friend. Until it isn’t.’

‘Why the Premier Rose Diamond? Why not just a piece from the Cullian Diamond?’ You take a sip from your glass, and then fix him with a smirk. ‘I thought you liked challenges.’

The man shakes his head, smiling. ‘Not yet. The most expensive fruit isn’t always the best.’ You snort.

‘Suit yourself,’ you shrug. ‘But, why are you telling me this? Is it being held here?’ Even if it is his target, you wouldn’t resist the urge to chase after the same diamond. Maybe, this time, you would be able to catch him off guard and take the diamond for yourself. If you remember correctly, the diamond must be worth around fifteen million dollars, as the price rates have increased. It’s tempting, for sure. It would cover more than your expenses while you are laying low from the police, and it would allow you to rest for a long time before taking another heist.

‘It’s close, yes,’ he answers, with a glint in his eye. ‘It’ll be in an auction in Nova Lima.’

‘That’s, what, two thousand kilometers away?’

‘Precisely.’

You nod and twirl the glass in your hand. You look into the red liquid, deep in thought. Nova Lima is one of the many regions and cities where the Brazilian wealthy classes can be found. Not that poverty does not exist there, regardless, but the upper middle and high social classes do their best to pretend as if those people do not exist, or they spare them with little regard or kindness. Discontentment has been more than common in the country because of the uneven and unequal distribution of wealth.

Of course, not everything is perfect, and, behind every wealthy man and woman, behind every “self-made” millionaire, there is a story that is untold, a story that has been constructed and completely and falsely fabricated. Everyone has their own demons, after all. Could the owner of the Primer Rose Diamond be selling it just to clear off his gambling debts, or is there something else to the story?

‘I believe his name is Davi Souza. He’s CEO of perhaps the number one mining company in Brazil.’ Lupin takes a sip of the wine, crossing his leg on top of his knee. ‘Money is like an accessory for him, right now. Well, it used to be, before he took the huge debt that has him now owing money to the banks. Gambling is a poison that strips you off your money, and, when you have nothing more to offer, your soul.’

‘Poetic.’

Lupin chuckles, before continuing, ‘He is holding up the auction in one of his estates, and the money will be given straight to the bank.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘You plan to steal that diamond to feed him to the wolves.’

‘Men like Souza never learn, chérie,’ his eyes look straight into yours, even though they have darkened. Either it is personal, or he has heard that story before. ‘No better solution than to make him pay behind bars. I am sure there are lots of people who would love to have a word with him.’ He quickly spots a smile, leaning back as he drinks more of the expensive wine. ‘See, Pops has more people to worry about than us.’

‘You mean, than you,’ you correct him. ‘Interpol wants nothing to do with me, as far as I’m aware. You’re closer to an international celebrity than you know.’

Lupin shrugs. ‘You never know the future.’

You turn to look at the watch on the wall. ‘Well, it’s about time you go.’  You stand up, brushing off your skirt. ‘And don’t expect me to be this nice and hospitable to you ever again.’

‘Aw, you wound me, chérie,’ he puts a hand on his chest, giving you a pout. ‘But, you’re right, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.’ He stands up and puts the empty glass back on the kitchen counter. Then, he turns on his heel, giving you a mischievous, yet childish, smile.

As he approaches, you clench your hand around the glass and narrow your eyes into a threatening glare. Yet, he continues to walk up to you, carefree of whatever you may be thinking — or, using Jigen’s words — plotting against him. You remember the harmless threats that had been running through your mind since the first time you spotted him here, and you know that your glare might actually be as harmful as a little butterfly.

Lupin reaches inside his shirt, and he pulls out a piece of paper. ‘For you.’

You reluctantly accept the paper and unfold it. There is an address written on it. From the name, it is more than two hours away from your current hotel. For what reason would he give you this address? Could it be— 

He confirmed your suspicions. ‘It’s our hideout. We’ll be waiting for your response there. You can send a little postcard if you’re so inclined,’ he leaned forward, ‘or, you can bless us with your presence.’ He tries to give you a flirtatious smile, which you completely dismiss as you shove your clenched fist into his chest.

‘What makes you think I’ll help you, especially after you have taken my treasure and endangered my life due to your stupid thrills?’ He raises his arms up in surrender, just as he had when he first entered the room, but his face is nothing but fearful; he spots a confident smile, which throws you off guard.

‘We’ll split the money evenly amongst everyone,’ he replies. ‘I want to make it up for you.’

‘Bullshit, Lupin. I don’t need your help!’

Lupin turns on his heel, ignoring your frustration. ‘It’s not often that you see a diamond like this one. It will be an easy target, Souza doesn’t have much money left for security. The thrill is definitely worth the money you’d earn.’ He opens the hotel room, turning his head to throw you a wink over his shoulder. ‘Adieu, chérie.’

You huff angrily as he closes the door behind him. Such a narcissist, you clench the paper tighter around your hand. Bold of him to assume I’ll just do whatever he wants. Does he think that, by flirting with you, he will be able to get what he wants? Perhaps he is too used to having things done his way, too used to succeeding in his achievements and dreams.

I’m not the one who’s plotting, you think. Jigen’s clearly looking in the wrong direction.

You look back at the address on the paper, deep in thought. The offer is indeed tempting, and it suddenly feels invasive — as if he had been able to read your mind. You have always had a thing for jewelry, and perhaps that is what he took away from your first encounter and the way you were dressed for the party in France. What else do you know about me?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

4M, or the deal is off. — C.

D'accord. ♡— Lupin III

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

↪ continue to part two

[nirikeehan]

3, 11, 29 :)

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

A Little Grace, and Some Elegance, hands down.

I should probably just leave the DA fandom now because I really don't think I can top it, LOL. It is, however, VERY dark — Cullen nearly dies of a lyrium overdose in the first chapter. The second chapter sets up the backstory between Cullen & Samson I have been absolutely feral about ever since, though. God. What a gem. I wrote it in about ten days in a total fugue state, idk. I was going through some shit at the time.

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

Oh, yes! I have a playlist for Thalia's character, and one for Cullen and Blackwall if I'm particularly in a mood for them. The only fic with a playlist is Through a Glass, Darkly, and it's...... suspiciously becoming a LOT of Samson songs. IDK. Still it's very dark and moody and atmospheric for the nightmare setting I've got going.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

UhhhHHHHhhhhhh ok I wrote this scene for DADWC as like, maybe a future confrontation between Thalia and Samson. But IDK, I am worried it might end up redundant to other shit I've got planned by the time I get here. It's far away in the timeline so who knows. Anyway here's the juicy bit 👀

---

A moment later, he hit her with a crushing blow. His whole body enveloped her, dragging her to the ground, trapped under the weight of him and his platemail. He took hold of her chin with his gloved hand and tilted it to face him. “C’mon now, darling, we’ve barely got to know each other.” 

“You’re insane,” Thalia snarled. 

She writhed beneath him, trying to raise the arm that held the dagger. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. “Yeah, well,” Samson said, breathing hard. “Sanity’s all a bit relative, ain’t it? When one lives in an insane world—” He leaned down, using his free hand to draw up the strap of her dress that had slipped from her shoulder. The cold metal of his gauntlets scraped her skin; their gleaming crimson lyrium made her tongue go numb. “—We grasp for any shred we can.” 

He leaned back on his haunches, bits of thinning brown hair falling loose about his forehead. The cruelty in his expression softened. “Mm,” he said softly, “but you are lovely.”

Thalia spat in his face. 

Samson cried out with surprise, rocking backward. Thalia used the change in momentum to push against him and they barrel-rolled, one over the other, each trying to wrest the dagger from the other. Several dizzying seconds later, Thalia found herself upright, bare legs straddling chainmail and leather and metal. Her gauzy scarlet skirt flared around his waist like a wound. She tightened her grip around the blade and bowed over him, bringing its razor edge to the exposed skin of his throat. 

Underneath her, Samson froze. They were both panting. His eyes, no longer red but a shadowy grey, widened in fear.

Thalia straightened in surprise, one hand pressed to his breastplate, the other slick with sweat as it white-knuckled the dagger hilt. 

“You wanna end it here, love?” Samson rasped, seizing her hand. He pressed the blade closer to his neck, drawing a thin line of blood. “You go ahead and end it.”

Thalia’s breath hitched. Her whole arm trembled. All she could see were his eyes, deep and dark as wells, full of horror and pain. She tried to pull away, but his gauntleted hands held her fast. “I said, end it.” 

[rhymingtree]

I'm so sorry it's taken me more than a month to get to this gem... the executive dysfunction always gets the better of me.

But I've been excited about Origins since you first hinted it (which was more than a year ago I think) and I'm so fucking happy the first chapter is here.

A very very late happy birthday to BS:A. Thanks for all the joy and the fuck ton of pain you brought me and this lil community of darke's feral followers. To many more chapters to come, and to much more tears for me to shed! *lil sip of tea as celebration* 🎉🎉

Ooh a party, how fun.

But, even then, even through all the distractions, his eyes were on one man.

Ooh shit. Badass way for Danny to make his entrance.

He's already the hottest person there.

The woman’s unblinking stare passed right over him; the shadows surrounding him gently cradling him in their depths.

If I were her no shadows could hide a specimen like that. I'd spot him like he was a glowing neon sign. He is too beautiful to miss.

I'm really only reading this to look at him tbh /j

“Hola, hermosa,” he crooned with a smile, his teeth flashing in the darkness as he gestured toward her with his drink, “May I?”

AAAAAAAAAAH

THE FUCKIN SQUEAL I LET OUT

JESUS CHRIST

SPANISH. ALREADY.

good lord i cant.

I'm too single for this.

OH AND THE VILLAIN

Casimiro Dragovic.

Mmmhmmm very menacing name I like it.

He had blond hair, slicked back just enough to show off his sharp face as he swirled a drink in one hand and leaned heavily on a cane with the other. The top of the cane glinted in the light, the neon flashed against the wings of a silver dragon roosting upon a globe—its claws piercing into the Earth and fracturing it.

I looove how you describe and introduce characters, Darke.

If I could draw I'd have made fanart of every one of 'em.

“Gonzalez. Daniel Gonzalez.”

Ugh... so weird to see a dead man walking pull rizz.

Still hot tho.

“¿Quieres bailar?” “What?” “Wanna dance?” “Hell, yeah.” “Stay on point, Nighthawk. We don’t have time for this.”

oh my god

he's a slut

i love him

— His fingers slipped as he held out his hand to her. The wind whipped through his hair, the night’s rain ripping into him like daggers as he nearly lost his grip. — — And the girl reached for him, her fingers brushing against his. —

sorry what

nononono

darke I came here for a fun time don't be pulling that shit on me

FUN TIME. WE ARE DANCING. TONIGHT IS NOT THE NIGHT TO DWELL ON THE PAST... or the future

oh never mind no dancing we're after fancy dragon man

oh shit i'm so sorry

now that i'm also watching game of thrones i'm just imagining dragovic as a targaryen

Don't look them up if you don't know what I'm talking about, keep the sliver of sanity you've got left.

TURNER MY DARLING

LOOK AT YOOOUUU I MISS YOU

I can't wait for them to dance... 🙂

He's beautiful when he's killing people.

“Very inconspicuous.” “I told you to watch,” Danny hummed, checking over his shoulder as he walked down the hall, “Not to judge.” “Yeah, that was before you started acting like a douche.” “Vete a la mierda.”

i missed their banter so much.

I am also doing my very best trying to block out Pedro Pascal's voice whenever Danny talks... but it's not working.

Perhaps plan 'a' should be plan 'b' and plan 'b' should be… Eh. He’d burn that bridge when he got to it.

Wow. He and Ghost really were made for each other.

— The girl winced out of the way, closing her eyes as bullets glanced off the truck. — — “Give me your hand!” he yelled over the wind, “I’ve got you, I promise!” —

See, I should be happy about getting more lore. But the lore seems sad. So I choose to ignore the lore. I don't want to cry tonight.

I came here for the funsies and for the pretty men. And the badass women the pretty men love, or will love. I will sweep everything else aside.

Also the kinda alluring villain who is definitely fucking with my morals right now.

He could finally move on.

FROM WHAT

YOU KNOW WHAT. I'LL TAKE THE FUCKING LORE. I AM INTRIGUED. ALSO SCARED SHITLESS

Goddamn you Darke, I came here for one thing and one thing only, you got me accepting a whole new other thing.

Dragovic had no reservations about firing into a crowd of innocent people but Danny? He had minor issues with it.

I'm sorry... minor?

😐

HOLY SHIT

WOMAN WITH MUSCLES

UM

*cue the switching sides sound from tiktok*

“How’s it going?” he asked, ignoring Turner completely, “It’s been a while, culturista.” Daeva scoffed, cracking her knuckles as she nodded to the men flanking her, “Not long enough.” “Ouch.” Danny pouted, pressing a palm to his heart, “Lástimas mi corazón.” You hurt my heart. “If you were a real man, you wouldn’t have one.”

see now that's how you flirt

I'm so glad this isn't actually playing out on screen because I wouldn't know where to look

muscles... dear jesus... I'm gonna faint

Five to one…not the best odds but certainly not the worst he’d ever had.

look at him... so optimistic

yeah that's not gonna get him very far in the future...

Stay low. Stay fast. And take out the others.

That sounds familiar...

I'm trying to figure out what Daeva is saying but Google is not giving me anything

Danny sighed, shaking his head before he paused as the beat thudding through the building changed into one he recognized.

Oh god

here it comes

the moment that will live in my head for the rest of my life

“Samba!” “No!” “Trust me!” “Absolutely not!”

HAHAHAHAAAA

I AM SO HAPPY

Oh poor turner...

It's okay, he'll look back at this fondly someday soon...

“Go with the flow, my friend,” Danny crooned, spinning him again before using him as leverage to kick one of the guards away from them. He turned again, whirling Turner around just enough that he could throw a punch at another one of the guards before Danny pulled him back into the dance. Turner opened his mouth to protest again before he was spun once more and dipped nearly to the floor. Danny held fast to him, a smirk on his face, “Tienes ojos hermosos.”

DARKE. THANK YOU.

I love how so many bad things that happen to Alpha One (and Two) come at them from a black or white SUV... at this point they are omens.

“Are you aiming for their tires or their heads?” he asked, glaring back at him as Danny scrambled over the backseats and clambered into the passenger seat. “Both.” “Aim better,” Turner said through gritted teeth as he cranked the wheel to the side, “You’re a horrible shot.”

Firstly, no he isn't

Secondly, I know just the woman you need...

Turner and Danny are hilarious I love them

Nothing bad could ever possibly happen to these two... absolutely never

I'm trying to read this without thinking about ✨the inevitable future✨ but it is so so hard and im just making myself sad...

this is what they were before everything now... ☹

You told me I wouldn't cry, that these were at most emotionally neutral

well I like to make things hard for me so I made myself cry. I'm talented like that

“You’re a better shot when you’re pissed off.”

Sounds familiar. Again.

He blinked, raising a brow as he rolled his head to look at Turner, “¿Qué?”

I imagine he is very cute when he is confused.

 “We’re never going to talk about this again.” He blinked, raising a brow as he rolled his head to look at Turner, “¿Qué?” He didn’t answer, seeming to ignore Danny as he stared into the road. Now…What was he talking about? What would get him so worked up, he didn’t even wanna talk about…Oh… Oh… “Ah.” A wicked grin curled to his lips, “That’s fine with me. I don’t need your terrible dancing to tarnish my reputation.”

Little did they know... they will talk about it... someday. Also in a life or death situation too...

I'm making myself sad again wtf is wrong with me today

Lead punched holes through the already destroyed Land Rover, making disconnected constellations that flickering lights glimmered through like dying stars.

Darke, you're amazing at making a brush with death sound so beautiful

Oh... Cargo.

I think you mentioned that Origins was gonna be a lot darker than usual... I'm so ready for it.

— “Jump!” — — “No! I can’t leave them!” — — “We don’t have time, princesa!” — — “Please! Help me save them.” —

Oooh I'm so intrigued... who is she...

Veles... Slavic pagan gods, huh? God of earth, underworld, and cattle? Interesting...

 “Weston’s gonna be pissed.”

yay Weston! I'm going to see him again

Ah shit, here come the tears again...

“Hey, amigo,” Danny growled, startling the man but also catching his attention as they prowled toward him. The man jumped, his eyes wide as he turned to make a run for it. Danny scoffed, rolling his eyes and grabbing Turner’s pistol from its holster. He turned it on the man in an instant and fired without thinking. A yelp tore through the night as the man fell to the ground. “Great. You killed him.” Turner deadpanned with a long, heaving sigh as he trudged after Danny. He sent him a wayward glance before a low groan came from the man’s direction and he straightened with a hum, “Nevermind. He’s fine.”

They are literally the best

Rereading the flashbacks in the main story is gonna hurt so fuckin much after this...

Most of his and Commander Weston’s operations had at least some semblance of entertainment to them. Bringing corrupt politicians to light, helping aid in revolutions, assassinating criminals no one else wanted to touch. It was fun.

I'm loving how much more we're learning about Danny now that this is fully in his perspective and he isn't really playing as a team member. It's so weird to see how he treats the work he's doing (with Aftermath, but he's the one mostly on the field doing it).

Also you've managed to make a villain that scares me more than Dreykov. That's a hell of a feat.

I really hope you didn't throw yourself into a deep end researching for Dragon guy... thisis some really depressing shit.

“Weston’s still stateside,” Turner muttered, pulling a suture kit from his bag, “Training mission.”

Oh... training who?

Ohhhh the rookie?

Everything's coming together....

AH! THE SECOND PERSON POV.

Ghost being a badass already... ah, I love her

Danny's gonna get so mad when he meets her, look at her being a better shot already.

That cigar smoke... god I missed it

“Pack light,” he muttered with a puff of smoke, “Essentials only.”

Oh Danny's gonna be PISSED I CAN'T WAIT

You blinked, your gaze snapping to him in an instant as a small smile curled to your lips, “Sir?”

Young, naive, optimistic Ghost with those bright eyes and that somewhat innocent/murderous smile...

You were ready.

Let's face it... she isn't. Not for anything that's about to happen.

DAAAARKE

DARKE

This was epiiiic! I loved it so much! I read it all in one sitting, it was so fucking good.

You never fail to amaze me, Darke. I knew this was gonna be phenomenal because I've been waiting for it forever, but... really, I wasn't expecting to be this hooked.

Take your time to polish and shine this new baby, because it's gonna be a masterpiece. Origins is already so so so good, and I know you've got so much more in store for these lil baby Alpha Ones.

Before Tony Stark was Iron Man. Before Captain America thawed. Before Thor crash landed on Earth. Before the Avengers. Before (F/N) became the Anonymous Avengers...before she was Ghost, an elite group of operatives were brought together to rip terrorists from the shadows, to bring corruption to light, to lead revolutions and provide aid to those who needed it most, to create beautiful, ruthless, organized chaos.

It was Daniel Gonzalez's chaos to control, his to wield among his comrades. It was his manipulation of mayhem that would shape his world. It was his hold on havoc that would lead him on his path.

But amidst the chaos and mayhem and havoc, other forces were rising.

And they were forces that he couldn't fight on his own.

━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━

Yes! Hi! Hello!

If you don't know me, my name's Darke 🖤

Welcome to..... [pause for dramatic effect]

Battle Scarred: Origins

The long awaited Origin story to Aftermath's Alpha One team. 

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, that's totally okay! Battle Scarred: Aftermath is my main series in which these characters stem from. You can totally go ahead and check it out, or you can read this. Unlike all my other works, reading Aftermath first isn't a requirement [though it's preferred 🖤]

To everyone else who's read all my other lovely lil stories....Hi again!

The first chapter of Origins is being released today to mark BS: Aftermath's 7th birthday! Though I don't know how often I'll be able to update it, I'll try my best to get this story moving and grooving!

Thank you everyone for all of your support for the past 7 years I've been writing! Here's to 7 more!

Enjoy 🖤

☞ Darke 

━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━

CHAPTER 01: THE TIME WE DANCED IN RIO

To all my live reactors,

Please, please, please, hide your reactions under a Read More cut. I don’t want any spoilers floating around. 

&

To all my Anonymous Avengers, 

If you want to react in my asks, feel free. However, I won’t be answering any of them until at least Wednesday if they contain spoilers. 

Thank you,

Darke

┍━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┑

A scoff puffed through his nose as a sneered smile curled to his lips and he tossed his now empty beer bottle to himself, catching it by the neck. The instant Danny passed them, he turned on his heel and cracked the bottle against the railing. Shards of glass sprinkled to the floor but left a row of sharp teeth around the heel.

The bouncers weren’t quick enough to react as he turned on them; stabbing one of the men in the gut before latching onto his neck and using him as leverage to swing a kick at the other man.

His fingers clawed at the man’s hair, tangling in it before he launched the man’s head toward the railing. A grunt escaped Danny’s lips as he swung the man’s head against the metal rail once…twice…three times—just for luck—before he released him and the man crumpled to the floor.

Danny straightened himself, smoothing back his hair and sucking in a breath before turning away from the bouncers and down the hall that Dragovic has disappeared into.

“Very inconspicuous.”

“I told you to watch,” Danny hummed, checking over his shoulder as he walked down the hall, “Not to judge.”

┕━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┙

» CHAPTER 01: THE TIME WE DANCED IN RIO

✪ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ : Aғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

☞ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ: Oʀɪɢɪɴs

»Jᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇ sɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

TAGGING THE BS:A TAGLIST ONLY FOR THE FIRST CHAPTER. IF YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN THE REST, PLEASE FILL OUT DARKE'S TAGLIST AGAIN. [[you just have to choose Origins, not all of your choices again]]

@thexbookxnerdx // @autumn-em // @fadingbakeryfarmoperator // @rhymingtree // @itsmeatballworld // @kippykasey // @turtleedovee // @kamalymaly // @onewithnomightypowers // @pixviee // @riahmcq // @thequeenofthefallen // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @fnnshelbys // @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul // @banbananas // @beans-and-toast // @violetvictoriabarnes // @oikawasblueearbud // @itsarussian // @mrsbarnesinmyimagination // @oopsiedoopsie23 // @luhuhzy // @heyimjustlaura12 // @moonlightreader649 // @petalren // @sighmurderbot // @soldat-petala // @useless-creature-213 // @xiyouchan // @kaiblog50 // @bookfeen // @nx-crisis // @afraidofshrimp // @yjck121 // @aftermatharchives

***if you have a strike through your handle, it wouldn’t let me tag you 😞

[stardusthhj]

We fell in love where the sun never rose - 01

TW: mention of death, weapons, bruises. Reader’s discretion advised.

Genre: mafia au. Gang au. Revenge au.

WC: 2,3k

Wrath is a feeling that could push anyone to extents they didn't think they could go to. And wrath is what pushed you in front of the black door, adorned by mildew and brownish cracks. You half expected a prestigious mansion. But after a second thought it was all the more logical that underground businesses were hiding- taking place underground. You softly chuckled at your own stupidity. The man next to you stretched his hand towards the door - or what was left of it- motioning you to push it open. You looked at him as his black hair fell to his eyes. His locks were thick and long, his hairstyle very trendy -just like the rest of him actually. He had the kind of face that would let anyone struck in awe. It would have affected you as well, hadn’t you be blinded long ago by everything you now longed for. By the sheer reason for which you stood before the door next to Hyunjin. His playful smirk wouldn't leave his lips. You observed him for a long time before and never had you seen his lips falling down. Whatever this smile was hiding it was probably more pain than a human could take.

You focused your attention back on the door, pushing it open. The light was flickering inside, as a long dark corridor took pride of place. You side-eyed Hyunjin, waiting for his signal. He walked in first, walking straight. As you crossed the seemingly never-ending corridor, you couldn't help your eyes from wandering to the countless doors on each side of the corridor. The air was heavy, or maybe was it your steps which finally came to a halt when Hyunjin stopped in front of a giantic door. It was none like the others, adourned in brown and gold. The door was beautifully decorated, like in the many novels you read about arabian architecture, with all the arabesque and gems. But something, right in the center of the door, took pride of place. The head of a lion, which paws were clunched. Its mouth hang open showing countless teeth, through which a red gem could be seen. Whoever carved this majestic animal in the door was insanely talented. "Are you going to stare at the door for more time? Because last time I checked you came all this way to become part of the gang." The sickening sweet voice drew you out of your thoughts. You shook your head ever so slightly, finally looking at him, waiting for the moment he’d push the door. Surprisingly he bent forward until his breath caressed your right cheek in a way that would make anyone blush. "I am not going to do it for you, dear. Push the door or run away, but be quick." You could hear his smile growing at the end of his sentence, voice dripping with honey. You exhaled, trying to get back your composure. You sighed one more time - maybe you were standing before Death. But you decided to keep Her close the day you decided to get your Revenge. You worked too hard for cowarding away now. And at that, the door flew open, letting the inside of the room be seen. Two luxurious brown couch were face to face, a small glass table in the middle. Under it was a white rug, hiding for some centimeters the marble floor. To your left could be seen a vase adorned by pristine drawings. Beyond the apparent living room, an open kitchen could be seen. It was all white, from the tiles on the wall to the furniture, next to which was a door. A black one. Very simplist given the room it was in. On the right side of the giant room a staircase could be seen. As pristine as the other items in the room. Not so idiot, after all, you thought. Hyunjin put his hand on your right shoulder, envelopping you, though his arm didn't touch your left shoulder. "Someone's eyes are constantly astray, it seems. The person you're looking for is that way." He said, his demeanor never-changing. He led you to the black door, the one behind which your future would be sealed. You knew the second your eyes wandered on it, that beyound it took place the most macabre ambiance. You understood by now, that whatever doors you crossed were the doors to your future, and that Hyunjin would let you open them yourself. He didn't want to seal your future, you were foolish enough to do so yourself. And so did you. You opened the black entrance, standing in the threshold of what seemed a normal study. You scanned the room, eyes narrowing. Book shelves were on each side of the walls. In front of the door was a brown desk on which messy papers were scattered. Behind the study was a window, letting enter little to no amount of light. Seated behind the desk was the black haired man with which you would probably trade your life for your goal. He eyed you intensely before motioning you to sit on the chair in front of his desk. You slowly walked, not even paying attention to Hyunjin leaving the room behind you. You sat, now seeing the man from very close. The first thing you noticed was his eyes. They were glassy. Not in the sense of looking teary, no. Glassy like glass. Thick, white, void. Almost as if a veil was drawn before his pupils. He seemed so cold, so cruel. "So?" he said, his voice not as rough as you expected it to be. You found yourself wordless. How? You prepared for this moment for at least six months. You knew what you had to

say, yet you couldn't bring yourself to say these words now. Were they too cruel? But to whom exactly? "I have a goal. I came here to accomplish it." you managed to say , surprised at your voice which didn't betray any of your feelings. You mentally gave yourself a head pat. "Revenge, am I wrong?" You looked up to him, astonished. Your reaction amused him, and he chuckled softly. "Do you think you are the only person that ever crossed my door asking for revenge? Let me tell you something; every Stray Kids member first joined to get revenge. Even the leader himself." He smirked in an arrogant way. "If you want your revenge, prove me your worth. Let me allow it to you."

"I do not intend on telling you the story of my life." you said, harsher than you intended.

"Cold eyes, cold words, cold demeanor. I never expected you to narrate me your little story. I don't really care about it. I only need you to prove me with actions. You know what we say? Actions speak louder than words." He said, adding a wink at his last word. "But before you do anything, you'll receive a little training. Just so that you don't die." He leaned over, both elbows on the table and his head supporting his head. He starred at you for a little before shouting "Rhino". A boy with brown hair immediately appeared. The place was huge, how did he hear him and came so fast? You wondered. Was he ready all this time being? You eyed the man as he stood before you. His eyes were very pretty, and unlike the two other men, alive. His pupils were black, feathered with long eyelashes. His nose was long and sharp, and his upper lip was a bit bigger than his lower. He looked pretty, just like the two other men you met. His gaze fell on you and you found it hard to breathe. His eyes were surely alive, but they sent daggers through your whole being. He made it clear in one gaze that he was less than happy with your prensence.

"There's no going back, now" Said the man with glassy eyes.

The first steps you took were hesitant. You felt like being entirely swallowed up in the giant training room. Weapons were organized on shelves; guns, knives, and some wood-looking swords. You wondered why swords were present in the first place. On the ground were discarded thick rugs which you remembered using in high school. You didn’t notice your mouth was so wide open until the brown haired man next to you mentioned it. You looked at your feet, embarrassed. Now is not the time to be embarrassed! You thought. The man -Rhino, if you remembered it well- stepped first. He climbed up the rugs, heading towards the wooden swords.

“We’ll start with this. It’s convenient; you’ll learn how to many something else than a gun. Plus you won’t hurt yourself.” The first words he spoke to you were void of any feelings, just like his eyes were. But it didn’t matter; you weren’t here for acquaintances but to get to your goal. You stepped on the rugs as well, taking one of the wooden weapon he lent you. It was surprisingly heavier than it seemed. And so was his gaze. He was judging you, evaluating you through your very movements. It made you nervous to the point you wondered if he could read in your breath. “Revenge” he said, “did a relative got murdered by a gang?” You stiffened. How could someone be so insensitive? You chose to hold his gaze, frowning. Well, if he can read you so well, he should be able to read your anger. “It has nothing to do with you. You are supposed to train me, not talk to me.” You spat, venom dripping from your words. If he didn’t mind hurting others, he might as well not mind being hurt himself.

The right part of his upper lip lifted in what you supposed would be the closer of a smile you’ll ever see on him. “Sure. Be it. But then don’t expect me to tell you your wrongdoings. Find out by yourself.” His tone had nothing to do with the so called smile. He was mad. Mad at you. “So big boy likes to hurt others but can’t stand a simple remark? Is the poor boy hurt?” You feigned concern as you leaned closer to his heart, pretending to listen to his heartbeats. In a second, your back encountered the rug in a way that would sure bruise you. When you opened your eyes, a growl escaping your lips, he was right on top of you, his eyebrows closer than possible. His face was mere centimeters away, his breath fanning your own. Now that he was so close, you could see his eyes well. They weren’t black, they were dark brown, with some yellow and red tint here and there. “You surely like to talk back. In a real fight, you’d already be dead. Talk less, act more.” He said before standing up, straightening his white shirt in the process. You were speechless. All this time you thought you were at least good at fighting. You stood up yourself, your back hurting more than it should have. Damn it, you mentally cursed.

Rhino looked at you over his shoulder “get up, we have a long way to go.”

Weeks passed and the least you could say was that you significantly improved. You also noticed a slight change in Rhino’s demeanor. He would from times to times bring water bottles, and sometimes would even patch the handle of the sword you were used to many. You figured out it was his way of caring. Through very small things. And it was fine by you. Even if the only words you would exchange with him were about work. He even taught you a handful of laws, such as always protecting the leader, not doing anything that would put the whole gang in danger, sacrificing yourself for the well-being of the gang… all these rules you couldn’t care less about. For you would not give up on your life and your goal for a bunch of men you did not even know. It had been weeks, yet the only persons you ever encountered where Hyunjin and Rhino. You wondered where the others were. But it didn’t matter, you had to get ready to the day of the test. The rest was a mere concern for you.

Resting on the small bed of the room you were assigned to, you mentally replayed your last training session with Rhino. The way he held his gun, the way he effortlessly never missed any target. You wanted to be as good as him. No. You wanted to be better. A knock on your door drew you out of your thoughts. You opened it, revealing the brown-haired man you were so accustomed to. “Chan told me to inform you; tomorrow you are going on a mission with us. It’s as simple as handling a drug deal. There’s really not much to do, but have this.” He put in your hands a bulletproof vest. “Am I allowed to…” “As long as he doesn’t find out it’s fine. Wear it under your clothes. Wouldn’t it be a shame if you died before you’d even join?” He cut you off. You frowned. Why would Chan ask you to come help in a mission when you didn’t have enough training? Why would Rhino give you a bulletproof vest? It just didn’t make sense. You politely thanked him, sending him away. You slumped back on your bed, eyes fixed on the white ceiling. They really thought you were dumb. Soon enough, you were going to pass the test you prepared hard for. The exam they disguised as a mission. You thought about it for a long time. It was most likely they would test you on your loyalty, ability to apply the rules Rhino taught you and on the way you can use weapons. You clenched you fists, sitting on the edge of the bed. Whatever it would cost, you were going to pass the test. Not because you wanted to be part of Stray Kids, but because you needed to. It was your only way to get to your revenge. And your revenge was your it. It came before anyone’s life. Including your own.

[mackeydoodledoo]

The Blacksmith: Chpt. 3

[Gif Found on Pinterest]

Pairing: Dimitrescus x (Fem!)Reader/Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You are a human, a human who is in charge of the armory; polishing, blacksmithing you name it. You are strongly valued by the Dimitrescu family, specifically one that has strawberry-blonde hair. She’d always come visit you whenever you’d be working on a new piece of armor or weapon.

Warnings: Fight; ends slightly bloody, Fluff at the end

A/N: So, I’m obsessed with armor n such and hearing that there’s an armory when you fight Cassandra.... So, we are making a story about a Blacksmith falling for one of the Dimitrescu daughters!

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As Daniela kisses you, she shoves you into the armory room.

“Daniela- what are you doing?!” You ask, standing up

Before you could reach her, she shuts the door and locks it from the outside. You bang on the door, calling for Daniela to explain what the hell she had just did.

“Dani!” You scream, “Please don’t do this! Let me out!”

You could hear gunshots ring throughout the castle as you sit on the floor with your knees up to your chin.

“I’ll make sure she won’t be touched mother,” Daniela states

Daniela’s words echoed through your mind. Why couldn’t you do the same for her? You’ve worked with fire and metal all your life, you’ve been taught the basics of sword fighting... So why couldn’t you be up there with Daniela and the rest of the family? Your mind suddenly goes to the kiss you and Daniela shared before she shoved you back into the armory. It felt real, genuine, soft. Despite your chapped lips Daniela still made the decision to kiss you. You didn’t think the youngest daughter; who was the most delusional of the three sisters, fell for a human like you.

Whomever wields this blade shall be worthy...

That thought echoes in your mind as well, changing your course of thoughts. You look to the closet where you had shoved the actual sword meant for you your legs spring upward and run towards it. When you opened the door, there it was, along with a whole outfit and some armor you had made in your free time. Your hand reaches for the armor and then to the sword.

“Please,” You beg to the blade, “ I beg of you.... Please lend me your power. Someone I love is in trouble and I need to protect them. And I don’t know if I can’t do it without your help. So please! Grant me your power!!”

The same brightness from the morning had shone in front of you. An unfamiliar face appears before you.

“You have unlocked the power of your ancestors my child,” He says, “May the power be used for good.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, when you opened them; a bright and brilliant flame reflects off of them.

Alcina and Heisenberg stagger backward as the enemy trespassers began advancing toward them. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela were the last line of defense as they could not physically be outside. However, when they noticed their mother and Heisenberg unconscious they began to worry as they watched the enemies come into the castle.

“You three are quite ravishing,” one of the male enemies says, “We’ll deal with her first then work our way over to you

He first motions to Daniela, then to Cassandra and finally over to Bela. 

“Like hell I would let you lay as much as a finger on my sisters,” Bela snarls, standing in front of the both of them

“Blondie’s got a mouth,” he says, mockingly, “A shame. We prefer ours to bend to our every will.”

With a wave of his hand, Bela’s eyes change from a golden color to a deep blue color. She turns to her sisters.

“Bela?” Cassandra calls out to her older sister

One of the other enemies looked at Daniela. He begins walking toward her. Cassandra began being backed into a corner by Bela who was mind controlled.

“The little red head is cute, I claim her,” He chuckles lowly

Reaching under her dress, she takes out the dagger you had made for her. In an effort to get him away she raises the blade and it grazes his cheek.

“Little red head has spirit,” He chuckles once more, “I like it..”

“Don’t you dare... Lay your filthy man-hands on my daughters!!” Alcina screams

However, they already have. However, before one of the enemies could even get a touch of them, an arrow enters his forehead. Everyone in the room had looked into the direction of the arrow but before anyone could process hat happened, another arrow flies into Daniela’s direction and it enters the guy’s hand.

“OW! We have another one?!” He asks

As quick as the first arrow had come, another had shot out, at the enemy who was mind-controlling Bela

“Bela!” Daniela and Cassandra catch their eldest sister in their embrace

The three sisters along with the two lords turn to where the arrows were coming from and noticed a crossbow sticking out from the top of the second floor. A third arrow shoots past the daughters and hits the enemy that was passing Lady Dimitrescu and Heisenberg. You stand up to reveal yourself donning your own personal armor and outfit. 

You sling the bow against your back and leap off of the second floor balcony and land on the main floor.

“It’s rude to interrupt a family meeting,” You say

“Y/n?” Daniela blushes

You only smile at her before the enemy trespassers walk past them, facing you. You reach down and began drawing the longsword you have created. Heisenberg regains his consciousness. 

“My apologies my liege,” You call out to Heisenberg, “But, I’m using this.”

The trespassers begin charging at you.

“Y/n!” Daniela yells

Daniela wanted to come to your rescue however she was immediately held back by Alcina.

“No, let me go! Mother please! Y/n!!” She screams

In a quick move, you raise the blade and make one single slash before letting the blade slowly fall at your side. The trespasser that had charged at you split apart in mere seconds, disintegrating as soon as he hit the floor.

“Rot in hell,” You growl at him

You lift your armored arm and the trespassers’ nails chipped severely. He staggers back in pain, clutching at his wrist. As he was distracted with his fingers, you swing your blade and decapitate him. 

“Who-Who is this... kid?...” He asks before ‘evaporating’ away

Before you advance on the last of the enemies, you swing your arm around Daniela’s waist and pull her close; kissing her in the process. Even though the was still holding the dagger you had forged, you weren’t phased by the blade itself.

“Are... Are you my knight in shining armor?” She asks, blushing a deep red

“I could be princess,” You tease

Before you could look over, an enemy gives you a cold, hard punch to your cheek. He attempts to sink his claws into your exposed flesh. He knocks the blade out of arms reach; you were almost defenseless. However, he lets out a scream before his own blood clogs his own windpipe. Daniela uses her dagger and throws him off to the side, off of you. She helps you up and immediately follows her sisters to Alcina and Heisenberg.

“My Lady, My Liege,” You call out to them, rushing to their side

“You-you saved us,” Heisenberg states

You immediately unbuckle the longsword from you and attempt to present it to him. However, just as you present it to him, he puts his hand over it and puts it back down.

“It suits you,” He smiles

“And my daughter has- taken.. A liking to you,” Alcina sighs, Bela helping her up

“Has-has she now?” You ask

“Daniela,” Alcina calls

Daniela immediately perks her head up to look at her mother.

“Do what you must with y/n,” She sighs, “I need a drink...”

Daniela lets out a squeal and immediately jumps into you, making you fall backwards. Your arm wraps around Daniela’s midsection and covers your face in kisses.

“How did you manage to kill him Daniela dear?” Alcina asks

“Y/n made this for me,” She says, presenting it to her mother, “I asked her personally.”

“You made this?” Alcina observes it closely

You nod, catching the dry in your throat.

“You are to make two more for my other daughters,” Alcina requests

You nod enthusiastically, “As you wish my lady.”

“Daniela darling,” She looks over to her daughter in your arm

“Watch her... Carefully,” Alcina requests her youngest daughter

A few days after the incident, you helped Heisenberg forge his own blade along with forging Cassandra and Bela’s garter blades. You go to the same maid that had helped you make two more garter’s. Just as you watch her off with the same lace and fabric you had given her, a fly lands onto the back of your hand, no form of drawing blood however, its legs wrapping around your finger.

“My lady,” You smile, holding the fly up close to your face

“I thought you weren’t talking to her,” Daniela appears from her swarm of flies

“My lady, are you somehow... Jealous?” You tease her, walking up to her, “She’s helping me make the garters for your sisters love. Hold up your arms real quick... Like this.”

As you raise both of your arms, seemingly stretching, she does the same. You motion for her to interlock her fingers. She follows the same. Feeling bold, one hand quickly pins her interlocked hands against the stone wall and the other snaking around her waist. Daniela lets out a slight high-pitched squeak.

“Besides,” You whisper, seductively, “I would... Much prefer... Your company...”

Daniela tugs on your shirt and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hand travels down against Daniela’s leg and she hooks it around your hip. From the humidity of the burning fireplace, Daniela begins stripping off her dress before the door swings open.

“Is our blades done yet?” Cassandra asks, bursting in with Bela in tow

“Almost, I’m waiting for the head maid to bring back the lace garters. She’s the one that put together Daniela’s garter,” You explain, “I’m also waiting for the gems to set.”

“Ooooh can we see them?” Bela asks

“As much as I would,” You sigh,” They’re setting and it would be best if they aren’t touched. Any slip up would result in me starting over.”

You finish Bela and Cassandra’s blades before the nights end. Before you return to your quarters for the morning, a fly lands and clutches your finger, gently pulling you into its direction. You smile as you humor the fly and begin having it drag you to where it wanted you to go. The fly somehow magically busts the door open and you’re flung into the bed. 

“You’ve stayed away for too long,” Daniela sighs as she buries her head into the crook of your neck

“I’ve only been gone for a few hours my love,” You kiss the shaved side of her head, “The head maid had to make two garters so it took her longer. She wanted them to look as perfect a she had made yours.”

You look on the nightstand and see the garter blade; The lace sewn over an elastic and fabric base with the blade cover sitting nicely in the lace slot. The Dimitrescu family crest is visible through the lace slot along with the dazzling blue-green gems you had managed to place in the dagger’s handle and cover. That’s how you exactly made the other two. Only, Bela had red gems and Cassandra had Yellow; matching their gemstone colors on their chokers.

“Hey, kiss me?” Daniela asks, yawning

You turn yourself over so that you’re hovering over her. Your hands gently cup her face as your head dips down to meet her lips.

“As if you need to ask my love,” You smile

Daniela lets out an adorable giggle as if she was in one of those Grimm princess fairy tales. Only difference is, she was able to get her happy ending.

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Desires and Daydreams

Me: oh yeah I’ll have this edited and out by tomorrow morning! Also Me: Ha! Sike! Time fo post at night again :)

All in all I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out. A busy week with ball fucked me over time and energy wise. However, I now have a full 7k word fic for y’all so that’s good! I quite literally just finished editing this so I hope it’s as good as my mind told me it was about two minutes ago. Especially considering it’s a little gift of sorts for the amazing @doodlevore (AKA I saw this gem of a drawing, flipped out for a hot minute, and then decided it was writing time) Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and I hope I did your artwork justice Doodle :)

As always, Vore under the cut :)

“Aw c’mon Doc!” the man halfheartedly whined as he attempted again to grab the small ‘medic’. Once more 2b had ducked under his hand, glaring up at him through his goggles. The taller of the two just laughed at the sight, near daggers of teeth glimmering through his toothy grin. No way in hell could he take that glare seriously like this. “You act like I was planning to hurt you. You really think I’m gonna hurt ya?”

“No,” 2b started, halting his words momentarily to dodge another attempted swipe at him. Getting caught by the man wouldn’t be the worst thing, sure - hell, he could name several things automatically worse than being grabbed by him in this hellscape of Nevada - however that did not mean that he wanted to be scooped up like some doll and put through whatever his teammate had in mind for him and the other two who were both currently busy dodging the taller’s other hand. Again his glare settled on the younger hacker. “But that does not mean I’m going to keel over and let you do whatever, Deimos. Now would you stop trying to grab us for five minutes!”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Deimos protested, swiping at Hank only for the shrunken mercenary to vault themself over his hand. Go figure, he was still going to be difficult. Hell, they all were. When he was the smallest of the group he was at their mercy and even went with it half the time, but the moment he got to have some fun they all decided to be as difficult as possible. In all honesty it wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. Watching them run around like little mice was pretty entertaining. That didn’t mean he didn’t have plans he wanted to follow through with though! Whatever, he’d play their games for now. He’d get them eventually, and when he did he’d have his fun. “I’d stop if you all would just stand still for five seconds, but no. You all clearly wanna play so I’m gonna keep up the cat and mouse game we’ve got going.”

“But that- Deimos, you aren’t getting my point here at all!” 2b yelled up at the man, ducking under yet another swipe at him made by the youngest of their little crew. He was fairly certain it was impossible to miss what he was saying so either Deimos was less intelligent then he had grown to suspect over the years or he was flat out ignoring the man’s request to quit trying to grab them. A brief comparison of the two had crossed out the former option rather quickly. That cocky, smoking son of a gun. “Sanford! A little help?”

“Why me?” The Chad of a man yelled back as he scrambled to his feet after having to get down to avoid being grabbed. In the back of his mind he already had a sneaking suspicion as to why he was asked. He wasn’t stupid after all.

“He usually listens to you better than me!” The older hacker shot back, nearly running into Hank as he prepared himself for the next ‘attack’.

“So we’re playing that card now. Good to know.” Sanford grumbled softly, no real venom in his tone. 2b was right, at least in most contexts. He probably was the closest to Deimos out of them all and the other two’s usual intimidating approach to get Deimos to listen really wouldn’t work with them the size of the man’s hand. A sigh tugged itself from his throat as he directed his words up at the seemingly giant hacker. “Dei, c’mon now. Can’t you quit with the whole trying to grab us thing? It’s- AH!- not all that fun!”

“Damnit.” Deimos cursed under his breath, having missed Sanford yet again. Who knew trying to just grab his teammates would be so difficult. It was definitely fun, this little game of cat and mouse like in those old cartoons he’d managed to pirate, but it was still harder than he expected to actually grab them. Guess not everything gets to come easy. Or maybe he was going too easy… “Maybe not for you. Just stand still and make it easier on yourself if you’re having such a bad time.”

“That’s- Dei, you chucklehead, quit the games already and stop trying to grab us like rodents!”

Deimos just shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. His grin still stood proud on his face in all its sharp toothed glory. This was too much fun to give up so easily. Really, they expected him to quit the moment he started having fun? Please. He’d gone through too much to waste his opportunity. Getting his hands on shrinking tech had to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, despite the difficulties and hurdles he had to jump to do such a thing. What had been a normal, boring day with no missions had turned into him watching his three shrunken teammates dash across the worn table while dodging his attempts to grab them. He was going to enjoy this, whether they liked it or not. Call this revenge for all the times he was teased for being the smallest out of all of them, or call it him being an ass. He didn’t care. For once the younger hacker wasn’t the small one in the group and boy did he have plans for it. Oh he had plans…

“Mmm…how ‘bout no.” Deimos hummed, slamming a hand down on the table next to 2b. Just as he’d hoped the man tensed, trying to keep himself steady on the shaking table. His eyes locked onto the temporarily paralyzed unofficial medic like a hawk’s to its prey, smirk morphing into a full on grin. Without hesitation he grabbed the man in a firm fist. There was one of the three. “Ha! Gotcha Doc~!”

“Mmgh- I can see that, Deimos. Now put me down!” 2BDamned didn’t shout at his teammates often. There were a few times he did, yes. Prime examples of such times included (but weren’t limited to) tracking blood all over the base, doing something absolutely reckless and facing the consequences, not following the plans they had for missions, etc. Not once had he expected to ever be yelling at one of them, specifically the smallest of their team, to put him down. Hank? Maybe. Sanford? Long shot but not impossible. Deimos? No. And yet here he was, trapped within the grasp of the younger hacker with seemingly no way to escape. It’s not like the little wiggling that his loose enough to be breathable yet tight confines could do was helping much.

“But what if I don’t wanna, Doc?” Deimos hummed, resting his other hand on the table for the first time in the past twenty-five minutes that he’d been trying to grab the others. “What if I wanna keep you trapped in my fist for the rest of the day huh? Maybe longer. It’s not like you can exactly free yourself, now can you? Huh? You gonna wiggle yourself out of my hand, 2b? Claw your way out like some baby kitten?”

“I swear to Jebus, once we’re back to normal I am going to kill you myself.” The dissenter growled, trying again to free himself from his confines. He could only imagine how utterly idiotic he looked, wiggling around like some fish out of water in Deimos’s hand. Talk about humiliating.

“Sure you will. Sure.” Deimos rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he thought through his next moves. He could just grab the other two and get on with his plans but…oh that ruined the fun of the chase! His plans and stomach could wait, he wanted to enjoy this just a little longer. Now what could he do to achieve such a thing? “And besides, that’s an ‘if’ to you, Doc. If you get back to normal. Can’t do that without my help after all, so maybe you should let me have my fun~”

“I will. Don’t think I- wait. What?” Well now that wasn’t something anyone stuck at four inches tall wanted to hear. Yes, he could probably figure out how the hell Deimos shrunk him (assuming that the hacker had gotten the information and technology from the AAHW) however Deimos had at least a bit of a point. Things would be so much easier, faster, and less dangerous if he just reversed whatever the hell he did. He….he fucking planned this. He- oh the younger hacker was in some deep shit once they were back and he was the smallest again.

“Mmm you heard me, 2b. Getting you three back requires the help of me, unless you’d rather be crushed under the boot of some agent trying to get back to normal yourselves.” Deimos hummed, his words practically swimming in cockiness. “And I don’t think any of us want that. So either you let me have my fun, or you three get to stay pocket sized until you do.”

“Deimos, don’t you even think about it.” Hank growled, eyes narrowing behind his goggles as he stepped closer to the hacker. Being this small was bad enough. It wasn’t like a MAG agent where they weren’t completely dwarfed in size. No. He was stuck the size of a fucking mouse being toyed with by their basically gigantic teammate. And to top it all off the threat of being stuck at this size now loomed over the mercenary’s head. Just fucking wonderful.

“Aw but what if I did, Hank?” The hacker asked with a raise of his eyebrow, turning his attention from the medic in his fist to the shrunken killing machine that was now glaring at him over his arm. It really was something else to see them so tiny when they usually towered over everyone. How the tables turn. “I would think this is a nice situation for you. So long as you’re hidden it’s not like the Agency could find you now. No ones gonna look for a four inch tall Hank, now are they- Hey! Sanford!”

The mentioned man’s head lifted from where he had landed on the table, 2b now laying next to him after a less than graceful ‘rescue’ from the younger hacker’s hand. His feet scrambled against the old table, attempting to gain enough traction to allow for him to stand. For a moment he looked as if he were trying to stand on ice, feet slipping out from beneath him. The doctor beside him wasn’t doing much better in the department of getting to his feet. Judging by the disappointed stare he felt burning two holes into his chest once he finally got to his feet, Hank wasn’t all that impressed with their sudden lack of coordination either. Wait, no. Hank could come later. Right now he had to deal with the giant Deimos that was currently pouting at him.

“Sorry Dei, but I’m siding with Doc here. Just put us back to normal before Hank decides to find a way to kill you at this size.” As Sanford spoke a tone far less confident then he had hoped for laced his words. Something that probably doomed him to not be listened to. Judging by the new level of cocky smeared across the hacker’s face? He was right too. Well shit. That didn’t help anything.

“Hmm…maybe but, and hear me out, I’ve got a better idea.” No one had to ask exactly what Deimos’ ‘better idea’ was. He was all too happy to demonstrate it, Hank quickly finding himself laying flat against the table with the hacker’s hand pinning him in place. The small shocked grunt from the mercenary didn’t go unnoticed by the other two, their eyes darting to their now trapped teammate. Both failed to notice the brief warning look in Hank’s eyes behind his goggles until it was too late, a warm calloused hand pinning them to the rough grain of the wood. Well, there went the idea of escape.

A sharp laugh chased away the silence that had previously filled the air. Beneath the rim of his visor two eyes simply watched as the three small forms writhed beneath his hands. Proof of the point he had been trying to prove. The point that his three shrunken teammates had wanted to be false. No way to escape now. Not unless he allowed for it, that is. A small lightbulb lit up in his head at the thought. The idea was tempting, were he to be completely honest with himself. Give his friends hope only to crush it like a spent cig under his boot once more by trapping them in a new way. Oh but then there was the option of dangling freedom just in front of them. That was an idea…and there were so many more possibilities too. In the back of his head a small voice attempted to grab Deimos’ attention. Yelling at him in every way it could think of that even thinking about doing that to his friends was wrong, even if it was playful at its roots. He shouldn’t do such a thing to them! Though, thinking logically, there was no way they wouldn’t do the same or something similar were their positions switched. Deimos knew that much, being the shortest of their gang. A soft scoff sounded from his throat, mind made up on the matter. Unfortunately for the three pinned to the table, in the end the voice of reason was all too easily ignored by the younger hacker as he adjusted to lean forward in his chair. The smell of cigarette smoke grew in strength with each hum that passed the man’s lips, the three pinned beneath his hands only able to watch as things seemed to get worse for them.

“Heh. Much better.” Deimos said with a smile, gladly ignoring the glares he was now getting from his little friends. “Now what shall I do with you-“

Ggnnnrrrr……

“-three….”

Anyone with half a mind would think that after being interrupted by your stomach you would be embarrassed and most likely apologize. The three shrunken men on the table thought that after being interrupted by his stomach Deimos would be embarrassed and probably laugh it off. Maybe even give them a chance to run without thinking. What they didn’t expect was for him to start laughing. A deep chuckle from the back of his throat too, not just an embarrassed little giggle. It was a genuine fucking laugh. First off, why the hell was he laughing? Second, what the hell did that mean for them? After a moment of thought one thing became clear. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, the three knew what the answer to the second question was long before it was even asked. Nothing good. That’s what it meant. Especially not with that dumb grin still sitting on his face. 2b, eyes locked on Deimos’ expression, had opened his mouth to attempt prying an answer out of the younger. Before a single word could leave his lips, however, his world was flipped on its head.

Literally.

For a brief second everything stopped. The warmth and pressure from the hand holding him to the table disappeared, cold washing over him and sending a shiver down his spine. That’s when a new type of pressure appeared. It was still rough and warm, the grip of a calloused hand for sure, but it was much more concentrated than just smashing him to the table. Specifically around his right ankle. His eyes couldn’t go ‘dinner plate wide’ any faster than they did the moment he felt said pressure appear. The less-than-manly scream he had heard beside him roughly half a second earlier started to make a lot more sense by the millisecond. Especially once he was dragged backwards and up, a very similar noise escaping himself. For a brief moment everything spun before his sight leveled out. What he didn’t want to see was Deimos grinning at him. Upside down.

“Annnd there we go. Sanford, Hank, I hope you guys still have a good grip at this size~.” The hacker jabbed, grinning at the little chain his friends had formed once he started picking them up. Pinched between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger was Hank’s torso. They were currently holding onto Sanford’s ankle, looking less than pleased with the situation they were in. Sanford was gripping onto the ankle of 2BDamned as he dangled, worry painting over his features. Then there was 2b, dangling at the end of the chain upside down with a look quite similar to Hank’s plastered on his face. All in all, quite the interesting little chain they made up as he leaned back in the chair.

“Damn straight. You two drop me and you’re dead.” The ‘medic’ grumbled, all too willing to make his displeasure known.

“Aw, don’t you worry, Doc. If they drop you I’ll make sure you have a nice, soft, warm landing~”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want to be dropped on my hea- Deimos, what the genuine fuck does that mean?” He shouldn’t have asked. The moment after the words left his mouth 2b knew he never should have asked what the younger hacker had meant with his words. Dangling over the man’s lap having to stare him in the face while upside down wasn’t ideal. Absolutely not. However, he found much preferred it to dangling inches above Deimos’ open jaws, the smell of cigarette smoke laced breath hitting him almost as hard as the realization of just how sharp the man’s teeth were. He supposed he never noticed with Dei a. rarely ever purposely showing them off, and b. him being smaller than the older hacker. That didn’t stop him from mentally smacking himself upside the head for not taking more notes of it sooner though. Especially when he was getting so…up close and personal with them now. Fuck he was close to those daggers.

“Dei- Dei, think about this!” Sanford shouted as he stared down at the sight of the man’s open mouth, praying that his friend would listen to at least some reason. Sure, they gave him shit for being the smallest of the group often. He especially did. Not once though had he, or the other two as far as he knew, expected that said teasing would lead to them possibly having to spend the day trapped in said hacker’s gut though. If they had, they would have backed off a little. But now the threat was more present than ever. And knowing Deimos? It might be longer than a day too. He wouldn’t put it past the man at all. Jebus Christ….

“Oh I have San. We’re past that point now.” Deimos hummed, his tongue lazily snaking itself over his lips as he glanced over the string of teammates that dangled from his hand. Slowly his stare became distant, his mind beginning to wander. Just how would each of them taste exactly? Would they all taste the same? But what if they each tasted different? Now wouldn’t that be something. Perhaps he wasn’t too far off picturing Sanford as a juicy sausage in his little moments to himself. Oh that would be perfect. The warm feeling of drool trailed itself lazily down his chin, each thought regarding the possible tastes of his friends encouraging an empty rumble from his midsection. He just had to find out now.

“Deimos, lower me any further and I’ll make sure you choke to death.” The man only laughed, eyes fluttering shut as he opened his mouth once more.

“Sorry Doc. ‘S too late to stop now.” Any screams of protest from his teammates fell on deaf ears as Deimos lowered the end of the little chain into his mouth. Immediately he was hit with the taste of black coffee, hints of iron, and oddly enough what tasted like whisky poking through and tickling his tongue. The soft, pleased hum escaped him long before he could even think to stop it, his mind far more focused on getting that flavor to coat his tastebuds than his actions or the saliva steadily dripping down his chin.

2BDamned had a different opinion on the matter. Specifically about the claim that it was ‘too late.’ It was not too fucking late. In fact, it was anything but. Deimos’s mouth, which absolutely reeked of cigarettes might he add, was still wide open. He wasn’t slipping down the tight tube he could see in front of him yet. He was being rolled around and licked over like some sort of candy, something which he apparently had to remind Deimos he wasn’t with a smack to the tongue. Sharp teeth surrounded the unofficial doctor on both sides, Sanford’s grip on his ankle still like iron despite the saliva now thoroughly coating his body. Try as he might to push himself out with his hands they only slipped and slid across the wet surface of Deimos’s tongue. Far too similar to how he was steadily slipping backwards.

“Dei…Dei, you can pull us out now…” Sanford yelled up to the man, ducking his head between his arms to avoid the feeling of daggers dragging down his head and neck. Jebus, his teeth really were sharper up close. The white knuckled grip he held on 2b’s ankle refused to budge as he slipped further in, eyes locked into the sight before him. Not once did he ever expect to watch the older hacker slowly disappear down his best friend’s throat with nothing he could do but hold on and pray. Yet here he was. Fuck. “Dei-!!”

“Sanford, don’t even bother at this point.” 2b groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. Deimos wasn’t going to listen to shit. That much was clear now if it wasn’t an hour and a half ago when they’d woken up in his hands. He didn’t want to admit it, not by a long shot, however as he slid further back there wasn’t any way the dissenter could convince himself otherwise. He, and the other two, were doomed. “He’s not going to-“

Ulp~

“…..listen. God damnit.” What else was he to even expect at this point?

Try as hard as he might, Sanford found he couldn’t grip the unofficial doctor’s ankle any tighter. Not without the possibility of breaking something, considering that he most likely had already passed the ‘try not to bruise the man’ stage. No doubt the clearly handprint shaped black and blue bruise would be there in a day tops. A scolding was nearly cemented in his future now, however Sanford couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it. Compared to the hole Deimos was digging himself, with a smile on his face no less, he’d gladly take the talking to. Speaking of the hacker, either he was genuinely out of it for some reason or he was just trying to be a grade A dick.

“Deimos!! Cut it out, man!” He yelled, trying his hardest to squirm away from the licks and shifting of the man’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, nothing seemed to work. It started at his hands but all too quickly the sensation of a wet tongue dragging itself up, over, and around the pyromaniac’s arms and to his torso. The dark lenses of his signature glasses fogged over with each warm breath that washed over his body. Goosebumps dotted all exposed skin, any fabric quickly becoming drenched with saliva. The sensations slowly crawled their way down Sanford’s body, more of him no longer dangling and instead slipping across the hacker’s tongue by the moment. He watched his hands, and by extension Doc’s feet, slowly slip beyond his vision into the void-like entrance of Deimos’ throat. His arms followed not long after, the darkness enveloping more of his vision by the second. Talk about a way to spend your day.

Glk~

A soft groan rumbled around the shrunken men, the sound’s maker all too lost in his thoughts. Tastes of warm sausage, coffee, and the lingering hints of whisky and iron danced across his tongue. Each lick up the parts of Sanford’s body which remained momentarily in his mouth brought a shiver up through his spine. With each second the small body inched further back, pulling his hand toward his mouth. His fingers and the body pinned between them slipped past the hacker’s lips with ease. Layers of cloth, along with the occasional sensation of scarred skin, pressed against his tongue. The taste of a rare steak and a much stronger metallic hint, again not unlike that of blood but somehow much more pleasant, seemed all too eager to attack his taste buds. His spine seemed to reduce itself to jello in a matter of seconds, relying on the backrest of his chair for support. The smoker pulled his fingers from his mouth with a small pop, jaws shutting around his final shrunken teammate and leaving his mind to ponder over the tastes and sensation attacking his mouth and mind alike.

The word ‘still’ had been completely wiped from Deimos’s dictionary, if it had even been there to begin with. At least that’s what Hank would have told anyone who asked. His eyes had narrowed behind his red tinted goggles and now they seemed to grow thinner with each movement from the muscle beneath him. As if the heat and lingering cigarette smell from the hacker’s breath weren’t enough, the wet feeling of saliva continued to sneak itself into every fiber of his being. First his skin, then lighter clothing items like his bandana and mask, and finally seeping through his coat and multiple other layers of clothing. And just what was a better cherry on top then being rolled around near constantly. Every moment they seemed to find themself in a new position within the confines of the young hacker’s mouth. While their grip remained on Sanford’s ankles, the same could in no way be said for his patience with the man who had caused this hell by shrinking them. He swore, Deimos better enjoy his time being able to hold them like dolls because the moment they were back to normal the man would be getting a firm taste of his own medicine. Whether it be by him serving as lunch or by another form of revenge was yet to be decided. Hank could only plot so much, though. Despite how much more bearable he found thinking about a way to ‘return the favor’ to Deimos to be, he needed to at least show a little of his own irritation to the man. After all, he wasn’t just some snack. They were still Hank J. Wimbledon god damn it, and they’d prove it if they had to. How he would do that remained a mystery for what felt like hours of constant licking and flipping…until said proof came. It came in the form of a kick to the inside of Deimos’ teeth. A kick which sent him sliding backwards-

Ulk-

Glp~

And the oddly shaped lump in Deimos’ throat disappearing behind his collarbone.

Deimos’ eyes had widened in shock, a hand quickly pressing itself to his throat as it happened. In his opinion, it happened too quickly. All too fast the warm weight disappeared from his mouth, pushing itself backwards with force into his throat. Far too soon did he lose the previously vivid taste of barely cooked meat and metal, leaving him with only the memory and lingering fragments of it like the other two tastes. Too quickly had the lump in his throat been pushed down by two final swallows, disappearing down behind his collarbone. For a moment he sat there in silence, the room lacking sound except for his heavy breathing. With each rise and fall of his chest he waited. Waited for the one thing that couldn’t seem to come fast enough. Moments passed with nothing before the feeling he’d been waiting for rushed his senses. A filling warmth pooled itself in his stomach, moving around against the walls of the organ and pulling a warm chuckle from the man. His hand trailed to rest over his stomach, feeling the small bodies shift and fight beneath layers of clothing, muscle, and skin. Fangs glimmering in a grin once again as he poked at the squirming fullness in his gut.

“Well look at that.” He laughed to himself, relaxing back into his chair. His stomach gurgled under his hand, what he guessed to be a thank you of sorts now that he had what he wanted within it. Though something told him the others wouldn’t be thanking him all that much. “How are you three holding up in there?”

“Deimos, do not laugh at us or so help me Jebus- Hank, get your arm out of my face!” The words were quickly followed by what Deimos could assume was 2b pushing Hank off him and into his stomach wall from what he could feel. Those three couldn’t seem to stay still. Well, he couldn’t truly blame them if he wanted to. It had to be slippery, trapped in a wet, moving organ like his stomach and all. The mental image of his three teammates slipping around in his stomach, trying their hardest to gain footing or at least a comfortable position, drew another laugh from him. This was great.

“Dei, c’mon.” Sanford added, giving his own kick to the wall in case he had failed to grab the hacker’s attention before. Try as he might to stay out of 2BDamned and Hank’s little squabble fate seemed to have other plans as he was shoved back into them every time he got away. Or maybe that was just Deimos being Deimos. “You’ve had your fun, now spit us out you chucklehead.”

“Mmm yeah no.” Deimos hummed, drumming his fingers mindlessly on his belly as he took in the little shocks that each harsh kick or punch sent through his body to his brain. Each movement registered in his brain as a pleasurable little shock, but the harsher they were the more enjoyment they seemed to cause him. Not that he was complaining. Last he checked his teammates could tire themselves out with squirming all they wanted to if it felt this nice. “See, that’s not really the plan here. Not for a few hours at least.”

“What now?” Sanford’s voice had dropped its hopeful tone, now more monotonous and serious. Beside him he heard a growl, one he assumed to be from Hank. Was the smoker trying to get them killed? Again he punched the wall. “Dei, quit joking.”

“I ain’t joking, ‘Ford.” The young hacker replied bluntly, his shit eating grin more than audible in his words. A long, over dramatic sigh made its way from his mouth with ease as he adjusted his position to one more comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as one could get in an old chair. Smiling to himself he gave his stomach a little shove, feeling the three bodies inside shift and move under the pressure. “I just wanna sit and enjoy this for a while. It feels too nice to just give up.”

Silence fell upon the three currently held within the confines of the man’s stomach, each sitting there taking in Deimos’ words until the pressure from outside had lifted. Once it did, they all reacted their own way. Hank, for example, sat still for about ten seconds tops before a punch was thrown at the wall. Sanford, on the other hand, debated whether Hank’s approach or his attempts at reasoning with their ‘captor’ would be more effective at getting Deimos to spit them up. Then there was 2BDamned, who sat in what would’ve been an unnerving silence had they not known him. Knowing him, though, changed the meaning of the silence from ‘is this man insane to be so calm?’ to ‘Deimos just dug himself a grave’ in a split second.

“Deimos,” The unofficial medic started, “you have ten seconds to at least start spitting us up or I will force myself back up your throat simply to beat your ass.” Despite the warmth of their current confines, a chill shot up Sanford’s back. As far as he knew, the last thing you wanted to be was at the end of Doc’s threats. The man often had little to no issue going through with them, and Deimos wasn’t some special case. The laughter they heard (and felt shaking their ‘cell’ for that matter) was all it took to solidify that Deimos didn’t take them seriously at this size. Guess said threats don’t work when you’re four inches tall at best and your ‘captor’ is a smug ass bastard.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try, Doc.” Deimos chuckled, giving his stomach a firm pat which only seemed to serve to jostle around its captives more. “I might not be able to handle spice like San’ but I do know my way around feisty snacks~.”

“We aren’t food, Deimos.” Hank growled, kicking the floor beneath him. The flesh sunk under his boot, a sickening squishing sound heard as a result. A small shiver trembled up the walls, one which failed to register with the black-clad mercenary as in pain. Oh just wonderful. The sharp toothed asshole was enjoying this.

“Mmm you sure, big guy? Cause you seem like food to me right now.” Within only a few seconds of the words leaving his lips the hacker found himself met with a pleasant shockwave up the spine. Clearly a certain black-clad mercenary didn't like being called food, if the fighting he felt wash over him like a tsunami of warm, fuzzy electricity meant anything. A soft groan crawled out of his lips, his hand lazily tracing circles over his stomach. ”mm oh c-calm down in there. I didn’t mean it. I will let you out, Jeez.”

“Deimos, this isn’t funny. Spit us out.” 2b snapped, kicking the floor.

“Mmm sorry, Doc. Can't hear you heheh…” the hacker spoke, words blurring softly as he melted back into the chair.

“I’m serious!” The words fell on deaf ears.

“Dei, c’mon…” Sanford this time. His eyes drifted softly shut.

“Dei…” His grin turned into a simple smirk.

“Dei…” Didn't he get he wasn’t spitting them out yet?

“Deimos…” Oh full names now. How fancy.

“Deimos..?” Wait…that didn’t sound right.

“Deimos.” Was he losing it?

…

“DEIMOS!”

The hacker jumped, blinking rapidly as his eyes darted around. What was going on? Where were they? Who did he need to kill? Where were the others? Thoughts rushed through his head as wide eyes darted around everything in sight, looking for something they recognized. Anything to show him where he was or what was going on. Relief came to him in the form of Sanford standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to get his attention. Most importantly though they were in their base. Safe. No one was here. They weren’t under attack. He was just daydreaming. Sanford and the others were here and he was just…daydreaming- oh damn it. Go figure it was too good to be true. A groan, this time annoyed, rang from Deimos’ throat.

“Jebus- Dude, are you alright?” Sanford asked, eyebrows knit with worry and…an emotion Deimos found himself unable to name. Like he’d seen something. Something…weird. Almost like concern but not at the same time. For a brief moment an idea reared its head, only to be smashed down like a weird game of whack-a-mole within the hacker’s mind. There wasn’t any need for such an absurd idea. It’s not like Sanford could have seen his little daydream. Nope, that was safe in his head. The smoker shook his head to clear it, quickly flashing Sanford a sharp toothed grin.

“Yeah man. Just zonin’ out and daydreaming a little ‘s all. Nothing to worry about here heheh,” he laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder playfully. His eyes scanned the man’s face again, trying to see if his statement had done its job. Although the worry had dropped from Sanford’s face, the other emotion remained. Now what on earth was that for?

“Daydreamin’ huh? ‘Bout what?” The pyromaniac asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from Deimos’ eyes to his mouth, then back again as he spoke. He didn’t seem to not believe Deimos when he said he was daydreaming, so what on earth was that look for? And why was he looking at his mouth so much? Giving into the call of curiosity the sharp-toothed hacker brought a hand up to his mouth, eyes widening mouth momentarily when his fingers found a trail of saliva dripping from his lips to his chin. He’d been drooling. Whoops.

“Eh. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Deimos lied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand which he then wiped on his pant leg. So that’s what Sanford had been looking at. Oh he must’ve looked downright stupid too. Well now wasn’t that just great? He just had to hope the Chad hadn’t decided to take a photo.

“Honestly I don’t even remember what it was about.” Liar, he remembered all of it. The vivid tastes, the squirmy fullness, the thrill-

Grrrnnnggg…

Ah shit. Busted by his own stomach. For a second the hacker sat there stunned, blinking dumbly as his cheeks heated up with a pink tint. Ok just play it cool Deimos. “….though if I had to make a guess? Food heh.”

“Yeah, that would make sense heh.” Sanford laughed softly, playfully jabbing the smaller man in the stomach. He seemed to buy Deimos’s story, bringing a sense of relief to the hacker. At least he wasn’t going to press on it. “Your stomach was anything but quiet, you know.”

“Go figure. And when I can’t say anything about it too.” Quickly laughter had found itself spilling from Deimos’ mouth, his mind having calmed down when he had heard the sound from the other man. He seemed less concerned, or whatever that emotion he couldn’t name right now was. As another grumble shook through his middle the hacker lowered a hand to rest over his stomach. He got it already. He was upset the daydream of his wasn’t real after all too. Not much more he could do besides try and find something to eat now though. “Say, I’m gonna go try and snag something to shut my gut up. Wanna come?”

“Nah, I’ll pass this time.” Sanford spoke with a small shake of the head and a smile. Try as he might to play it off as friendly, it seemed that odd emotion that Deimos couldn’t name was just bound to show itself in his words. “You just go shut that thing up before the Agency uses it to track us.”

“Oh ha ha. I’m going.” Deimos laughed, giving Sanford one last playful punch to the shoulder before running off. He had food to track down somewhere in this hellscape of Nevada, unless he wanted a beating from Doc that was. He just needed something small or, hell, even temporary if he happened to come across a shrunken grunt or agent. They would work out just fine so long as he didn’t let the others find out what he’d used to shut his stomach up. Couldn’t give away anything that could relate to his little hidden desires. The emptiness in his gut wasn’t something he’d wanted back, but alas, a daydream is only a daydream and he wasn’t getting any fuller just walking around. Now where would his best chance to snag someon- something be…

…

Sanford watched as his friend ran off, smile slowly fading as Dei disappeared from his line of sight. That look of caution slipped back onto his face as he slowly turned his back to head to his room. He needed a moment to think about what he’d just seen. Try as he might, he couldn’t just forget what was now burned into his mind. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the younger hacker had been daydreaming about if you had seen him while he was in the zoned out trance of his. Mouth wide open and drooling with a hand pretending to dangle something above it, an active stomach topping it all off like some sorta weird cherry on the sundae of his best friend’s little fantasy. Oh no, he knew what that meant. And hearing him mumble the names of their other teammates, along with his own, at least once through it all? It spelled out the man’s daydream in big neon lights. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, despite how he tried his best to shake it off.

He wanted to believe it when he tried to tell himself that Deimos wouldn’t ever shrink them, much less try to eat them. He really did. All that he’d seen along with logic itself, however, pointed him at it with the firm proof that his words were lies. The man would no doubt take advantage of it, if he ever found a way to shrink them, even if he were to keep them as safe as possible. Just as he had with any unfortunate shrunken agents or grunts he happened upon when he was alone (or at least when he thought he was) Safe or not safe, the fact of the matter still stood. Sanford did not want to spend however long within the confines of his friend’s gut, especially if he wasn’t alone. Being in there had to be bad enough. Him not being able to do anything about it either only made the situation worse. Reasoning with the hacker was most likely hopeless and he wasn’t about to beg. What was left? Pray? God, if Deimos ever managed to get his hands on the Agency’s shrinking technology then one thing was downright certain. Boy were he, Hank, and 2b doomed…

[elles-writing]

Dragon Heart - IV.

Taglist: @guardianofrivendell @anjhope1 @legolasoftherings @kumqu4t @grunid @elvish-sky @artsywaterlily @alexloveskili

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Warnings/triggers: -

She looked over at Bilbo, who was stirring, and decided it would be a good idea to prepare him a cup of warm tea with some honey and milk. Y/N remembered Bilbo loved this as a child.

So, her next steps took her to the hobbit's kitchen.

Before she stepped inside, Y/N noticed one - perhaps from the older ones - dwarf, who prepared a steaming cup of tea already.

The dwarf didn't seemed to trust her - of course - but his eyes little softened, because she knew Gandalf and Bilbo.

"What tea is that?" Y/N asked instead, genuiely interested.

"Charmomile, for Master Baggins." Y/N hummed and the dwarf quickly left the little hobbit kitchen. You looked around, more concentrated this time. Then, you looked over the hall, pantry, and living room, where was Bilbo, Gandalf and some of the dwarves.

Baggins', now Bilbo's house, has never been un-practical. Maybe for Y/N by it's size, but other than that, there was everything one would need for life.

When Bilbo catched her eyes, Y/N could clearly see he was uncomfortable, upset and absolutely, absolutely done with the subject.

The dwarves.

But most importantly...

Gandalf.

You shrugged, and decided to leave him his burglar-not-burglar game. Bilbo would not be patient forever, but he was mannered and clever enough to know what to do. You were sure the hobbit would feel his Took side with desire for an adventure again.

And take his chance to escape Sackville-Baginses.

As you walked around, you noticed some of the pictures. They seemed to be new - or at least you didn't remembered them.

You walked closer, and stepped on something. You looked down, and noticed it was a dagger. You've never seen the design before, but assumed it must be one of the dwarves'. You picked it up and studied it, when you overheard a voice next to you.

"Careful with this, it's been just sharpened." You turned to see a blonde, blue-eyed dwarf, with braided moustache. He seemed to have the same twinkle in his eyes as Kili.

"I can handle sharp things," Y/N said and looked back at the knife.

"It's nice. Not too light, but not as heavy either." Y/N was thinking aloud. She completely forgot the dwarf next to her, as she studied the dagger.

"You know Master Baggins," He suddenly said. Y/N turned to him.

What the-did he just-

"I do," You nodded, and placed the dagger to his hand.

What the-no, he just didn't-

"You don't look like you are related," he continued.

"That's because we aren't." You ended the topic. Instead, it was your time to ask.

"Who are you?"

"Fili, at your service m'lady," he gently took your hand and kissed the back of your hand, his eyes not leaving yours.

"Y/N, at yours...Fili," You said.

"Oh, Y/N, can I-can I talk to you, for a second?" Bilbo came and you gladly walked aside with him, while Fili send you a wink.

"Bilbo, to answer some of your questions - no, I didn't knew-"

"I'm not talking about the, the dwarves," Bilbo looked over the room with frown on his face.

"Then what is it, my little friend?" You said quietly in attempt to brighten up the situation. Bilbo was almost adorable with frowned pouty face, hands folded on his chest, patting the floor with his foot...only if you could stand straight in his house. Your back thought the size of his house was not adorable at all.

"Well, um...did Gandalf told you to bring them along?" You looked at him with scrunched face, and rolled your eyes.

"I wouldn't be coming if I knew there were dwarves involved. So, if anything, I share your unpopular opinion." And ruffled his hair. He jumped up.

"I'm not a little hobbit anymore, you don't have to do this," Bilbo said through gritted teeth, and you grinned.

"Well, you still are kind of little," You teased him futher, until a dwarf with sharp blue eyes, long, dark hair, and the biggest grumpy and pouty face you've ever seen (not even Bilbo could do that, when he was angy little hobbit).

That dwarf shot you a glare, and also to Bilbo, who was taken aside by him and Gandalf, again.

You felt sorry for Bilbo.

When he was free, you overheard him muttering something about 'surely not going', 'not going anywhere', 'wizards', and so on. You decided to go to sleep, because all of the dwarves were asleep already, and you needed to be up early.

You woken up quickly. The first thing you've heard was the snoring. You scrunched your face, and quickly packed your things. Then, you walked out of Bag End, and decided to wait for them there.

The sunrise was nice time, especially to prepare your horse for the day.

"Shh," you cooed her quietly. It was beautiful mare, tall, and very, very clever.

"It will be okay. We will find dad, and we will go away, to live far away...everything is going to be just fine," You muttered.

"You ready?" Kili stood next to you with a grin on his face. You jumped up a little.

"I am." You said, and noticed Kili's expression as he looked at your horse. You let out a laugh.

"You've never seen a horse before?" Kili walked back a little.

"Not really," he said and you noticed his blushed cheeks.

"Kili!" You both looked over to Fili, standing between two ponies, who called him.

-

"Do you think Bilbo will come?" Kili asked you.

"That hobbit won't show up," Balin said. He was on his pony next to Kili, so he thought he talked to him.

"It's no surprise. Why would Master Baggins leave his home," Thorin (as was the grumpy dwarf named) said.

"I wouldn't understimate hobbits, and especially not Master Baggins," Gandalf said as he smoked his pipe.

"I am sure he is going to come," He said.

And that's when the bet started.

-

It wasn't even five minutes after you left Shire, when you overheard Bilbo's voice in the distance.

"Waaait!"

You looked over to Gandalf, who was hiding a laugh.

"You planned this?" You quietly asked and motioned to the hobbit, who was breathing heavily.

"Well, perhaps," he said, and you scoffed a little and shook your head, as the dwarves seated Bilbo on his pony.

-

The day was beautiful. It was actually quite warm, just warm so you could put down your cloak.

As the evening was approaching, and the sun was setting into palette of gold and velvet, and the sky was getting darker, Thorin decided it was time to set up camp. After a quick argument with Gandalf, the wizard left to seek company of himself. So, there was nothing easier, than to just finding the best place to place your bedroll.

You, Fili and Kili were on first watch. You laid down on your bedroll, and watched the stars. It was cloudless night, plus the crackling sound of fire, and smell of fresh night air was relaxing.

Bilbo was just coming back from his pony, when a sound in distance made him freeze.

"W-what was that?" He pointed to the distance, while looking at Kili.

"Orcs," he said in low, deep voice. You sat up. Bilbo had a part of Took in himself, but he was not that much of a Took.

"There is going to be plenty of those," Fili said, and, obviously, Kili continued.

"They come at night, no screams, just lots of blood," He looked at Bilbo, and the shadows in his face, along with his deep and low voice made it come out horribly scary. Him and Fili started chuckling, but you sighed.

"The way you two snore would make them run for hills, so I wouldn't be that worried," You said, and noticed Bilbo to relax by the corner of your eye.

Kili looked over at you. You pulled out book from your pack. He quickly recognized it, even in the darkness of the night. It was that book you flipped through back in Bag End.

You sat comfortably down, and looked over the illustrations on the pages, and softly touched them.

"What is the book you are reading about, lassie?" Balin asked. You didn't looked up.

"It's a book with tales and stories my...father wrote down," you answered.

"He used to read them to me," you shrugged.

"Would you read some of them-ow, what was that for?!" Kili whisper-yelled at his brother, who chuckled.

"You're a child, Kee," He muttered to himself, and Kili pouted. But Fili was curious as well, which Kili didn't needed to know.

"Well...this one," You flipped a few pages futher.

"This one is called Strange thief and the stars," Y/N comfortably sat and started reading.

"There was once a man. He wasn't very known by name, but by his eyes. His eyes, deep and dark, with sparkles, reminding of stars. Nobody has ever seen eyes like this before, and people were whispering he has stars themselves in his eyes," You slid the tips of your fingers over the drawing, remembering the precision your father has made into repairing them.

"Many women tried to grab his attention, but anytime they didn't sucsceeded, the sparks in their eyes were less visible, but in his as well. And that is why men has decided to call him 'the thief of stars', or a 'strange thief of stars'. He was wandering through the lands, until he found what, as he realized, was looking for,"

"What happened next?" Bilbo asked.

"That girl didn't want to talk to him. She was very kind and caring, but not naive. One day, however, she found a dragon. Big dragon, who seemed scary, but saved her from orcs. The beast's eyes reminded her of someone, yet she didn't knew of whom." You realized everyone was quiet, listening to you, as you spoken.

"The next day, she met the man. He runned into her, in a rush, in a fear - and asked her "Did you see the dragon too?". The young maiden nodded, and helped him to get to safety, as he was very nervous and scared. Since that day, they became closer and closer. One day, when a few years passed, her father - an old, wise and kind man - said, his daughter will marry someone, who gives her something very special. The young man came the next day in their house they lived in. He said," you flipped the page.

" 'I do not have much to offer - gold, silver, or gems - but I do have this," he took out a notebook out of his coat, and offered it. The girl's father took the notebook, and opened it. It was full of drawings of flowers, animals and people - but mainly of one special maiden, when she was laughing, collecting flowers, brushing her hair, cooking, reading...When she came there, and looked throught the book, her father looked at her, and she nodded. So, he looked deeply into the young man's eyes, and said 'She chose you.' "

You finished the story, and Kili giggled at how interested his brother was.

"Now who's the child here,"

[the-red-mafia]

The Failed Heist

The Red Mafia has infiltrated a high-end gala in order to steal a powerful stone, the Custodio power gem. What will happen when a strange man decides that the Red Mafia is their perfect target? Also available on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheRedMafia Note: We will be updating the story every two weeks here and on our Wattpad! Next Update: [Updated] Word Count: 2252 Edited 3/13/2024 TW: Body Gore

2 weeks after the "The Outage"

“Velvet Bolton?” 

The assassin quickly turned around, her hand falling near the hilt of the dagger hidden underneath their black skirt. There stood a boy, his brown eyes as wide as saucers. Velvet looked him up and down, narrowing her eyes on the small name tag with ‘Jonathan Furgleson’ scrawled on it in dark marker. He seemed about her age, but the name didn’t ring any bells inside her head.

“Who are you?” 

The boy frowned before motioning to the tag. “It’s me, Jonathan. Our parents work together.”

“Your…parents.”

“Mhm, Rebecca and Liam Furgleson. We run the Star Hospital on Pilax. Do you really not remember?” 

Now that name caused Velvet to groan internally.

“I’m sorry-”

“Oh, it’s okay! After…Caran, I didn’t think you would ever return to your dad’s place. But it’s great seeing you! I’m just surprised the media hasn’t reported it at all.” 

“Velvet, is…is everything alright?” Maroon’s quiet voice came through the small earpiece in her ear. Their British accent, which sounded genuine yet annoying at the same time, caused her to groan internally. Velvet glanced to where they were across the hall, dressed in a white, long-sleeve button-up and black slacks. They gave her a worried look but she just shook her head before turning back to Jonathan.

“No, I’m sorry. My name’s not Velvet, sir.” 

Jonathan’s eyes widened again as he looked at them.

“Oh- no I’m sorry! I should’ve let you speak! I’m sorry for bothering you, ma’am,” he quickly stuttered. Velvet plastered on a smile and held out the tray of muffins they were carrying to him.

“Chocolate chip muffin?” 

The boy met her eyes again and smiled.

“I’d love one, thanks.” 

Velvet handed one of the small plates to him and watched him scurry away before letting their smile fade. They set the tray down on a table, drawing the attention of several small children who pounced on them as soon as they were in reach. The assassin took a few steps back, stepping lightly to avoid noise coming from the black heels on their feet, and slipped into a small closet behind them.

“Who’s Caran?” Mad asked. Velvet groaned as they adjusted their hair to sit in front of their face.

“None of your fucking business, cōnfectus.”

“Alright…why’d you lie about the muffins?” 

The assassin let out a small chuckle.

“Keeping my cover. Jonathan is deathly allergic to blueberries. One bite should take care of him.” The other side of the line was silent for a few seconds, causing Velvet to roll their eyes.

“Really, Mad? You need to get over this whole thing.” The robot didn’t respond. Instead, the sound of it muting its mic echoed through the communications channel. 

“Meus deōs, this is stupid. Maroon, any sign of the gem?” 

Nothing. A chill went down her spine. They quickly peeked their head out of the door and scanned the hall. Maroon had completely vanished from the party, their tray of appetisers now in the hands of another waiter. 

“Shit,” they mumbled, “Mad, stop sulking and get into the security system.” A loud beep played in the teen’s ear.

“I’m not sulking.”

“You are. Find Maroon.” Velvet slipped back out of the closet. The swarm of kids had dispersed and they quickly picked up the gold tray again. They made their way toward the stairs at the end of the hall, dodging a few running children and patrons. 

“It looks like their beacon is in the…west corridor?” 

Velvet frowned.

But that’s on the opposite end of the venue from the gala, they thought, stepping up the first step, “...can you access the cameras there?”

“Already done. It…that’s not good.” 

“What’s not good?” 

“Take a look at your phone.” 

Velvet reached the top of the steps and quickly took a left. She held the tray in one hand and quickly pulled out the small device from their skirt’s pocket. A video played on the screen, displaying an unconscious Maroon being thrown over the shoulder of a man and dragged out of the area. 

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered. Tossing the phone back in their pocket, they took off sprinting down the hall.

“I’m relying on you to guide me, Mad.”

“Okay, take a left here soon. But there are two guards down the hall, so be careful. I’m not sure I’d be able to shut off an alarm with my current access.” 

“No alarm, got it.” Velvet slowed, glancing around the corner. Sure enough, two guards stood in the middle of the walkway, chatting. Velvet paused for a moment and drew their dagger. They tossed the tray onto the ground in front of them, forcing the guards to turn toward the noise. 

Velvet threw the blade forward, watching as it embedded its point in the throat of the first guard. The other guard watched their friend fall to the ground, shock on their face. The assassin picked up the tray again and hurled it at the second guard’s head. It collided, causing them to stagger to the side. Velvet jumped forward but the guard quickly recovered and swung a punch at them. It hit Velvet’s arm and they stumbled away from the first guard’s now-unconscious body. 

The guard glared at her, reaching their arms out to pin their arms to their sides. Velvet barely stepped out of the way, forced to roll backwards. The assassin scanned the room before letting out a groan. The guard steadied themself again, but Velvet was already on their feet again. They jumped to the left and ripped one of the heels off of their foot, swinging the point straight into the guard’s temple. They crumbled to the ground, blood slowly seeping out of the puncture wound. Velvet ripped the heel out of their skull, sliding it onto their foot as they grabbed their blade as well. 

“What the hell?” Mad exclaimed through their earpiece. Velvet rubbed the now-bruised area of their right arm. 

“What is it now?”

“You didn’t have to kill them!” 

Velvet slid their dagger back into its sheath on their left leg. 

“What is with you and this anti-murder bullshit?” 

“Anti-murder-” Mad mumbled angrily, “What is with you and murder?” 

“Really? That’s what you choose to ask?” 

“Yes!”

“Gods, you’re annoying,” the teen breathed, “Where are they now?” 

“I’m…not seeing them on the cameras anymore. There must be a blind spot or something.”

“What about Maroon’s beacon?” 

Keyboard clicks echoed through the microphone as Velvet started down the hallway once again. 

“It’s turned off.”

“It’s what?” 

“It’s-” 

A fist slammed into Velvet’s right temple, knocking the earpiece out of their ear and forcing them to the ground. The world spun but Velvet attempted to stand up again. She made it to her feet before nearly falling down again. Someone quickly grabbed them and pressed a hand to their mouth. The teen attempted to thrash out of their grip but their vision slowly faded to black.

Velvet groaned as she opened her eyes to a pitch-black room. They blinked awake to the large man staring into their eyes from point-blank range. Velvet jumped a little. 

“Velvet Bolton. Daughter of Unor Bolton. Heir to the Bol-” The large man was cut off when Velvet attempted to kick his legs. The man backed away out of Velvet’s reach.

“I am Large Man.”

“...what?” Velvet questioned, looking him up and down. The man remained still, eyes locked on Velvet. 

“I am Large Man.”

“Well, I can see that, but what’s your name?”

“Large Man.”

“No, like your actual name.”

“Large Man.”

“...How do you spell it?”

“L-apostrophe-A-R-J-space-M-A-H-N-N-N-H.”

“...your parents must hate you.”

“My father’s name was L’Arjre Mahnnnh. It's Guh’Okkian.”

“I- of course. How silly of me.” 

The man nodded. “Correct.”

“Alright, get on with it. What do you want?” 

L’arj Mahnnnh cleared his throat and crossed his arms. 

“You are Velvet Bolton. Daughter of Unor Bolton. Heir-”

“Yeah yeah, I got it. You don't have to go through the whole spiel.”

“Understood.”

“So, uh,” the teen muttered, “What’s with the restraints?”

“You’re a hostage.” 

Velvet glared at him. “No, really? I never would’ve guessed.”

“That’s why I told you.” 

“Oh my gods,” Velvet breathed, rolling her eyes, “Alright L’arj Mahnnnh, why are you holding me hostage?”

“At first I had just come for the Custodio power gem but after realising you were here as well, I changed my plan to capture you along with the gem. The reward for your return is quite plentiful, you know.”

“There’s a reward now?”

“Yes.”

“Of course- whatever. So where’s your boss?” Velvet looked around the dark room but could see no one else. L’arj Mahnnnh frowned.

“I have no boss. Why do you assume L’arj Mahnnnh has a boss? Is it unreasonable for a strong man to be the boss? You are perpetuating the stereotypes that have plagued my people for years.” 

Velvet blinked a few times. “...Sorry?”

“You should be. Now stay here while I get Margaret Pembrooke, Daughter of Maximillian Buysse from the broom closet I hid them in.” 

Velvet watched him walk out of the dark room before quickly turning their attention to the ropes tied around their wrists and legs. They were attached to a few hooks that seemed to be glued to the brick wall. 

Margaret? They thought, Who- oh. I get it now. With one tug, the hooks were ripped off and sitting uselessly on the floor. Velvet unwrapped her wrists before sliding the rope off of her ankles. They quickly jumped to their feet. 

The room was nearly empty, except for metal racks lining the walls and two large machines. L’arj Mahnnnh had shut the door behind him, presumably locking it as the knob refused to budge. Velvet glared at the metal handle before turning around again. Nothing was on the wall where they had been tied up and their dagger was nowhere to be found. 

If I’m right, he should be bringing Maroon right to me. Makes my job easier, Velvet thought, sitting back down near the fallen ropes. They slowly wrapped them around themself again, looser this time, before placing their hands behind their back. The door slammed open, causing the assassin to jump slightly. L’arj Mahnnnh shoved someone forward and they fell to the ground a few centimetres in front of Velvet. A certain red-and-black-haired teenager looked up at her, tears running down their face. Maroon’s eyes widened when they locked eyes with Velvet but L’arj Mahnnnh quickly pushed them against the wall next to her. 

“Quit your crying Margaret Pembrooke, Daughter of Maximillian Buysse.” L’Arj Mahnnnh commanded. Maroon took a deep breath before looking up at him.

“That is not my name.” 

L’arj Mahnnnh kneeled down and grabbed the rope wrapped around Maroon’s legs and stomach. Maroon choked back a sob as he raised them so their eyes were level with each other. Velvet quickly ripped their arms out of the ropes again.

“Put them do-” They were cut off by a sudden scream of pain erupting from L’arj Mahnnnh. Velvet sat frozen as thousands of small mushrooms burst out of his skin and covered the floor of the room. Blood splattered and pooled beneath him, painting the black room red. He tried to scream but his airways were soon clogged by the fungi that Maroon had summoned. He clawed at his throat as he began to lose consciousness from lack of air. 

Maroon had been flung to the ground in L’arj Mahnnnh’s panic, banging their head on the cold concrete and quickly losing consciousness. L’arj Mahnnnh collapsed and squirmed near the door before his body grew limp. Velvet sat there for nearly half a minute before quickly shaking their head.

I…am starting to understand Zaeor’s logic now, she thought, slowly standing, Maybe that crazy son of a bitch is on to something. They slowly hoisted their teammate onto their back before stepping over L’arj Mahnnnh. His eyes were open still and he twitched a bit, but Velvet just chuckled.

“Painful. Have fun, L’arj Mahnnnh.”

Mad paced anxiously around the cockpit of their ship, the Umbrella. With nearly half an hour of radio silence from their teammates, the assistance droid had begun to assume the worst. That was until a loud banging came from the door.

“Mad, open the fucking door!” Velvet called out. It jumped up and quickly slammed the button to open the door. It swung open, revealing a bruised Velvet with an unconscious Maroon draped across their back. 

“Holy-” they mumbled, quickly grabbing the younger teen in their arms, “What happened?” Velvet cracked their neck before shutting the door behind them. 

“L’arj Mahnnnh attacked us. Apparently, he was also after the gem and got the jump on us.”

“Don’t you mean ‘a’ large man?”

“If I did, I would’ve said it,” they muttered, “He’s some kind of bounty hunter. I’m going back in to get the gem, watch-”

“No, you’re not.” 

Velvet glared at the robot in front of them.

“What?”

“You’re in no state to go back in there. We’ll go back to the mansion and regroup.” 

The assassin let out a strained laugh before putting a hand in front of the door’s sensor. 

“And you’re in no state to stop me.” Velvet waved her hand but nothing happened. After trying it a few more times, she looked up at Mad and their T.V. displayed a green smirking emoticon. 

“You fucking-”

“Let’s go, I’ll grab some ice for your arm and you can tell me about this…large man.”

Latin Translations: cōnfectus - worn out, exhausted meus deōs - my gods

[honeybeezx]

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 2

Author’s Note: Hey all! Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! This one will have a lot more of our favorite prince and paramour and the reader is such a badass. I’m really having the most fun writing this you guys have no idea😄

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder, mentions of sex

Enjoy, love you all and as always, feedback is welcome!

——————

The brothel smelled of incense and sex. The men who had paid for the services apparently had no reservations about silencing their pleasure, nor the women. You were mildly annoyed by it all. You didn’t care or consider it lowly to work or attend a brothel, but it just seemed so...fake. People pretending that what they were feeling was love or passion when really it was just men finding release, both from sex and from their normal lives, and women getting their coin.

Not that you really knew what actual love was like, but you did know it wasn’t this.

One of the girls brought you to a room near the back. The ornate doors swung open to reveal who you could only assume was the prince and his princess. You weren’t really sure what you expected, but you found yourself shocked. He looked princely, certainly, but you weren’t expecting him to be so...striking. Bronzed skin against golden cloth...he looked like a work of art. And his princess was equally captivating. Her dark locks cascading against her dress seemed to compliment her lover’s own clothes. They both seemed to have a strong demeanor, even while they were allowing themselves to be vulnerable, wrapped in each other’s arms. Both of their heads turned to look at you, brown eyes meeting yours. You wondered how their gaze could even fall upon you when you were presenting them with the finest women the capital could offer.

The women you now know as Ros introduced you by both birth name and the one bestowed upon you through the tales spread throughout Westeros. The prince smirked and narrowed his eyes at you. The woman in his arms might as well have been undressing you with her eyes.

“The Silver Hawk.” He smiled, taking you in. He left his paramour’s side to stand before you. Your guard wasn’t easily lowered by attractive people, but even you had to admit they were both intimidatingly beautiful. The prince’s exposed chest and the heat of the princess’s eyes had your heart beating faster than you cared to let on. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My brother told me the stories about you and your silver arrows. Is it true that they were enchanted by the gods so that you can never miss?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I trained hard to achieve the level of skill I possess, I assure you.” The stories people told about you these days were becoming more absurd by the day. And you were slightly offended. To just be handed a gift with no hard work, no sense of accomplishment was no gift at all.

“Will we get the chance to see you prove that?” Ellaria asked hopefully as she joined her prince’s side.

“Perhaps.” If the Lannisters or any other of the terrible people in this city continued to annoy you, you didn’t doubt it, but you were not going to put on a show...Even if the Dornish woman did make your heart beat faster in your chest.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” She smiled with a wink.

You cleared your throat and focused. You were here for a reason after all, and that wasn’t to entertain the guests with your skill. “The hand of the king, Tyrion Lannister apologizes for his absence this evening, but he wanted to offer these ladies as a welcoming gift and hopes you’ll excuse him.”

“A gift indeed.” His eyes raked over you, the woman behind him smirking. “A shame that Tyrion hides such an exquisite woman behind the ugly walls of the Lannister dwelling. You should be out in the sun, letting more people admire your beauty. Too bad...In Dorne, it would be a crime to hide such a rare gem.” It almost seemed like the prince couldn’t hide his desire, even if he wanted to (which he most certainly didn’t). His eyes traveled everywhere, from the tips of your boots to the smallest hair on your head.

You’ve never experienced whiplash before, but you imagined it felt a bit like this. To say you were surprised was an understatement. Not many people could catch you off guard, but not many people were so bold, especially towards you. You could do little to disguise your shock and you took a moment to find your voice. “Prince Oberyn, I am not an option here if that is what you are implying.” You retorted, rather defensively.

“That is not what I am implying, but it is interesting that the thought occurred to you.” He flashed a devilish smile and you wanted nothing more than to punch it off his handsome face.

“That is not what I-“

The prince placed a finger to his lips and you wanted to scream with anger at how easy it was for him to silence you with one simple action. He grinned before backing away, returning to the Dornish woman. “Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

“It’s a pleasure.” She greeted, her voice dripping with a sultriness that would have made someone with less composure than you blush.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You replied, trying to recover from their boldness. You tried to remain calm, you made a promise to Tyrion that you would make the guests feel welcome. Why he trusted you with this particular task was beyond you.

“Hmm, I doubt it.” Ellaria grinned her eyes still raking over you.

A room full of half-naked women and they settle on me.

Both of them, flirting with the same woman right before their own partners. It intrigued you that they both shared the same lover. Neither of them seemed to care much about the gender of whom they chose to sleep with, only their beauty. They possessed a different type of freedom, one you were unfamiliar with. Your freedom was found when you were hunting, climbing trees, the rare times you found yourself near an ocean. For them, it was shameless passion and love, taking pleasure anywhere they could get it unapologetically. Life was theirs to enjoy, nothing could take that from them.

Which is why you found the fact that they were singling in on your armor-clad body so shocking. You couldn’t comprehend how anything you were wearing could draw their attention in a lustful sort of way.

“You should reconsider, by the way. We are very generous lovers. What a privilege it would be to say we made love to the stunning Silver Hawk of the North.” Oberyn raised a brow at you as he took a berry between his teeth, tongue swiping against the tips of his teeth, making a show of himself before actually eating it.

You cursed your skin for becoming so hot.

“Let me make myself clear Prince Oberyn.” You began, finding some strength to your voice again as you remembered your place, your. “I am not a whore. These women here, they are your options. What you decide to do with them is your business, but I am a guard to the king’s hand and I demand to be treated as such. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the palace.” You turned on your heel to leave, impossible without the prince having the last word.

“One more thing.” His voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned just enough to face him.

“When was the last time you experienced pleasure?”

All you could see was red.

“The first time I shot an arrow through an arrogant man’s chest.” Before you could stop your words they were already hung in the air. You were prepared for the prince to draw the dagger you noticed hanging at his hip, but he made no such move, his hands still around his paramour.

And he smiled.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Silver Hawk.”

“If I see the Red Viper again it will be too soon.”

You stormed out of the brothel, drawing looks from all those around you, but you didn’t care. They both got to you, in more ways than one. How did they break you down so easily? Not even the queen regent possessed such power.

And you prayed to the gods old and new that neither of them would tell Tyrion. You knew it was a false hope, but the last thing you needed was Tyrion scolding you and even worse, letting people know they could both get to you. Your whole life you let your rage burn quietly in your chest, letting it fuel you rather than consume you. But their smirks, their roaming eyes, their words made you feel something you hadn’t in a very long time.

And you threatened him, the Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t as if his reputation and stories escaped your ears. He was skilled with every weapon you could think of. To top it off, if he didn’t wish to kill you with a weapon, he was an expert in poisons as well. It was a relief that he wasn’t staying in the palace now, you’d have to find somewhere else to eat and drink every night just to avoid death.

King’s Landing was becoming its special sort of war zone. This was the game of Kings and Queens, Prince and Princesses, none of which you were. It was as if you had been dealt a hand that everyone knew you were going to lose. The Lannisters and the Martells, amazed you how two completely different families could be toying with you, a pawn in this royal game.

Oberyn and Ellaria were just the most skilled players.

As if you needed more people in King’s Landing to worry about.

—————————

“I like her.” Ellaria laughed, still in the arms of her lover. The couple had chosen their girls for the night but sent them waiting for a moment as they discussed you. “You were right, she’s stunning lover. And she has a bite, not many people would challenge you, a prince and a fearsome warrior. I fear we may have scared her off though.” Her smile faltered a bit at the idea of losing their next lover. She wanted you, and there was only so much time before they would be separated by their return to Dorne.

“She is a wild one. Not many women like her. I’m not sure I know many soldiers with her reputation and skill, whether they be man or woman.” He noted as he tucked a strand of his paramour’s hair behind her ear. “I did not expect her to be so offended by us. I don’t think she is as familiar with the pleasures of the bed as we are. We may have to...coax her.” He suggested, scanning Ellaria’s dark eyes, as if he were attempting to read her thoughts.

“She is a strong woman, in every sense of the word. That it itself is something rare, and she knows that. I suspect she thinks we are mocking her, somehow undermining her.” Ellaria noted, recalling your behavior. “She thinks we want to pay for her services, thinks she’s just another girl for us. You may have chosen the wrong moment to be so bold, my love.” Ellaria tried putting herself in your shoes, but it was difficult. Many people knew the legends of the silver hawk, the assassin who never misses, but fewer knew the origin of your tale, how a young woman came to possess the skill of men twice her age, maybe even better than that. But she imagined if she worked as hard as you said you did, only for a man, a prince, to single you out among brothel girls, as if you were one yourself, she could understand your anger.

“Think about it my love,” she began, “you did not exactly explain to her what we were proposing. You cannot blame her for assuming we saw her as another one of Little Finger’s girls.” Ellaria chided as she traced featherlight touches against her lover’s exposed chest.

“A gentler approach may do us good. You are anything but withholding when it comes to who you desire, and at least now she knows. But you may want to start winning her favor with some sort of peace offering.” She ran her hands through Oberyn’s dark curls as he looked at her like a man in the desert looked at water. The Sand woman knew her lover like she knew her own heart, and she knew she was not the only woman who had turned him on this evening. “Go to King’s Landing tomorrow and find her. Don’t apologize for wanting her, never that, but offer our friendship. That may be a good place to start?” She asked, wanting to know what her lover thought.

Oberyn gave a hum of approval before taking his lover’s hand and kissing her palm. “You are the wisest of women.” His hand moved her own so that her palm was now resting on his cheek, his soft, brown eyes still raking over his paramour. “I will go tomorrow to offer our friendship and make peace. I have a feeling that even if we remain friends with her, she will be a powerful and useful ally. She could be just the person we’re looking for to get me information on my sister’s murder.”

The prince’s face turned somber. Ellaria closed her eyes and placed a kiss to his exposed chest. “Do not forget that she works for a Lannister, lover. She may not be so willing.”

But Oberyn shook his head. “No. When I went to the palace the Hawk had her sights on Cersei the entire time. I thought she was going to pierce her with an arrow right in the throne room. She makes an exception for Tyrion, but otherwise, I suspect she has a distaste for Lannisters as much as we do. She may be at least willing to listen to my proposal.”

Ellaria sighed and ran her hand down the prince’s toned arms. “Perhaps, but I don’t want her slipping through our fingers. I want justice for your beloved sister, but I want her too. She is a strong woman, capable of defending herself, but she should not be put in harm's way.”

Oberyn nodded, but he could not shake the deep-rooted desire for vengeance. Every time he saw a Lannister all he could think of was his enchanting sister and her sweet children, and the unfair fate they were given. “I will simply speak to her and offer friendship tomorrow. Her spying was just a thought.” He added, keeping his calm. “We have to earn her trust first and foremost, a task that I’m sure will prove difficult all on its own.”

“Neither of us have been known to back down from a challenge.” She laughed before kissing his collarbone.

“We will just have to convince her of our desires.”

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@ilikechocolatemilkh

[labelleofbelfastcity]

hold my hand, it’s a long way down

1.5k, high fantasy royalty au, most of the details of which were provided by @capybart

read on ao3 here

Kalina smirks as she glides into the room, black furs gleaming around her shoulders and long train hissing across the floor. Riz, reflexively, takes a step back, as his eyes clock the false crown atop her head, the feline smile curving her mouth, and the knife in her hand, flickering in the candlelight.

“I trust you’re doing well,” she says, and keeps approaching until she’s standing right before him, staring him down.

Riz’s heart jumps a beat and his eyes dart around, trying to see where he can go, what he can grab, if it is even likely to move at all before that knife is sliding into his neck and tearing an ugly gash in his throat. “Not with any thanks to you.”

Kalina huffs, mouth quirking to the side, before she slumps down to sit on his bed, shoulders falling and head tilting to look at him. The black gem in the center of her diadem seems to dance like cold fire, drawing Riz’s eyes to it even as he tries to focus on a million and one other things. Unnatural, Riz thinks, with a sickening shock directly to his heart. And then he remembers the things people have always whispered about Kalina, words like witch and sorceress and Shadow Cat. Remembers those words and sees the way her eyes flash yellow in the candle’s flame.

“I’m disappointed in you, kiddo. I thought you’d figure out by now that this is all for you.”

“Where’s my mom?” Riz spits out, as he has done every time Kalina visits him in these much too fancy rooms, this much too fancy prison.

Kalina rolls her eyes, leans back on one arm, flips the dagger in her other hand, “Thought we got past that already.”

“I know you did something to her.”

“I didn’t do anything. Besides, she’s safe. She’s comfortable. What more could you ask of me?”

“I want you to give her back.”

“And I thought it was you, kiddo, who told me not too long ago that people weren’t toys. That they couldn’t be given and taken. Hm. Must be wrong about that.” Kalina flicks the tip of the dagger at him, holding it just a few inches away from Riz’s ribs, where she could slide it straight up and into his heart. “That’s not what I came here for, though. How’s the prince doing?”

“Aren’t you at court with him?” Riz spits out, and refuses to yield yet another step.

“Yes, yes. And he’s doing so well today, too. I’ve never seen a more attentive courter, practically glued to the Lady Aelwyn’s side. Which is funny, seeing as how we had to drag him from his rooms less than a week ago.”

“Fabian’s not planning anything,” Riz says, leaving out the because I am.

Kalina huffs, and taps the dagger against her own cheek, “I don’t know when you’ll learn. Everything you know, I know. I’m in your head, kiddo.”

Riz’s spine snaps straight as a scream he knows doesn’t exist sounds from his left, and then his right, screams that sounds like Fig and Fabian. Screams he only knows because of that day, weeks ago, when the Abernants and their holy warriors in gleaming sun-forged metal took the castle and forced the prince, Riz’s friend, the person Riz was supposed to protect above all else, to stab his father in the heart. Fig had screamed then, in rage, and tried to take the nearest knight out with a swing of her lute, and Fabian had screamed later, when the three of them were back in these rooms, in that soft, silent way of tears and grief and heartache and complete and total betrayal.

“See? That’s what you don’t understand,” Kalina says, standing once again. “That’s what I’m saving you from. I’m protecting your little friends because you’re useful to me. You don’t want to stop being useful to me, do you?”

Riz remains where he is, fighting back the nausea as the screams grow. Now, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, rooted to the spot by a clawed hand holding tightly onto his mind.

“Do you?” Kalina asks again, and this time she brings the knife up to Riz’s jaw, just under his ear. The cold pricks against his skin and Riz is so afraid.

“No,” he rasps out, and she smiles again, eyes crinkling. The screams immediately stop.

“Good.” The heavy handle of the knife drops into Riz’s hand, and his fingers close over it reflexively. It’s dangerous, to give your enemy a weapon. Dangerous, still, to give them a weapon they have no hope to use in any way that counts. “You can’t get away from me, bud. Just remember that.”

Riz snarls at her, “We’re going to stop you.”

Kalina clucks her tongue and begins to walk away, “The only way you’ll escape is if I want you to.”

The door swings shut behind her right as her hold over Riz’s body drops, and he sags a little, before startling upright again. She must know, there’s no way she doesn’t. Her knowing had not been a factor of the plan, despite everything pointing towards its likelihood. Really, how could Riz have been so stupid? He’ll need a few minutes to change things, modify them so that they can actually escape, can actually get out of here.

Fabian is trapped in this castle. Fig is trapped. Their new ally, the oracle Adaine Abernant, their friend, is trapped as well. He can’t risk their freedom for himself, can’t risk Fabian and Fig’s sacrifices and the dangerous line between family and safety Adaine is flirting with. He just… he’ll figure out another way. He just needs time.

The heavy sound of a wooden lute being swung against a head thunks from outside Riz’s door, and then it’s opening to reveal his friends standing on the threshold. No, no, no, this is happening too fast. He hasn’t had time to plan.

Fig lowers her lute from where it’s raised in the air, hovering around where the now unconscious guard’s head probably was less than a second ago.

“Shit, Riz, we need to go,” Adaine says, hoisting her skirts and sprinting for his window, the same window Riz had been preparing before Kalina waltzed in.

Fabian twirls his red, embroidered, very much not stealthy court cloak from his shoulders, slinging on the black one he’d stashed on Riz’s chair earlier. The cloak that Kalina had most certainly seen because Riz hadn’t bothered to hide it. “We have five minutes.”

Adaine throws the window open and immediately heaves one of her legs out of it, hair whipping slightly in the breeze. She reaches behind her and grabs Fig’s hand, pulling her up and onto the windowsill beside her.

They’ve discussed this plan ad nauseum for weeks. So it’s almost too easy for Adaine and Fig to leap from the window with nothing but a nod, not even noticing how Riz has yet to move from his spot.

“Alright, we’re next, The Ball,” Fabian says, and hoists himself up onto the windowsill, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders in preparation for the leap.

Riz moves, then, takes a step back, hands outstretched in a pleading way that doesn’t connect with the usual brave, cunning parts of himself, the parts that plan a castle escape and wind up as companion to the prince. “You can’t take me with you. Kalina, she’s— She’s in my head. She knows, Fabian. I can’t risk it.”

Fabian’s mouth tugs and he leans back into the room, grabbing one of Riz’s outstretched hands and tugging him forward, to the open window, to their one chance at escape. “I didn’t leave you behind before, I’m not about to start now.”

And Riz remembers, remembers the way he and Fig had fought tooth and nail during those first moments of the coup, before the King had fallen at his son’s hand. They’d bought Fabian a second of time, a moment to run, but he’d frozen, frozen as the knights grappled Fig and Riz, frozen with his sword hanging in the air, the wound on his face a bleeding mess.

“Go, Fabian,” Riz had screamed, Fig shouting as well.

Fabian’s sword clattered out of his hand, and he allowed himself to be grabbed by the knight who cut out his eye, to be dragged alongside Riz and Fig to that throne room, to where Kalina and the Abernants waited with King Bill Seacaster slowly bleeding out on his own steps.

“I couldn’t leave you, The Ball. I couldn’t lose you.” Fabian had said that night, once the tears were dry and Fig snored beside them.

“You won’t. We’re going to get through this together,” Riz had said and curled up tightly into Fabian’s side.

The memory flashes in Riz’s head, and then it’s gone, and Riz is back in his night dark room, wind from the open window brushing against his cheeks, and Fabian’s warm hand wrapped around his, pleading, in his own way, for him to follow.

Riz holds tight to the dagger Kalina had given him, the dagger he plans to hurl straight into her heart someday, and allows himself to be pulled out of the window.

[shadowdianne]

22. OC.

XoXo pregnant anonimo

OCs you asked so OCs I give you :P I tried to keep the infodumping at minimum but welp Xd Couldn’t stop myself. The lore of this one is turning out to be glorious but I still need to make some editings here and there so bear with me.

Kisses in the rain

Akta let the ruby fall from her right hand as she completed the summoning circle, the chalk on her hands disintegrating from the mix of her inner heat and the strength in which she grabbed onto it. Black eyes going over the runes she was supposed to write, she felt her lips tremble the incantation, readying herself for when she would need to whisper it into the drawn lines.

She hated feeling this nervous; she hadn’t sacrificed what she had done for acting like a blushing newbie when it came to a simple summoning and yet, as she straightened her posture, puffing away a stray of brunette hair that had fallen over her eyes, curly, damp, she kept on going back to the opened book between her feet where the ruby now reposed, waiting. It should work, she thought with prying eyes as the thunder from outside the dilapidated warehouse strengthened ever so slightly. No one would come to the outermost part of the Circle, the strange lights that often created blue and golden fire when approached by too much ozone were enough to keep strangers at bay; and the ones living within the city proper knew better than to go out after the second bell had chanted its tune. Yet, despite knowing herself alone, she kept on feeling the sense of someone watching from over her shoulder. A gift, a distant memory, of her master. Cursing to herself in a dialect so short tempered she guessed not even the ghosts that could very well roam outside were able to understand her, she knelt once more, biting the tip of her thumb’s finger until drawing enough blood to create a thin coat over the gem’s most immediate surface.

The séance was ready, all she needed to do was close the circle and call forth the demon’s name,

They had gone about this a million times, or, rather, Akta had while trying to account for everything that could go wrong. She had kept as much of a poker face as possible, of course, but she had been able to feel Thyria’s eyes on her, the shadow of them, at least, the vague feeling of fingernails tapping against a surface they weren’t able to truly touch.

The brunette couldn’t truly blame the other, but she had kept a level gaze whenever the question came blazing through Thyria’s voice.

“Once we get the gem I’ll liberate you.” The words had been said through gritted teeth, the thousand other things she also thought -how she knew Thyria was on their right to doubt the reasons why she kept on helping them, how she knew they would have a very slim chance for it to work given that she would be rewriting a botched séance on the hopes for it to liberate the badly called demon in order to be free of the bindings done by previous owners- not quite reaching her throat. Doubts didn’t matter, she had said to herself while walking through the hidden tunnels that kept them away from the city above as she reached the factory ring, the sound of thousands of feet against pavement a echo that was ever present, always filling the underground with a spiralling echo that grew and kept on spilling, threatening to drown you if you weren’t careful enough.

But Akta was careful, careful enough to know that she needed to wait, a moment, two, until the first thunder hit the broken spine that circumvallated the entire factory in where the warehouse was located, the dark skies threatening to open up, pour their insides to any bystander that happened to be within reaching distance. The moment a second rumble could be heard, running through the sky, fly over the darkened corners of the dismantled copper and brass details that had been stolen and stripped bare by those daring enough to enter the enclosure through daytime, she struck her hand up, holding the ruby once more as her eyes illuminated, her clothes floating as the soil beneath her, a mismatched mix of cement and dirt, cracked and crumbled, her skin tinting purple from the tips of her pointed ears as she kept on reciting each and every line, the chalk forgotten, melting and hissing as she stepped backwards, her feet leaving behind rivers of energy that bite into the earth as the shadows conglomerated, waiting.

She needed the name, the name that would bind the circle as it carried away its purpose. After that, the chalk would be consumed as well as the blood offering and without a second circle containing it, the energy would, finally, take the body that had been denied before. Or so she hoped.

She spat Thyria’s name, the letters clunky on her mouth as they were written with symbols that were difficult enough for a mortal to keep general practitioners at bay. But Akta wasn’t a general magic user, that much she had demonstrated, and so she called forth the demon, narrowing her eyes and feeling her eyelids heavy as part of her glamour faded away only to be erected back once more by a gentle hand that, still disembodied, reached out towards her with long fingers and enough residual warmth to be physical.

The lines of Thyria’s body came slowly, with fingers being first, shoulders second, neck, legs, back. The armor was also quick to appear, a residual of the aspect that they had been forced to take during that first séance, so many years ago. Swallowing and tasting sulfur, Akta leant into the touch, into fingers that traveled now from her collarbone to her sternum, to the hollow point where a dagger had embedded itself just a little at the right. She kept her stance though, feet firmly planted into the floor and when she heard the crackling thunder growl and echo, she only glanced upwards as the first drops of rain began to fall, a perfectly cut out circle from the crumbling corrugated iron that worked as a ceiling, welcoming her. Rain poured, hitting her, dampening her hair.

“Show-off.” She said, a chuckle blossoming just behind the words as the face of Thyria began to take form, eyes like molten lava quickly transforming into silver, skin darkening until it remembered the color of starless sky, with specks of golden and purple dotting over it every other second.

Thyria tilted their head just as the armor faded away, transformed into a much more practical leather set. They, even, replicated part of the crumbling sign of the guild that had, once upon a time, been in charge of the factory. Akta couldn’t help herself but roll her eyes at them, at the way they smiled, with full lips and sharp eyes, the eyes of one that had seen far too many things in the realms in-between. But so had she.

“You don’t like my appearance?” Thyria pouted as she rose her eyebrows at them, at the way they stood, on the very tips of their feet, hands at her back, mockingly innocent.

“I think-” She replied with a pointed stare around her, from the circle to the sulfur that kept on leaving a stench that grew more and more obvious by the minute. “- that we need to escape from here before we even consider the horns.”

That got a laugh out of the other one. A warm one, the one Akta had learnt the other one possessed after considering it mere energy for so long. Kicking out of her way some of the rubble that surrounded them both, she finally broke the circle with her feet, offering the gem in one fluid movement, the tips of her fingers the last thing that touched the ruby before Thyria picked it up, her own eyes betraying their own glamour for a second as they transformed into molten lava once more, the runes written on the ruby shinning brightly as rain began to fall stronger now, erasing any residual lines that could still be waiting for any curious bystander in a few hours more.

“I will tone it down a little. “Thyria murmured, forked tongue changing to a mortal one, her mouth closing once, then twice, as changes, more minute yet as important taking out some of the preternatural details that would tip anyone with a good pair of eyes of what, who, stood before them.

“Thank you.” Akta began to reply, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she said so. The demon clicked their tongue and Akta felt the hands around her forearms once more, the touch present, with enough weight for the book at her feet being completely forgotten as she took into Thyria’s eyes. “We don’t have the time.” She finally whispered as the demon leaned forward, lips already opening a little, a dark quiet chuckle that betrayed much more glee than the collected, flirty persona they feigned to have, escaping their mouth.

“Not even for a kiss?” The question was full of mirth and Akta didn’t feel like denying herself or them for that matter. Hooking her arms around Thyria’s shoulders she brought her right hand up the short, short hair the demon had decided on, nails digging, chest heaving, as she moved as close as physically possible to Thyria, biting the demon’s tongue as they tried to gain the upper hand through the kiss.

“Don’t even think about it.” She replied while nibbling on the other’s lips. Chuckling, the demon mumbled their agreement while grabbing her by the thighs, digging, painful, real, until Akta separated herself enough to rest her forehead against Thyria’s shoulder. The rain had continued to pour, rivulets falling down as the surface of the book glowed, protected by its natural barrier, some pages threatening to spill out of the shield, thought, out of the way they kept pressing against them, hands still hooked, looped, around them both.

“We need to leave.” Thyria finally spoke, breathless, and Akta hummed, forehead still pressed, one hand traveling to the front where she let it rest against Thyria’s chest, at the way it rose, it moved. Alive, alive alive.

“Let’s go.” She finally said while pushing herself away, her own energy slipping away. “We still need to do a few more things.”

“Together.”

“Together.”

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2021 Day 1

// FFXIV Write Info // Prompts // Master post //

(Heads up, this is LONG. I got kind if carried away as this is an ORGIN STORY! : D Set before ARR so Kien is 18 but is not known by that name just yet. Mentions of  speculated physical and mental abuse if you squint. Some of my personal headcanon’s of Meracydia are present in this! I hope you enjoy!)

Day 1 Forster

bring up (a child that is not one's own by birth).

encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good).

Ranald had been to his fair share of places since becoming a merchant, but no place struck him as interesting as Meracydia.

It was a place people scarcely traveled to as it had been rendered a wasteland ever since the Allagan Empire declared war there during the last years of the Third Astral Era; a lot of regions were still uninhabitable to this day and those regions that could be lived in consisted of a rather recluse population that would attack any outsider on sight. However, some of the natives were still open to trade as certain materials from Eorzea were highly sought after and the rare gems found on the southern continent could sell for a hefty sum of Gil in Eorzea but one wrong move in the eyes of the natives meant an ambush or death, so Ranald never stayed for long or ventured too far from the shores whenever he decided to come around to try his luck with a trade.

With every visit, the Hyur could never quite comprehend how natives still lived on the southern continent. The water was always cloudy and murky and the sky was ochre in color with the sun permanently hidden behind a thick haze. The land itself was barren and dry—what remains of standing trees were bare and splintered while the rest were deduced to blackened stumps. In some places, there were remains of structures but none of them were in one piece and most of them were reduced to rubble, but he certainly felt prying eyes on him at several instances and he shuddered to think of who—or what—could be roaming around the ruins.

He and his three fellow traders had been in Meracydia for the better part of three nights with no luck when Ranald finally made the decision to call it quits and leave before any sort of ambush befell them; It was already risky enough to travel without a tribe’s trust to trade with and staying any longer than the initial welcome was just begging for an attack. As he turned to follow his fellow shipmates up the ramp, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; someone had been watching him.

“Who goes there?” Ranald quickly unsheathed his daggers and whipped around, expecting to come face to face with a tribe ready to ambush them but was mildly surprised to find a young Miqo’te staring back at him. He seemed just as startled as Ranald was, his own bow drawn at the ready and a hand resting on the quiver on his back as if he was about to draw an arrow.

“Wait! Wait!” The Miqo’te said hurriedly but still didn’t lower his weapon. “You’re a trader, aren’t you?” His accent was thick but his Common was easy to understand causing more confusion to the Hyur. Usually, it was always the other way around; the natives expected outsiders to understand their language when trading, it was unusual to meet a native who could speak and understand Common.

Questions bubbling, Ranald arched an eyebrow at him. “I am. What have you?” Behind him, he could hear his shipmates rush out to see what going on, but he cocked his head to the side in a silent request to stay back to which they obeyed.

The Miqo’te looked even more nervous than he was before at the sight of the three other people but didn’t move. “I did not come to harm you; I only want to trade…an exchange, if you will.”

 Ranald almost wanted to laugh. “Then why are you brandishing your weapon at me lad?” He asked, watching as the Miqo’te’s expression twist from concern to confusion. “This has better not be a trick and no one else comes out to attack.” He said firmly, watching the Miqo’te eyes widened.

 “I—I wasn’t trying to catch you off guard, but when you suddenly pulled out your daggers, I panicked.” The Miqo’te confessed. “I—I’m not really used to talking with people outside my tribe, so I was unsure how to approach you.” He slowly lowered his weapon and pulled his other hand away from his quiver of arrows. “I promise you, I am alone, and I only seek to trade with you.”

Ranald eyed the boy a bit longer before slowly relaxing his stance and sheathing his daggers. The Miqo’te, who had been watching him carefully, seemed to sag in relief and he quickly returned his bow to his back. Without a weapon shielding half his face, Ranald could finally see how young the lad was compared to him—he looked as if he was in his late teens, maybe the same age as his own son but somehow older and wiser just based off the energy he had about him. His shaggy black hair fell almost completely in front of his right eye, giving Ranald barely a glimpse of it which he could see was amber; a color not like his left eye which was green. He seemed to be traveling somewhere himself as two bags sat behind his feet, and he looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep the past few days.

“What’ve you got to trade?” Ranald asked as he descended the ramp back onto the shore. The Miqo’te wordlessly picked up the smaller of the two bags and opened it, inviting Ranald to step closer and look inside. Still a bit weary, Ranald leaned forward to peer inside the bag, nearly gasping aloud at the abundant sparkling gems inside.

“You cannot find these anywhere outside of Meracydia,” The Miqo’te began. “At least, that’s what the other traders told me when I traded with them before…I’ve been collecting them for several years.”

Ranald could hardly believe it. There had to be at least twenty or more gems inside the bag and the Miqo’te was right: they were rare ones he’d never found in Eorzea before—this was more than what he’d ever traded in the past. But…he knew he didn’t have anything worth the amount offered in goods to trade. He looked up with a questioning stare. “What can I give you in return?”

“Passage on your ship,” The Miqo’te replied confidently as if he had rehearsed the line several times before. “While I do not know where you’re bound to next, know that I you needn’t worry about lack of provisions as I have my own and I will do any necessary work during the journey.” He spoke with confidence but once again his fidgeting hands and tense shoulders gave away to his nervousness—had he been denied before? What fool would turn down a bag of rare gems for an extra passenger on the way back? Nay, there was something more to this and Ranald felt a need to know why.

“What’s your name lad?” Ranald asked but the Miqo’te stayed silent as he bit his lip in hesitation. Ranald’s expression softened, deciding to not press it further. “Well, you can tell me when you’re ready—it’s a long journey back to Eorzea so there’s plenty of time to share life stories.”

“Eorzea…? The place I’ve heard stories about…have seen in...” The Miqo’te trailed away and bit his lip to prevent himself from speaking any further. “You’ll have me then?” He looked back up; hope swimming through his eyes that caused Ranald to smile warmly.

“Aye, climb aboard!” Ranald smiled as he gestured to the ship. “These three here are Mikiah and Arlix,” he gestured to the short brunette Hyur to his left and the tall blonde Elezen to his right before turning to the brunette Miqo’te standing at the top of the ramp. “That there is U’vhana Tia and I’m Ranald.” The three friends all raised their hands in a gesture of greeting looking confused but welcoming all the same. Ranald watched as the young Miqo’te eyed them wearily before nodding his head in greeting. “We leave as soon as we fire up the ship, don’t want to lose any more of this daylight—if you can call it that.” He waved his hand absently with a smile as the Miqo’te gathered his remaining bag and followed them up the ship and they took off.

----

For the first half of the journey, Ranald watched the young Miqo’te bemusedly as he seemed to go through an array of emotions over the course of seconds—fear from the airship beginning to fly, excitement when he saw a blue sky, probably for the first time in his life, and then, he seemed to settle into his thoughts as the ground below grew smaller and smaller and they sailed through the clouds.

As the day stretched into evening, the Hyur left the Miqo’te alone, sensing he was still nervous from everything that had just occurred while the man himself was still in bewilderment of it all. He essentially just helped a kid run away from his family, and his friends didn’t even question him! He wasn’t what exactly possessed him to agree to such an absurd trade but judging by the relief on his face once he invited him on board, he supposed he couldn’t blame him for wanting to get the hells out of the wasteland. But what about his family? Wouldn’t they be searching for him? Would it even be safe to return to Meracydia again knowing there may or may not be a tribe on the lookout for their lost family member? And that scar on his eye…Ranald hadn’t missed glimpsing that but chose to not ask him about it either. Was that why he wanted to run away from his family?

The Hyur sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. Such speculative thoughts would have to wait! Mayhap he could get some questions answered over dinner. Deciding to do just that, he ensured his friends were all tended to with the ship and made his way up to the deck where he spied the Miqo’te leaning over the ship wall and watching the stars. Just as he made way to approach him, the boy suddenly went rigid, his hand flying to his forehead as if he was in pain. By the time Ranald was able to get to his side to help keep him steady as he staggered, he was coherent again but a little pale.

“I must’ve gotten too excited and gave myself another headache, but it passed.” The Miqo’te looked down as if he was ashamed and slowly stepped away from Ranald’s hovering hands. Ranald furrowed his brow and gently placed a hand on the Miqo’te’s shoulder, not failing to notice the slight jolt that went through him.

“Another headache? These’ve happened before?” Ranald couldn’t help voicing the question aloud and the Miqo’te flinched as if he was expecting to get yelled at. Ranald’s face softened as he quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

That question seemed to take him by surprise, and he looked up to meet Ranald’s worried expression, blinking in bewilderment. “Ah—I—I’m fine,” he stuttered before looking away again in embarrassment. “Sorry, could I maybe sit down for a bit? I’m feeling very sick.” Ranald carefully guided him down to a chair and quickly fetched one of his water skins, offering it to the boy with a gentle nudge. He cautiously accepted it and took a few sips before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

 Ranald watched him carefully for a bit, trying to figure out the right then to say as he sat down in the chair across from him. “Have you heard of the Echo before?” He finally asked. When the boy shook his head, he smiled warmly. “I don’t know much about it myself unfortunately, but I’ve heard what it can be like—headaches—like the one you just had—and if I’m not mistaken, you saw something, didn’t you?” The Miqo’te’s brow furrowed as he nodded his head.

“How—how did you know?”

“Your eyes glazed over for a good minute as if you were watching something,” Ranald explained. “When you’ve been traveling around for as long as I have, you meet a few people with the Echo every now and then. Who knows, maybe you’ll become one of Hydaelyn’s chosen and save Eorzea in her time of need like those ‘Warriors of Light’ did during the calamity five years ago!” He chuckled fondly, a memory of his son excitedly talking about the fables springing to his mind.

“Hydaelyn’s chosen? Warriors of Light?” The Miqo’te questioned.

“Aye, the rumor goes that they’re the ones who the Mother Crystal chose to bestow her blessin’ to and they showed up during the Battle of Carteneau and promptly vanished after some big ol’ flash—no one has seen ‘em since. My son would always tell me about an adventurer he met—Kieron, I think—he believed he may have been one of those warriors.” He smiled fondly. “My son was frail and sickly; he didn’t get to travel around as often but Kieron would trade with me often and helped fill that void for him—kept him company and told him all about his grand adventures before taking off on the next one.” He paused, feeling his heart twinge in sadness.

“My son passed away before the calamity, bless his soul for not having to witness that battle, but… I cannot help but wonder if Kieron really was a ‘Warrior of Light’ like my son thought he was because after the calamity, I never saw him again either.” Ranald let out a sigh as he brought his gaze to the starry sky above. “I’d like to think he and my son are off on their own grand adventure somewhere now—mayhap I’ll see them both again someday.” He fell silent as turned his gaze back to the Miqo’te. “Can I ask you why you won’t tell me your name?”

The Miqo’te hesitated for a moment, his eyes casting down to his boots as he wrung his hands. “It’s Roh’to,” he began quietly. “I rather not be called by it anymore…I just want to get away from my tribe. They…did not make me feel welcomed and I’m not proud of my tribe name. I just want to start anew.”

Ranald reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin with a nod, his speculation about the relation to his scar and family slowly piecing itself together. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a new name for you then.” The Miqo’te looked up, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe. “Take all the time you need to think of it but what I really need to know is what you plan to do once we get to Gridania.”

“I—I don’t know,” The Miqo’te confessed as he looked down again. “I truthfully didn’t even think I’d get this far in the first place…not a lot of traders were as willing as you to believe I wasn’t trying to trick and ambush them.”

“Used to be a pirate,” Ranald laughed. “Easy for me to tell when someone is lyin’ to me.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Tell you what, you can stay with me for a bit, just until you get yourself situated. There’s a few people I think you should meet anyways in regards to that Echo of yours.”

The Miqo’te jerked his head up and stared at him in disbelief. “Truly? I…I won’t be a burden to you?”

Ranald shook his head with a laugh and leaned back. “O‘course not! ‘Sides, I could use the company with how quiet my house has been lately.” His expression softened, somehow knowing this was the right decision to make.

The Miqo’te seemed on the verge of tears as the corner of his lip tugged into a small smile. “I promise to do my part and help out in anyway I can, you won’t regret this.”

“No expectations, just be yourself.” The Hyur smiled and stood, giving a small nudge to the Miqo’te’s shoulder, noticing that he didn’t flinch this time, a sign that he was already feeling more comfortable than before. “You take all the time you need to figure that name out, and I’ll get some dinner prepared…get some sleep too, it’ll be a while before we get to Eorzea.”

He turned on his heel to retreat down into the hull, but before he could descend the stairs, he heard the boy call out, “Ranald?” The Hyur paused with a hum to indicate he was listening. “I thought about what my new name could be.”

“Oh?” He turned to face the Miqo’te again.

“Kien.”

A smile spread across Ranald’s face, his heart filling with warmth. “Well Kien, it’s nice to finally meet you.” 

[beautifulterriblequeen]

41. "Can you be the one to do it?"

I hope you’re ready for Ruthari and also moonfam angst.

Can you be the one to do it?

The runic message pops up unexpectedly, displaying over its communication crystal in a softly glowing turquoise font Ethari designed just for Runaan. The crystal’s low vibing alert noise rumbles against his worktable for extra noticeability. Ethari knows how hard he focuses when he’s in the zone, but if Runaan needs him--if he sends him a text--Ethari wants to be damn sure he gets it in a timely manner.

His heart goes molten, and then icy, melting a hole straight through him, out the bottom of his feet, through the tree house, into the earth. It takes with it a magmatic cry of denial that Ethari wishes he couldn’t hear.

But he can. It’s his own cry, from the moment he learned of Lain and Tiadrin’s betrayal. It echoes forward through time, bouncing off this moment like a desperate bird fleeing a forest fire, frantic to escape the reality that’s burning down the world.

Ethari saw it in his husband’s eyes when Runaan told him. He’d seen it. The fracture in those flawless gemstone eyes. He could hear the crystalline wrench that spidered fault lines through Runaan’s heart. Runaan used to know his exact place in this world, down to the very millimeter, the very second, the very breath. Heir to Tiadrin, mentor to Rayla, leader of the Moonshadow assassins, bearer of a thousand years of unbroken Moonshadow honor. He’d done his best to hold everything at once, and Ethari willingly added his strength to that grip, holding Runaan as well.

Together, they held so much.

But in the middle of the afternoon, Runaan’s eyes shattered, and his soul along with them. 

Gems aren’t metal. You can’t just melt them down and start over. You can’t just erase their damage, reforge their strength from the start. Gems are fragile, for all their solidity. Brittle. They hold, until they don’t. And once they crack, there is no repairing them.

Ethari saw, felt, heard his husband’s spirit split. He told Ethari the news, coolly, hiding his shaking hands, and then he spun on his heel and said he had work to do. He left. He ran. Ethari reeled back from that moment, retreating to his workshop after Runaan left. And now, an hour later, this message.

Can you be the one to do it? 

Ethari knows what Runaan’s talking about. But he’s feeling shut out, aching, hurt. He needs connection. Even if he gets it from pushing Runaan into admitting his feelings. He picks up the message crystal and presses at its facets.

Do what? he asks.

And then he stares at the crystal. Willing Runaan to admit he’s hurting too. Willing him to confess he needs help. Let me help you, my heart.

Runaan’s single-rune reply comes in a minute later.

Rayla.

Ethari hopes he was staring at his crystal, too. His fingertips hover, about to agree to tell Rayla about her parents’ horrible, confusing, painful choice. About to take that burden from Runaan’s shoulders.

Then he thinks again. Runaan waited to reply. Runaan always knows what he wants to say, choosing his words with exquisit care. Why did he wait?

Ethari rests his hands on his worktable and stares at Rayla’s name. After so many years, he’s fluent in Runaan. Everything the assassin does is an open book to the craftsman’s eager, curious, willing heart. If he can just take a moment, he can suss this mystery out...

Runaan, you’ve asked me to do something, he thought. Something you had to text me about, rather than ask. The crystals are for things we don’t want to say aloud. There’s more here than just shock and your assassin tasks, isn’t there?

Ethari drags the weeping shreds of his own heart together, and he focuses through the pain. Focuses on Runaan, on what Runaan would be focusing on right now.

Duty. Always duty. What’s he doing? The very first thing he’s doing right now, what is it? Ethari’s mind leaps to Tiadrin’s other chosen assassins. He’s telling them, too. They deserve to know first. And he’s thought of Rayla. Of course he has! She’s Tiadrin’s daughter. She needs to know first, too. But...

An echo of Ethari’s cry bounces off another tree in his heart, still fleeing from that initial heartbreak. But he can’t. He can’t be as hard with her as he can with his old squad. He loves Rayla more softly than those he trained with under Tiadrin’s tutelage. And he can’t break her heart like this.

He’s asking me to do it for him. But he’s hesitating, too.

Ethari draws a shaky breath. “You’re not certain about this, are you, love?” he whispers to the message crystal. “You’re out there looking like the leader everyone needs you to be. But you’re just as lost as everyone else. You’re just as lost as I am.”

His bottom lip trembles, and the crystal vanishes inside a sudden fist. If you fall, my heart, we all fall. He can’t even say it out loud, the vulnerable truth runs so deep through his soul. He’s seen Runaan’s soft heart broken before. So much more is at stake this time. Everything’s at stake. Ethari’s next move will determine Runaan’s path. And where Runaan goes, so go the Moonshadow elves.

I must be perfect, the craftsman realizes. For Runaan, and for everyone i love. I must be perfect.

He wipes sweaty palms on his pants and nibbles at his lip, holding an aching breath in his lungs

Then his thumbs move across the crystal’s facets, and the fate of the world is sealed.

No. Hold to your duty, my heart. You can do this. I believe in you.

__________________

Runaan stares at the lavender runes hovering over his crystal, feeling a shocked tear gather in the corner of one eye. Heavy stone doors in his heart, open for years and years now, begin to rumble shut before the pain of Ethari’s message can truly sink in.

I’m on my own. Again. 

“Runaan?” Andromeda asks, pulling his attention back across the room where his colleagues and friends have gathered to begin planning their honor-bound response to Tiadrin’s baffling cowardice.

Runaan blinks and takes a deep breath. The honor of the Moonshadow elves isn’t going to save itself.

Very well. To the task, then.

“One moment, before we begin,” he says. “There is another whose honor is at stake, and she deserves to be involved here, as well, to whatever degree she chooses.”

“Rayla?” Skor asks doubtfully.

Runaan lifts his chin and offers a cool stare. “My protégé, as I was Tiadrin’s.”

With her lineage established, the other assassins all nod. They trust Runaan as much as any among them, all of whom trained under Tiadrin’s expert tutelage. When he says Rayla should be included as part of Tiadrin’s assassin legacy, they instinctively agree.

“We’ll wait, then,” Ram murmurs, running a finger along the point of a dagger.

Runaan nods crisply and heads outside into the chilly winter air. He crosses the village, heading for Rayla’s school.

Ethari was right, he tells himself, over and over, as the cold breeze infiltrates his skin and tousles his ponytail. This is my duty, and mine alone. My squad and I will go to Katolis together. But this part, breaking Rayla’s heart for love of our people... Only I can do that. Only I should do that.

Ethari was right to tell me no. He was right. I was too soft. It won’t happen again.

Runaan strides into the school and pauses at the door of the round classroom Rayla’s currently in. Chin high, hands clasping his forearms behind his back, waiting to be seen. Slowly, his presence sinks in, and one by one the young Moonshadows look over at him with wide eyes. Then they all look at Rayla.

Rayla.

She slouches against her pillow, flicking her pen in the air and catching it like a dagger, only half listening to the history lesson, her eyes on the window, mind elsewhere.

“Rayla,” the teacher prompts gently.

His protégé’s mood shifts instantly at the sight of him. Her eyes light up, and she leaps to her feet, immediately attentive. “Runaan!”

The conspiratorial smile that lurks in the corner of Rayla’s mouth drags Runaan’s heart out, kicking and screaming, through the closing gap in those heavy stone doors. She thinks she’s free. The thought stabs at him. He tenses his gut and starts driving it back inside again. She thinks I’m saving her from her boring class. I’m not freeing her. I’m binding her. Moon help me, Tiadrin. How did you manage this part with me?

“...Runaan? Is something wrong?”

Runaan’s hands clench around his forearms. He blinks away his tears and lifts his chin. “Rayla... come with me.”