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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years ago

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Before The Full Moon.

Werewolf! Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: The night before a full moon always offered an abundance of fun, especially when you call your man ‘Alpha.’

WARNINGS!: Biting, oral (female receiving), horny asf Izuku, sex, sub!reader & dom!Izuku

Category: Smut

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Werewolf! Izuku is here! First out of three Halloween Au’s! I’m a bit rusty with my writing skills.. heh..

Just To Clarify:

Despite Reader calling Izuku ‘alpha,’ this is not ABO

Izuku always has his tail and wolf ears, he just hides them when in public or around reader earlier in the relationship

This takes place in the country in a forest town

Werewolves can shapeshift whenever, they just has no control over it on a full moon night

All characters are aged up

Reader and Izuku are living together but not married or engaged

Perm. Tag List

@coupsieddori @desia2 @strwbrry-lia:

Having a werewolf as a boyfriend wasn’t nearly as bad as you originally thought it would be.

Granted, you were lucky enough to fall madly in love with a kind one, and not a bloodthirsty beast.

You had been dating the buff man covered in freckles and scars with an addiction to sweaters for a year and a half before actually finding out his little secret, having witnessed him morph into a ginormous wolf with thick, green and black fur under the blinding light of the full moon.

You had been frozen in fear, tripping over your own two feet as you stumbled back when his head snapped towards you.

The floor creaked with every step he took, the sheer weight of the wolf being enough to make a loud thump that only added to the terror and nausea bubbling up in your stomach. You had almost accepted your death once he towered over you, only to promptly flop down beside you, whining like a puppy as he placed his large head on your legs, eyes practically begging for you to not freak the fuck out.

He made himself as small, cute, and less threatening as possible.

Yeah.

It was a wild night.

Later, he introduced you to the world of werewolves, how they fit seamlessly into society.

“You can always tell someone is a werewolf based on if they smell like a wet dog in the rain, though!” He chirped happily, emerald eyes squeezing shut as he gave you that radiant smile that showed off his sharper than average canines that you had never noticed before despite locking lips on a regular basis.

It had been a year since then, and getting used to your boyfriend shapeshifting was no easy task. Hell, you still weren’t used to coming home to a huge ass dog in your living room on nights with the moon full, despite being fully aware of what was going to happen to him that evening.

He certainly wasn’t what you expected when the word ‘werewolf’ came to mind.

Wolf-like humans covered in fur are what you and most people pictured, standing up on two legs with a snout of a dog and a bushy tail, not… essentially a dire wolf.

Apparently, werewolves could turn whenever they pleased but had no control over themselves on the night of a full moon. Most weren’t vicious, but the few that were stirred up fear in the small communities with their legends rooted deep in the ground.

He even had a pack, friends he led who were as loyal as can be to him, just as he was.

Living in a small town surrounded by forests, trees with trunks thrice your size, he had shown you what it was like to be a werewolf, letting you cling to his fur for dear life as he ran through the greenery, dirt kicking up behind his large paws as his tongue lolled out, clearly joyful to hear you screech and hold on tighter whenever he jumped. The shit.

But werewolves.. were extremely territorial. It wasn’t often you’d hear about a wolf giving up territory without a bloody fight, and so it certainly wasn’t uncommon for your sweet Izuku to come home to you covered in bruises and scratches.

You’d always take care of him, wash his wounds and wrap them if necessary before smothering him in love that always made the tail he typically hid in loose shorts or pants when in public wag.

He was your big puppy, and you were, as embarrassing and thrilling as it was to admit, his mate.

Since he was technically an alpha, a title he wore proudly since he had fought to earn it, you’d occasionally refer to him as that, just to watch as his freckled cheeks light up, darkened eyes side-eyeing you as you giggled like a school girl.

His friends always teased him when you’d call him that in front of them, to which he shook his head at, only for him to absolutely wreck your insides once you got home, growling for you to call him it again.

It got under his skin in a good way, made it burn and sent shivers down his spine.

He loved it.

He loved being an alpha, being your alpha, and he was never going to let that go.

But there was.. one thing you found out pretty quickly about werewolves the night before a full moon.. Before you found out his secret, you would always wonder why he avoided you the days before, but now you understood why.

If only you had found out sooner, you could have helped him with his problem.

“(Y/N)..” He growled possessively against your sensitive neck, sending shivers down your spine as your legs tightened around his slim waist.

You were pressed against the wall in your shared apartments darkened hallway, the hunk of a man you were honored to call your own had you pressed snuggly against him.

“Izuku..” You whined, his hot, growing erection grinding against your clothed crotch. He nipped at your skin, making you gasp and tilt your head, giving him more room to lick, nibble, and suck, marking you as his own with each hickey, large or small. Each bite was sweetly kissed, his chest vibrating with glee with each little noise you made.

His jade eyes sparkled with lust as he gazed at you, making your belly burn and twist with excitement, panties growing even more wet.

His large hands went down to your ass, squeezing at the plump flesh just to draw a gasp from you.

Making sure you were secure against him, he pulled away from the wall, drawing a small shriek from you.

He chuckled, and if you weren’t as horny and desperate as you were to get the daylights fucked out of you, you would’ve scolded him.

His lips then smashed against your own, tongue invading your wet cavern and smiling when he heard your muffled moan. Lips met again and again in a hungry haze as he walked to your shared bedroom, your hips continuously grinding down on his cock making it hard to focus.

All he wanted to do was to bury himself deep in your tight, warm walls, make you his again and again and again so that all who were nearby could hear your cries of his name. You were his.

Reaching the large bed, you were promptly shoved onto the soft mattress, legs loosely hanging off his hips as he pulled away from you.

His hands instantly went to his shirt, practically tearing it off of himself before doing the same with your own.

He was delighted to see you with no bra, your nipples already so delightfully perky and cute.

You were in your pajamas, after all.

Your face was flushed, eyebrows pulled together, tugging him forward by the waistband of his gym shorts.

Diving down, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, shoving your own shorts down so he could grind himself against your core again. He could practically feel your wetness soaking his front, it was exhilarating to know he could turn you into putty so easily.

His tail tickled at your feet as it wagged, his ears standing up on top of his bushy head, listening to every ragged breath you let out and the light creak of the bed with every movement.

Pulling away, he nibbled at your lower lip, kissing down your chin, over your jawline, licking and nipping at the large marks he’d already left.

He could feel your heart hammering in your chest as he kissed down to your exposed left breast, its sound like a love song singing his name.

Rough, calloused fingers trailed up your body, scarred palms smoothing against your warm skin as he shamelessly felt up what was his.

Moving down, you whined at the lack of friction, only to whimper as his lips encased one of your nipples, tongue circling the flesh and teeth grazing over and pulling it. Your back arched off the bed, one hand fisting the pure white sheets below you as the other tangled itself in his green curls.

His thumb played with your other bud, pinching and rolling it, kneading at your soft flesh whilst sucking on the other one.

“Hah..! I-Izu..! Mm..” You enjoyed the rough treatment he gave you, finding pleasure in the smallest amount of pain as his sharpened canines touched your skin.

He pulled away with an audible pop, letting the cool night air hit your wet nipple, moving to give your other bud equal treatment with his addicting mouth.

He always was a boob man, their plushness and bounce always catching his attention. But yours.. my God he was devoted to yours. Sweet to the taste, so cute and such a beautiful canvas for him to paint a picture on, he couldn’t help but suck marks all over them, his own sanity slipping through his fingers as the night went on.

He could smell and feel how wet you were, smell how much you wanted him.

It thrilled him to the very bone, made it hard for him to give attention to his favorite girls.

Giving one final lick to your nipple, he finally moved down your burning body, sitting back on his knees on the floor, hooking his large, muscular arms dotted with freckles under your thighs just to yank you down to the end of the bed.

Your soaked panties were right in front of his face, legs dangling off his broad shoulders.

Kissing at your thigh, he pressed his nose against your clothed core, inhaling your scent deeply, making his tail wag and you cry out in embarrassment.

You were so cute, hiding behind your hands.

He adored it.

Impatiently, he ripped the flimsy material from your body, giving you no tome to protest as he dove straight into his sopping meal.

“H-hAH.!!” You cried, fingers pulling at his green curls as he eagerly began to lap at your pussy like a starving dog.

Your juices dripped down his chin and neck, but he couldnt give less of a fuck. You were delicious.

His pupils were blown wide, drinking in the sight of your arched back and parted mouth.

His tongue expertly licked at all your special spots, giving a broad lick over your pink labia, avoiding your clit just to have you buck desperately at his face.

Izuku Midoriya was a simple man.

When his mate cries out for more, sobbing his name, he gives them more.

Your hips bucked off the bed once the flat of his tongue ran over your twitching nub.

Finding it hard to please you with your hips going wild, he held them down to the bed, eagerly eating your cunt out, holding you to his face so you couldn’t move away.

The crickets chirping just outside the window above your bedframe were drowned out by the wet sounds echoing in the room from his sloppiness, you were too focused on the pleasure to even care.

“O-oh!! I-Izu!! Mm! Haa..aAAH!!”

His mouth felt like pure numbing magic, sucking on your clit like he did your tit felt like heaven. He moaned against your wet flesh, sending your head flying back into the mattress, belly tightening with that familiar burn.

You were close. So damn close.

And he knew it.

He knew you so well.

“I’m..!! Izuku, I-I’m so..!” Your legs were shaking like crazy, squeezing the bushy warm head between them as he made you feel like you were high on drugs with his mouth alone.

A particular rough lick at your clit sent you over the edge, screaming his name as your eyes fells shut, convulsing like you were possessed against his mouth.

He held you even closer to him, slurping up the mess you had made, sticking his tongue into your fluttering walls to lick you clean, savoring your addicting taste that drove him absolutely insane.

But he wasnt done.

Pulling away, strings of your cum mixed with his saliva stuck to his face for a moment before breaking. He watched as your clit twitched and throbbed, much like the neglected cock in his boxers.

Pulling one hand away from your hip, he slid two digits down your cunt, collecting left over juice to slicken them up before pressing at your entrance that seemed to begged for him already.

“P-please…” You weeped, finally looking down between your twitching legs just to be met with such a sexy sight.

His face was covered with your mess, pupils blown wide with a feral gleam to his usually warm eyes, it made your cunt squeeze around thin air.

Despite being the sweetest man you knew, he sure fucking knew how to drive you mad.

Typically, he would tease you, make you beg and beg for him to give you what you want, but his mind was far to foggy to truly even try.

He just wanted to break you in the sweetest way possible.

And so, he plunged his fingers inside you, groaning at how you sucked them in, barely giving you a second to adjust before he began thrusting them in and out of your pussy, dragging more and more moans from your throat as his thick fingers filled you up.

Curling them, he pressed against that spongey spot inside of you, “NGHHAH!! AaaAAhH!! Th-There! HaAh..!” His fingers clicked wet against your squishy walls, mouth coming back down to lick around your clit before flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Your body felt like it was charged by electricity, zaps running down your thighs and up to your belly, shooting shocks at your perky nipples and down your back.

You couldn't help but grind against him, crying out for more and more, to which he was always eager to give.

Until..

He couldnt take it anymore.

His sanity finally snapped, and with an animalistic snarl nothing short of carnal that had you keening, he pulled his fingers from you, shoving you further up the bed, yanking his shorts and boxers down. You had a single second to soak in the image of his large member slapping against his toned abdomen and oozing with precum before you were flipped over, ass high in the air and face pressed down into the soft pillows.

“Mine.”He growled out, mounting you and plunging his thick cock deep into your squeezing walls. Eyes rolling back into your head, a scream of ecstasy and pain tore from your throat, legs instinctively spreading as he fucked into your little cunt.

He leaned down, pressing his warm chest against your back, nuzzling his chiseled yet rounded face into the crook of your neck as he thrusted in and out of your tight hole that constantly pulled him back in.

Saliva dribbled down your chin, jaw slack as you cried out into the night, “Alpha..!”

His hips stutter, fingernails digging into your flesh, sure to leave blemishes in the shape of crescent moons as the title registered in his delirious mind.

His tongue flopped out of his mouth, smiling and panting as his chest rumbled with desire as he pulled you impossibly closer, thrusting faster than you could even handle, tail wagging like a bullet behind him.

“Ha-aAAhH!!”

Slick poured down your thighs, the loud slapping of skin against skin and animalistic growls echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls and intensifying the sensation of your brain being turned to mush with how good you felt, how good he always made you feel.

“‘MmMMH! S-sO!! H-aaH!! NNHH!! So g-good!! Alpha!! Y-you fah… feel!! Mm!!”

It was hard to get a coherent sentence out as his thick cock filled you up again and again, rubbing and fucking at all your sensitive spots with expert precision, kissing at your cervix each time he bottomed out inside your dripping cunt.

“Mine.” Izuku breathed out roughly, spare hand burying itself between your legs spread wide for him, just so he could rub your puffy, twitching clit in a circle that drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Nn-! N-no! W-ait! It’s t-oo..!! Much!! Aa-aAaaAh!!

You quickly reached another mind blowing orgasm, head flinging back as stars exploded in your vision, his teeth digging into your throat making you nose dive off the edge of pure ecstasy.

Your pussy fluttered around his aching dick, squeezing him like a molten hot vice as you came on his cock, stomach feeling full as you squirted onto his tense thighs.

He didnt stop fucking in and out of you as you came undone, only adding to the extreme, overwhelming pleasure you felt, pins and needles dancing across your shocked skin making your head lob to the side as fat tears rolled down your flushed and sweating cheeks.

Suddenly, you were flipped onto your back, dick pulling from you momentarily with a wet pop, your thighs trembling like a newborn doe around him were shoved down to the bed, fully exposing your pretty pink, wet cunt before shoving himself back inside your warm heat.

“IZUKU—!”

You screamed his name, your own nails digging into the toned muscles of his back, scratching to ground yourself as his hips snapped into yours so roughly the bed banged concerningly loud against the wall.

The bed was squeaking so loudly you feared for a second it would break from the sheer force he was giving each time he slammed into your over-sensitive pussy.

“No!” He snarled into your ear, glaring at your blissed out face, “who am I?” His threatening tone made you shake like a leaf, only turning you on even more.

His nose was crinkled up as he growled at you, ears pressed to the back of his head,

“Y-you’re Iz- HAAAH!!! AAAH!! oOOH MY- F-FUCK!” His hips moved impossibly faster, stirring up your insides like day old soup on a burner.

It made your toes curl as incoherent babbles fled from your mouth, “ALPHA!”

He always loved it, being called Alpha.

“That’s right.!” He grunted, pulling back, he forced you to stare into his eyes blown wide with lust and gleaming in the silvery, angelic light of the moon pouring in from the open window,

“I’m your alpha.”

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anubislover · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 19: Lying Hearts

“How can anyone stand to live in a city like this?” Nami grumbled as the light glinted off of yet another painfully white building. True, the setting sun had lessened the glare slightly, but after an entire afternoon of it, she was developing quite the headache, even with the sunglasses.

Law shrugged and continued walking at a leisurely pace, still unaffected. “I’m sure if you’re born somewhere like this it’s easier, but people can learn to tolerate almost anything given enough time, I suppose.”

“Do you think you’d be able to learn to tolerate bread?”

“I said almost. I’d sooner die of starvation.”

She shook her head with a chuckle but kept pace, following his lead. Instead of heading straight back to the submarine, Law had insisted on a few detours through Atifakuto—partially in case anyone had grown suspicious and decided to follow them, but also to scope out potential escape routes under the guise of sightseeing. Nami, for her part, had been exceedingly helpful in this, mapping out in her head which stairways lead where and pointing out various places to hide. If Law found her compliance suspicious, he didn’t say anything; it was in their best interest to work together, especially with some potentially valuable goods on the line, so her behavior was easily rationalized.

For her, however, there was more than artifacts or even belli at stake. This heist had to go well. She needed Law to trust her enough to open up about why he was so obsessed with Amber Lead. Perhaps if he could do that, she wouldn’t even have to sneak into his quarters to take a look at the ledgers. She could just ask and he’d let her in like a rational human being.

Of course, in order for either of their plans to succeed they needed to know where the vase was. Luckily, the rest of the Hearts hadn’t been sitting idle on the submarine. They’d been investigating every possible gallery, art collector, museum, and auction house their prize could possibly be at. The second they had a lead, they’d call on the mini Den Den Mushi.

Until then, though, Law and Nami were forced to meander about the city, planning and killing time.

“So, while we wait for some intel, what else are you going to buy me?” she asked as they wandered the fourth level. They’d passed quite a few shops, and while most had stocked dull business suits similar to the last store, Nami felt her bags were tragically light. They were in a beautiful-if-blinding city, and she was walking away with only one outfit? What a travesty.

Snorting dismissively, Law glanced down at her with a clear look of are you kidding me? on his face. “Nothing. I told you I was only getting you one outfit. I’m your captain, not your sugar daddy.”

“You know, for a man who wants this little job to go well, you’re not putting in nearly the effort you should,” she quipped, a sly smile on her lips, eyelashes fluttering prettily. “I’m supposed to look professional and put together if I’m gonna pull off being your lovely assistant. That means I need matching shoes and accessories. Maybe a cute leather purse or briefcase to really sell it.”

“If you want those so badly then buy them yourself. Or,” he smirked, halting his pace to turn around and catch her chin between his fingers, tilting her head up towards him as he stepped in close enough so she could feel his body heat, “you earn them by doing certain favors for daddy.”

Her cheeks only pinkened a little at his innuendos while she stuck out her tongue and shoved him away. Last night’s dream wasn’t quite as close to the forefront of her mind anymore, but that didn’t mean his smirk didn’t do things to her she’d rather ignore. “Pass. You should know by now that it takes more than clothes for me to play nice.”

“Mmm, I do. That’s what makes it so much fun,” he purred, gold eyes glinting in wicked amusement. One gloved hand was shoved into his pocket while his free arm slung itself casually over her shoulder as he continued stalking along the fastidiously clean road. “But since you’re currently insisting on being a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to provide for her, you can instead borrow some shoes from Ikkaku, and she might still have a pair of glasses or something from the time she pretended to be a receptionist at a Naval base.”

Brown eyes widened at his statement. Not because he was suggesting that she borrow clothes or anything, but the bombshell he’d just casually dropped in light of her recent discovery.

“Was this for one of your plans?” she asked, shoulders stiffening.

He shrugged like it was no big deal, though he did give her a curious glance at the way she tensed beneath him. “Yeah. We needed someone on the inside, and they’d put out an advertisement for an attractive female in her early twenties. It’s not like Uni or Penguin could do it.”

“But…holy shit, Law, are you serious?” she hissed, dragging him over to an unoccupied part of the street behind a solitary gated tree so she could scold him in private. There weren’t too many people about, but the last thing they need was to get unwanted attention because they’d caused a scene, even if Law totally deserved to get chewed out at the top of her lungs for being such an asshole. “Ikkaku has Marine brothers who want her dead and you sent her into the lion’s den? What the fuck?!”

Caught off-guard by her anger, Law’s eyebrows shot up briefly before furrowing. “She told you about them?”

Damn. In her shock and anger on her friend’s behalf, she’d forgotten that this was a subject she wasn’t technically supposed to know. But instead of admitting guilt, she doubled down and threw on her best poker face.

“Yeah. She told me,” she lied easily. Too easily. It came as naturally as it had back in the days she’d been working under Arlong, getting close to pirates by lying through her teeth and then robbing them blind. How many crews and captains had she deceived before Luffy? Nami had honestly lost count, but once she’d joined up with the Straw Hats, lying to a supposed ally hadn’t been quite as instinctual.

But this isn’t Luffy, and Law’s keeping way more secrets than I am, she rationalized. It’s just a little white lie anyway. He’d be way more pissed at Shachi and Penguin for telling me. I’m looking after those guys.

Law’s expression hardened, and for a moment she wondered if he’d seen through her bluff. She didn’t think she’d gotten too rusty in the lying department, but Law was smart and distrusting in general, so she couldn’t quite tell. Trepidation hung heavy in the air as she waited for him to speak, mind going a mile a minute coming up with new lies and explanations to appease him. Worse came to worst, she could throw the guys under the bus, even if she didn’t really want to, but they were his best friends, so Law would doubtlessly be more forgiving towards them, right?

Thankfully, it seemed his anger came from a completely different place, as he snarled quietly through clenched teeth, “Nami-ya, I am, as you have pointed out rather frequently in the past, a control freak. Do you really think I would devise a plan that required sending my top mechanic into a Marine base if there was even a chance she could be recognized? Especially by her utter shit of a brother?”

She flinched at the vitriol in his voice. It seemed she’d touched a nerve, and unless she wanted to lose all the progress she’d worked for, she knew it was best to back down. “Sorry. You’re right.”

“I’ll accept your apology if you tell me what prompted her to tell you,” he stated, crossing his arms. “It’s not information she makes widely known, even to those who are permanent members of my crew.”

Well. At least this was easy enough to justify, and she’d be doing both Law and Ikkaku a favor, right? Sure, the guys would obviously tell him later, but being the first to warn him might earn her a few more crumbs of trust. “There was an article in the paper about Marine reinforcements coming to the Grand Line. Ushi was interviewed. He seemed pretty intent on taking down the Heart Pirates.”

Law froze, his frown deepening into a dark sneer. The tic in his jaw and the way his fists clenched reminded her of his reaction to Ikkaku having been attacked on Grimm. “That fucker will stay away from Ikkaku if he’s got any brains in him.”

“You’re pretty protective of her,” she said. Sure, he’d perhaps phrased his defense in a way that implied his priority was the plan, it was clear from the hiss in his voice that Ikkaku’s safety had been genuinely considered.

The brim of his hat hid his eyes as he stated, “I’m protective of all my crew. She’s just…it’s hard to find submarine engineers, let alone ones as skilled as her. Ikkaku’s hard to replace.”

Well that stinks to high heaven of bullshit, she thought. Sure, the Surgeon of Death had a rightly-earned cruel reputation, but he’d shown time and again his crew meant a lot to him. Stepping in close, she used her finger to lift his hat enough to see his expression unobstructed. “Is that why you let her sass you? Because if she walked you’d be dead in the water?”

The gold orbs glared down at her, though the held no heat. “Everyone on the crew is a vital component. Like gears in a well-oiled machine. You’ve gotta take care of them to make sure they don’t break.”

When Nami merely raised a disbelieving eyebrow, he sighed, body deflating slightly. “Look, Nami-ya, everyone on my crew, we’ve all got shit in our pasts. Some have overcome it. Some still carry the scars. Ikkaku…hers is one of the few that’s actively still trying to get her. So yeah, maybe I’m a bit more protective, but it’s for a damn good reason.”

Ok, now that was a fair point. “I’m surprised you haven’t just killed him.”

“Oh, I want to,” he snarled. “No brother should try to hurt their siblings. They’re supposed to look after them. The only reason Ushi-ya still draws breath is because Ikkaku begged me to spare his pathetic life.”

It suddenly dawned on Nami that, despite his criticizing Luffy for not being more bloodthirsty, Law was…surprisingly merciful in his own ways, too. He didn’t murder Ikkaku’s brother, despite having clear reason to, just because she asked. He rescued Jean Bart from a life of slavery despite not knowing him. And while she didn’t fully understand the Ope Ope no Mi’s powers, she wondered if his cuts didn’t draw blood because he didn’t want them to?

She wasn’t sure if he had a complexity addiction or if he genuinely wanted to minimize bloodshed, but once again another side of the incredibly fascinating man had been revealed.

Taking a deep breath to calm his anger, he gave Nami a sadistic smile. “Doesn’t mean I let him off the hook with a sternly-worded warning, though. Wanna know what I did to him the last time we met?”

Nami turned a bit green as she remembered Jinzo’s still-beating heart in his hands. Complex and caring towards his crew or not, he was still a twisted bastard. “Fuck no!”

Briefly he pouted at not getting to regale her with the gory details before shrugging. “Pity. It was quite the eventful evening. In fact, it was also the night of mine and Drake-ya’s first kiss.”

“How the hell are those two things connected?!”

“Well, I had to distract him somehow. He was guarding my poor mechanic like a dragon would a virtuous princess.”

Before she could demand more details, or even snort at the idea of Ikkaku being virtuous, the sound of the mini Den Den Mushi reached their ears, interrupting the conversation.

Looking around to make sure there weren’t any eavesdroppers, Law pulled out the little snail phone and clicked down on the top. “Guessing you’ve got something for me?”

“I do,” the snail answered, and Nami recognized the faint accent that indicated they were speaking to Cousteau. “Only one place that specializes in North Blue history. Jubilee & Atlas Antiques. It’s an auction house and gallery on the fifth level, a block away from the Elevate Deliverer Restoration Church.”

“Well that’s a needlessly long name,” he quipped, rolling his eyes. Mentally, Nami had to agree, though it also sounded vaguely familiar. “At least that makes it easier to find. Anything else I should know? Other landmarks, nearby guard stations, that sort of thing?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Cousteau replied, “No station, though there would probably be at least a few guards wandering around at night. It’s, uh, right by a fountain. Blessings from the White City.”

Nami’s eyes widened a little. Oh. Now she remembered. That had been the church with the huge stained-glass windows. The one in her book, by the tribute to Flevance.

“…I see.”

The little snail chewed its lip, clearly concerned. “Captain, if you want, I can do all the surveillance—”

“It’s fine,” he cut in, tone sharp before smoothing out, “I saw it earlier. In fact, I’m glad it’s so close. Nami-ya and I will check out the gallery. We’re nearby and I’d rather see it with my own eyes to get the lay of the land. Unless anyone else has a better lead, you and the others can head back to the ship.”

“Understood, sir. Anything else you need?” he asked, sounding relieved.

“Just tell Clione I might have a job for him later on, so don’t make any evening plans.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

The call ended, and Nami peered up at Law, expecting signs of the same darkness that had crossed his face when they’d visited the fountain earlier. Instead, his face was totally blank, staring down at the tiny snail, expressionless.

Somehow, that was far, far more unnerving.

“Law?” she asked, touching his arm hesitantly.

As if awoken from a trance he shook his head before smirking down at her. “Well, hope you don’t mind one last detour before heading back to the ship? I know it’s more stairs but look on the bright side; at this rate, the definition of your calf muscles will be a thing of beauty.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, turning on his heels and heading towards the direction of the stairs to the next level. Frowning, she began to doubt whether or not this was all a good idea. She didn’t know exactly what his deal was, but she really felt like he was too close to this. But she had the feeling trying to talk him out of it would be an exercise in futility, and would set her back far more than any lie she might spin.

Oh well, she sighed internally, jogging to catch up, so long as he doesn’t do anything stupid. He’s sensible enough to keep a cool head, no matter what his problem is. It’ll be fine.

While it wasn’t far, it took longer than either of them would have expected to actually find Jubilee & Atlas Antiques. Mainly because it was a surprisingly nondescript building compared to the opulent churches and museums nearby. Honestly, based on the exterior, one could easily have passed it by. Like everything else the building was pristinely white, the windows boasting small arches over them and flower boxes containing white impatiens. Really, the most impressive thing about it was the marble plaque out front boasting the company’s name in gold leaf.

But the two pirates didn’t really care about the appearance; it was what was inside that counted. That, and the information board out front, which stated in bold, black letters that there would be a showing and auction of North Blue artworks at 8pm that evening.

“Why don’t you just Scan the place, grab the vase, and walk away? Seems like that would be easy compared to putting on this charade?” Nami asked, eyeing the building. It was hardly Harpin’s mansion; it would take almost no effort for Law to use his powers to steal every item of value inside it, replacing artifacts, paintings, and money with pebbles and potted plants with a mere flick of his fingers, then teleporting them away to safety.

Really, if he weren’t such an ass, Trafalgar Law would be a thief’s dream partner.

Of course, he was an ass, so he gave her a look that implied he considered her question to be phenomenally stupid. “Because there’s no guarantee that the vase is even in there—for all I know it’s being kept in a secondary location until the actual event for security or health reasons. It is a relic from a city that suffered a notorious death toll both before and after the World Government had quarantined it,” he explained lowly. “On top of that, my Room would draw too much attention, so if it’s not in there, we’ll have blown our whole cover and probably the operation.”

Though disappointed that they couldn’t just whisk it away with his powers, she conceded that he had a point. Versatile and useful as they were, the Ope Ope no Mi’s abilities did have their drawbacks. Actually infiltrating the auction house was a safer move.

Yet for a moment, she saw Law glare at the building, as if he were equally frustrated that they couldn’t just grab their prize and go. Perhaps even a great mastermind like him sometimes wished to take the direct path. “At least we can be sure it’ll be presented at this auction,” he reassured, almost as much to himself as her as his hand rested on Nami’s lower back while he escorted her away. “Makes it easier to come up with a plan and contingencies when I actually know the target. My crew did good.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger in thought. She supposed he was right, and the pride in his voice when he mentioned the Hearts’ contribution…well, she knew better than to argue with that. Seemed the lesson he learned on the last island was sticking. “Still too bad we don’t have blueprints like Harpin’s house, though.”

“It can’t be helped. That was a job I’d been planning for months. This is more…spontaneous. Why? Scared and looking to back out?” he asked, glancing down at her with a challenging grin.

Nami scoffed. She was a thief that specialized in robbing pirates. Sure, she was a scaredy-cat, but when treasure of some kind was at stake, there were few risks she wouldn’t take. “Not a chance. Just pointing out that we’re going in more blind than last time.”

“Maybe, but at least our prize will be out in the open and not in the home of a former Marine with tentacles. Hell, we might even get it legally.”

“Law,” she started, brow furrowing. She wasn’t scared, but she did have a reasonable concern, especially with how intent he seemed on this one item. “What are we going to do if we don’t win the vase?”

The pair stopped by the Flevance fountain, Law taking a long moment to stare solemnly at the beautiful white angels. Without a word he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, pressing it to his lips before flipping it into the water.

When he turned back to her, his gold eyes were as hard as the statues’ and twice as cold.

“Simple; we take it from whoever did.”

XXX

Hidden in a small cove on an unpopulated section of Atifakuto’s coast, the sight of the Polar Tang’s sunny yellow hull was a welcome relief after a whole day of the city’s stark white walls. Law seemed to agree as his tense posture relaxed into a comfortable slouch, even giving a few of the guys a small grin when they called out to them. To Nami, of course, the submarine was still far from the Sunny and thus would never be home, but she couldn’t help but smile at Law’s reaction. The Dark Doctor really did have some softness deep down.

Of course, that didn’t last long, as the moment they were within the safety of the cargo bay he was once more all business. “Dinner is in an hour. Rest up, brush up on your notes, do whatever you need to prepare for the auction tonight; I’ve got a few more dominoes to put in place,” Law stated. He’d been silent for most of the walk back, though Nami attributed that to him mentally filing through all the information they now had and formulating his plan. Much as she missed and loved Luffy, having a captain who didn’t just go rushing in like an idiot was a nice change of pace.

That didn’t mean she appreciated his tone, though. “Say please,” she quipped, hip jutting out. She might have decided to be more compliant for the sake of gaining his trust, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him boss her around.

Besides, if she were too accommodating, he’d probably grow suspicious and then she’d be right back at square one.

He scowled but apparently decided it would be a waste of time to argue. They were on a tight schedule, after all, so her attitude would have to be tolerated. For now. “Please,” he grumbled before marching off, beckoning Clione to follow him. The biologist glanced between the two, bewildered, but smartly said nothing before chasing after his captain.

Flashing a self-satisfied grin at Law’s retreating back, Nami practically skipped to her quarters. Even though they weren’t as prepared as she’d like, so far, things were going well. Perhaps they couldn’t just use Law’s powers to swipe the vase, but by obtaining it through legal means, they wouldn’t have the authorities after them, which would be nice. Besides, it wasn’t her money that would be spent at the auction.

Her research of the North Blue had taught her a few things, including just how valuable things from Flevance were. After all, things made from the white ore had been in high-demand during the city’s heyday; now that it was in ruins, any remaining artifacts would surely triple in price. And, admittedly, if that fountain had been anything to go by, the vase could very well be extremely beautiful. Something any art collector or historian might want for themselves.

Once more, she wondered why the hell Law wanted it. He collected coins, not art, so she doubted it would be something he wanted just for the heck of it. What was his obsession with Flevance—

That train of thought was derailed when Nami walked into her room. She blinked then rubbed her eyes, certain her vision was still messed up from the sun, because Ikkaku was still sitting at her desk, working on some little device, practically in the same position as that morning. Really, the only difference was the lack of towel around her head, though her curly hair was a tangled bird’s nest.

“Have you even moved today?” Nami exclaimed loudly, flabbergasted.

The mechanic jumped a few inches out of her chair, a pen cartwheeling through the air before falling back onto the surface of the desk with a clatter. Apparently since she’d had the room to herself, she hadn’t felt the need to put the earplugs back in, leaving her vulnerable to Nami’s loud voice. “Damn, girl, you scared me,” Ikkaku said with a breathy laugh. She glanced around, noticing the time on the clock and the fact that her hair had dried completely. “Guess I was in the zone.”

“You haven’t been working all day, have you?” Nami asked, plopping her shopping bag on her bed. “At least tell me you had lunch.”

“Sounding an awful lot like Law there,” she teased, pushing away from her desk to stretch. There was an audible pop from her back, and her dark eyes closed in relief. “Like me, too. The boys and I are always bugging a certain workaholic captain to eat something and not subsist solely on coffee and aspirin. But to answer your question, yes, I did have lunch.” She pointed at an empty plate that had been shoved into the far corner of the desk, a few grains of rice stuck to the surface. “Bepo brought me some onigiri.”

“Good. If you didn’t, I’d be dragging you into the galley and force-feeding you a sandwich, then charging you a cooking and inconvenience fee.”

Snorting, Ikkaku cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders, further releasing the tension sitting hunched over in one spot for hours had built up. “Dinner’s soon enough; even if I hadn’t eaten, I could have waited. And good luck making a sandwich with no bread on board.” Despite her dismissal tone, though, she gave a wry grin. “But thanks for caring, I guess, even if it does come with a price tag.”

“What are friends for?” Nami shrugged with a smile that was a little forced. It was such an alien feeling, this sudden awkwardness. Since first arriving on the Tang, she and Ikkaku had gotten on like a house on fire. It was almost inevitable, being the two women on the ship surrounded by men dealing with that insanity together. Hell, even if that hadn’t been the case, Ikkaku had practically sacrificed herself for her back at the club on Grimm. A companion like that was more than she’d even dared to dream of before she’d met Luffy.

Was it really right for Nami to act like she didn’t know about her brother? Should she just tell her that the guys told her about Ushi? Really, what was the point of keeping it a secret? It wasn’t that Nami thought she’d slip up and spill the beans—lying was her specialty, after all—but Ikkaku wasn’t some mark or stranger. She was her friend.

Hell, even if they were on opposite crews, she’d even dare to call her nakama.

The issue resolved itself, however, when the other woman’s expression turned a little melancholy. Ikkaku sighed as she rested her cheek on her fist, her other hand idly playing with the pen. “Heh. Funny, I used to ask myself that question a lot when I was younger. I didn’t really have friends back on my home island. I lived with my Gramps in a lighthouse, so besides the occasional trip to town, it was a pretty isolated life.”

“What about your brothers?” Nami asked, masking her interest by taking her purchases out of the bag so they wouldn’t wrinkle before the auction. A swell of relief surged through her. If Ikkaku talked about Ushi herself, the whole charade of pretending not to know about him wouldn’t even be necessary! She just had to carefully press for the right crumbs of information, maybe even offer up a couple tidbits about her own life in exchange. No big deal. Tit for tat, right? “Nojiko was my best friend growing up. Hell, probably my only friend until Luffy came along.”

A dark look crossed Ikkaku’s face. “Yeah, well, Nojiko on her worst day was probably a way better sibling than all of them combined.”

“I don’t think you’ve talked about them much. I basically just know that they exist and said you wouldn’t really make it as an engineer because you’re a girl.”

A long sigh escaped her lips. “That’s…the nice version. Didn’t want to unload my shitty childhood on you, especially since yours sounded worse. I mean, my island was never taken over by pirates, and I didn’t work for the guy who murdered my mom.”

Well, that was certainly true, but then again, people with healthy, normal childhoods seldom became pirates. Or at least, those that did rarely lasted long on such cutthroat seas. Nami should have realized there was more to the mechanic’s past than some run-of-the-mill misogyny. “Maybe, but I don’t mind. We’ve all gone through some rough shit, right? We wouldn’t be in this line of work otherwise.”

“True. I just…I guess I just like to pretend he doesn’t exist most of the time.”

“He?” she asked as if she didn’t already know.

Ikkaku’s calloused hand dropped the pen to instead clench into a tight fist, and there was a haunted look in her dark eyes as she stared off into space. “Ushi. He’s the oldest. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t afraid of him. Spent our childhood making our other brothers use me as a punching bag. When he wasn’t doing that, he gave me almost hourly reminders that I was a burden on the family, that no one really loved me, that I’d never amount to anything.” There was a hitch in her breath and a pause, and Nami noticed her close her eyes tightly for a moment. As if she were fighting back tears. It was a look she’d never expected to see on the tough, vibrant woman’s face. “Then, when I was seven, he tried to kill me.”

“What?!” Nami exclaimed, dropping her blazer to the floor in shock.

“Yeah. Joras had a huge fucking forest, and he led me into it to look for mushrooms or some shit. Can’t remember. Next thing I know, he’s shoved me into a pit, and by the time I’d climbed out, he was long gone and it was night. I think…I think it was supposed to be my grave, ‘cause it was really fucking deep. Or at least it seemed that way. Maybe I’m misremembering.”

Somehow, Nami doubted that. Sure, memories could get warped with age and fear, but some details remained solid for the rest of a person’s life. “But, you got out, right? And I’m sure your parents must have been worried sick!” She could almost picture it. A young Ikkaku, sticks and leaves caught in her messy curls, knees and elbows scraped, face covered in dirt and tears, frightened but once more able to smile when she was finally found, her mother and father scooping her into their arms, scolding her for worrying them but just so relieved she was safe…

At least, that’s what Bellemere or Mister Genzo would have done if Nami had gone missing.

From the bitter laugh that escaped her throat, Ikkaku hadn’t been so fortunate. “I spent three days wandering around those fucking woods, scared and cold and wondering if I was gonna die out there. My parents didn’t even notice I was gone.” After a long moment of silence, her fist unclenched and some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Gramps found me, though. When I didn’t come home after two days and a storm rolled in, my brothers Nausagi and Fukuro ran two miles to the lighthouse to tell him what Ushi had done. Maybe they realized he’d gone too far. Or they were scared I’d come back as a vengeful zombie. Either way, Gramps rescued me and demanded custody. Mama and Pops were glad to hand me over. One less mouth to feed, and I wouldn’t be causing their Future Marine Hero any more trouble.”

“That’s…that’s horrible.” And yet Nami could tell she was getting the abridged version of the story. “Tell me your grandfather was a better guardian.”

Despite the childhood trauma she’d just confessed to, Ikkaku merely shrugged, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah. He was. Gramps was crazy, but he loved me and taught me how to fight. Told me to never lose my smile, ‘cause that’s my best protection against a world that’ll try to break me.”

“Bellemere said something similar to me and Nojiko. ‘Whatever happens, never lose your ability to laugh. If you can survive, happy times, lots of ‘em, will come your way’.”

“Smart lady.” She tried to casually run her fingers through her hair, only to find them caught in the tangled knots. She let out a light chuckle at her predicament and added, “I think she and Gramps would have gotten along pretty well. Well, assuming she liked salty former smugglers who had the gumption to threaten Law with a shot gun. Not that he didn’t deserve it a little.”

Nami had to smile at that, and she could only imagine what he’d said that had nearly gotten him shot. It was definitely something snarky, a shit-eating grin on his face while he provoked a protective grandfather just because he could.

Noticing Ikkaku’s hair situation, she abandoned her suit to instead pick up a wide-toothed comb. “Well, I’m not sure about Bellmere, but I’d certainly love to meet him.”

“Of course you would.” Leaning back in the chair, she allowed Nami to carefully put her thick curls to rights. “How was shopping? Boss show you the blinding sights of the city?”

“It was…enlightening,” she said cautiously. There was still so much to sort out, and every time she thought she had an answer to one of her questions, four more popped up in its place.

Grabbing the pen she’d been playing with earlier, Ikkaku handed it to her over her shoulder. “Here; I made you something, since I doubt you’ll be able to bring your Clima-Tact with you. Kinda why I was so focused—I wanted it to be ready by tonight.”

Curious, Nami inspected the item. It was a plain black ballpoint pen maybe a bit longer than her hand. There was an almost unnoticeable jolly roger engraved into the middle, and she ran her thumb over it idly. “You spent the whole afternoon making me a pen? I could have just as easily brought my stylus.”

“Oh, but a stylus is only good for writing. This is so much more useful. ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’, right? Click the top.”

She did so, and instead of an ink-filled nub, a small syringe, similar to an epi-pen, popped out. Her eyes widened in realization as Ikkaku explained, “Inside’s a powerful tranquilizer. Should knock any fool out in minutes if injected into the bloodstream. Takes longer if it’s ingested. It’s non-lethal to humans, so it should be safe to use on anyone you’re looking to knock out. Assuming they aren’t really Fishmen in disguise.”

“Why? Does it react differently for them?”

She grimaced. “Yeah. Severe allergic reaction. Anaphylactic shock typically. So, unless you want that on your conscience, humans only.”

Tucking the pen away for later, Nami nodded in understanding and went back to combing her hair. “Gotcha. Doubt it’ll be a problem, though. Jean Bart said this place is pretty humans-only.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible for someone to have that kind of bloodline. If it’s diluted through a few generations, a lot of the time you can hide it and pass for human.”

“Hmmm, hadn’t thought of that.”

There was a moment where Nami could tell she was mulling something over. Even faced away from her, Ikkaku wasn’t hard to read, and it was only a matter of time before she voiced whatever question was on her mind.

While she waited, the ginger took the time to appreciate the texture of Ikkaku’s hair, combing out each curl individually so it wouldn’t frizz. The thick, black locks were coarser than her own, yet surprisingly soft despite her hard life at sea. Hair maintenance was extremely difficult living on the ocean, the salt and fluctuating weather of the Grand Line wreaking havoc on Nami’s much finer strands. And while Ikkaku was far more feminine than one would expect upon first meeting her, in the time they’d roomed together, she didn’t seem to put much more extensive care into her shiny locks than some leave-in conditioner.

Guess she’s just got some good genetics, Nami thought appreciatively. Either that or she’s hiding some amazing shampoo formula, and damn if she is I’ll never forgive her!

When Ikkaku at last broke her silence, the hesitation in her voice was palpable. “Hey, it was a Fishman who held you prisoner all those years, right? You ever…blame all Fishmen for what he did?”

It was an unexpected question, but a fair one, Nami supposed. Arlong had committed a crime so heinous she knew she’d never forgive him, and she knew there were plenty of people, especially ones who spent years abused by such a monster, who would project that hatred onto an entire race. But why even ask?

“I…not really. I mean, I can’t say I never lumped them all together in my head, since Arlong and his crew were my only baseline for Fishmen for a long time.” She bit her lip, thinking. “But that was when I was a kid. My view of things was a lot more black-and-white, mostly because I was bitter at my situation. As I got older, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was stupid to think all Fishmen were like him. He was the one who hurt me, so he’s the only one who should get my hate.”

“So, you don’t hate them all?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Hell, I was even able to forgive a member of his crew. I’m sure you heard about how Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon?”

Ikkaku craned her neck up to look at her, dark eyes widening in shocked understanding. “Yeah? You saying the Fishman he defended—”

“One of Arlong’s crew. Hatchi. Like all of them, he hurt me too, but it was on his captain’s orders, and he clearly regretted it.” Well, it had been a bit more complex than that. Hell, when they’d first encountered him again, she’d nearly gone back on her promise to Camie to rescue him. Even if he hadn’t abused her like the others, he’d still been complacent in it. Still destroyed villagers homes, held her hostage, attacked the Navy ships that tried to come to the rescue. He hadn’t been blameless in the least. She would have had every right to demand that he be left to be killed or enslaved. That it was karma come to bite him in the ass.

Yet what had swayed her, apart from Camie’s determination to save him, was her own friends’ reactions to seeing him again. Those who knew her past had immediately been ready to turn the ship around and leave Hatchi to his fate. Of course she’d expected Sanji to be her knight in shining armor and want nothing to do with someone who had abused a lady, even by proxy. Zoro and Usopp had been a bit more surprising, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. They knew what she’d been put through. Had fought and bled for her. Despite their sometimes heated disagreements, Nami knew she could count on them to always have her back.

The one who shocked her the most was Luffy. He might have flip-flopped between reason and his stomach, but the fact was, her loving, forgiving captain had actually held a grudge on her behalf. Hatchi and Arlong hadn’t done anything to him personally, but his nakama had suffered, and that wasn’t something he’d easily set aside. That genuine show of solidarity and loyalty to her had melted what ice had still been around her heart, which allowed her to truly forgive the octopus Fishman.

Yes, Hatchi had hurt her, but her hatred was solely reserved for Arlong, not his underlings who genuinely felt remorse.

“I’m not a saint or anything but hating Hatchi…it seemed pointless. He wasn’t the one who killed my mother. And blaming all Fishmen for the actions of one seemed pretty shitty. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kill Arlong if I had the chance, though.”

Nami could practically feel the tension drain from Ikkaku’s shoulders, and she couldn’t hide her smile before she looked away. “That’s good to know. That asshole deserves it, from what you’ve told me. He and my brother should meet, then get sacrificed to some kind of horrible sea monster. Plenty of hungry Sea Kings out there to feed.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer pair of guys,” Nami giggled as she ran the comb through the last strand of hair. “Though, that might be cruel to the Sea King. Poor thing deserves a better meal than shit like them.”

“True. We’ll just have to think of something else then. We can ask Law; he’s always got great suggestions.”

A shudder ran down her spine, though she had to admit, it wasn’t as horrified as she’d like. She justified it with the fact that Arlong was scum who deserved whatever painful death the likes of Law might propose. So did Ushi, from the sounds of things. Though, Law had said Ikkaku had begged him not to kill her brother. Why? Did she still care about Ushi due to their familial ties? Or was there something else?

Maybe she just doesn’t want her brother’s death on her conscience, Nami thought, putting the comb away and proceeding to raid the closet for shoes. I just hope that doesn’t come back to bite her someday.

XXX

Dinner on the Tang was certainly livelier and noisier than breakfast. Mainly because the crew didn’t have to walk on eggshells while waiting for Law to get his caffeine hit. Most of the time about a dozen different conversations could be heard, utensils clattered against plates, insults were tossed about, and laughter filled the air. But at the moment, the whole galley was silent save for Nami, who was telling the Heart Pirates—save for a few who’d been sent out on last-minute errands—all about her crew’s wild adventure on Skypiea.

“…so, after Luffy beat the crap out of him, Enel flew off to the moon in his gold airship, and we escaped the island with the help of an octopus balloon, our ship loaded with treasure!”

There was a pregnant pause as the Hearts stared at her in a mix of awe and disbelief. She’d had their undivided attention ever since Law announced that the Straw Hats had found Noland’s lost city of gold, all but demanding she tell the tale and not skimp on the details.

Naturally, those details made the story even more bizarre, practically unbelievable, but she gave them what they asked for, so they couldn’t complain. Even Law’s jaw had dropped once or twice in incredulity. Mostly at the part where Luffy’d been eaten by a giant snake and thus been hidden from Enel’s senses.

Finally, a few of the crew managed to find their voices.

“An orangutan nearly wrecked your ship with singing?” Shachi asked, face utterly baffled.

Penguin grabbed his hat and smacked him over the head with it. “That’s what you’re stuck on? That’s from way back in the beginning of the story!”

The ginger punched him in the shoulder in retaliation, which quickly devolved into a childish slap fight. “Well it’s weird, ok?”

“Weirder than Straw Hat punching Kami or the knock-up stream business or the ship that flew to the moon?”

“Yeah! You ever met an orangutan that could sing?!”

“No, but that’s not the point!”

“You met Monte Blac Cricket?” Ermine interrupted, eyes so wide the whites could be seen even under the rim of their hat, though their mouth quickly split into a smile. “Holy shit, I’d wondered what had happened to him!”

“Wasn’t he your friend or something?” Seiuchi asked through a mouth full of rice.

They shook their head, looking a little wistful, a faint blush rising to their cheeks. “Just a neighbor. The people of Lvneel were dicks to his family and anyone who associated with them didn’t get treated much better. But I always thought there had to be some truth to Noland’s story.”

“Because a city of gold is so fantastical it’s gotta be real?” Nami asked, amused. She’d half-expected everyone to laugh at her like the people on Jaya when she’d asked about Sky Island—she’d even glossed over that part, finding no reason to recap such a blow to her pride. Yet instead, they’d been respectful, even entranced by her tale. It seemed to help that she’d been able to fill in a few blanks with what she remembered from Noland’s ledger, thus adding credibility to the man himself instead of just imagining the lying fool the king’s slander had reduced him to.

Usopp would probably love these guys, she thought fondly. Not that they’d likely believe his fantastical lies, but they’d probably at least let him spin his yarns to his heart’s content.

“Because you don’t tell a king about a city of gold unless you’ve got something to show for it,” Uni interjected wisely, ladling some more curry onto her plate. He paused to smile at her with his eyes, the bottom half of his face still distinctly covered by his bandana despite it being dinnertime. This close, Nami couldn’t help but try to subtly look for signs of scarring, and in fact could spot a line of slightly-paler skin peeking out just over the edge. “That, and history’s rarely all that accurate. Full of lies and twisted to suit a certain narrative.”

“That’s the World Government way. I’m sure we’ll see plenty of it tonight,” Law stated, leaning back in his chair as he munched on some onigiri. The bulge in his cheek might have been comical, but the glint in his eye was humorless. “Can’t wait to hear the dumbass assumptions people make about us Northerners.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed throughout the room, though an angry tic formed on Nami’s forehead.

“Are you saying the stuff you had me study is going to be a load of crap?” she demanded, pointing her finger accusingly. Of course she knew history was skewed at best, but she’d spent days cramming! Had weird sexual dreams about him because of it!

Yes she was blaming the book for that and no one could stop her.

He shrugged and took another bite of rice, unbothered by her irritation. “It’s the information you’ll need to be able to regurgitate if anyone asks you about the North.”

“Yeah,” Penguin chimed in, nodding sagely. He and Shachi had finally been pulled apart by Jean Bart and had resumed eating like nothing had happened. “These people aren’t interested in the truth. They just want to feel superior to the ‘uneducated masses’.”

“Buncha pretentious pricks,” Shachi sniggered, balancing a spoon on his upper lip. “Bet they’d have a fucking fit if they found out El Dorodo’s not only real, but in the fucking sky!”

“I mean, can’t say I’d blame them,” Jude grumbled, playing a bit with his food like a grumpy child. “I figured we’d be the ones to find it, but this whole time we’ve been sailing around in a submarine for nothing!”

“You got something to say about my ship?” Ikkaku snapped, glaring at her crewmate. Behind her, Crozier, Cousteau, and Ermine made slashing motions across their throats, silently reminding him that disparaging the Polar Tang in any way in front of its chief engineer was a sure death sentence.

Before he could say anything, Uni thwapped him on the forehead with the spoon, apparently taking just as much offense. “How can you say it’s been for nothing—we’ve found tons of cool shit down here! May not have been El Dorado, but there have been some amazing sunken cities. And fish! We’ve discovered more aquatic animals than any other ocean explorer,” he pointed out excitedly, Cousteau nodding in agreement. “I mean, we’ve seen deep-sea fish not recorded in any book! Extracted hallucinogenic venom from puffer fish! Taken samples of bioluminescent plankton! We’ve seen octopi punch fish!”

“You ever figure out why they do that?” Shachi asked, cocking his head.

“Best I can figure? Spite.”

As weird as this little tangent was, Nami found herself giggling a bit at how excited Uni was. She didn’t know him too well, given how he was one of the quieter, more reserved members of the crew, but it was endearing to see him so animated and giddy as he discussed marine life.

“Plus, it’s cool to study navigational currents and everything, and underwater topography. The maps I can make from that kind of intel are really good,” Bepo added, twiddling his claws a bit beside her.

“Right! And if that’s still not enough to convince you, who needs a city of gold when you can get your hands on more sunken treasure than most pirates see in their lifetimes?” Uni asked, puffing out his chest.

She couldn’t help it—Nami’s eyes lit up with belli signs at the thought of how many sunken ships the submarine probably came across, all that gold theirs for the taking. Most treasure was basically lost once it hit the bottom of the ocean, but the Hearts’ ship and diving equipment turned the ocean floor into their personal piggy bank.

It seemed Jude had the same thought. “You’re right, you’re right,” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, it’s a great ship, and we’ve definitely found more than a city’s worth of loot—and yes the fish are cool Uni put the spoon away—but it’s still annoying to find out that we’ve been searching the wrong place this whole time.”

“Eh, happens to every pirate crew,” Jean Bart said, sipping his drink. “You find a treasure map only to discover the gold’s already dug up. Same with legends of lost cities. The fact that the Straw Hats actually found El Dorado and came away with a profit just means they’ve got the Devil’s luck on their side.”

“Or the favor of some god. Probably not that Enel guy, though,” Shachi said with a smirk. “And hopefully nothing from Joras, either.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the crew at that, though Ikkaku looked more uncomfortable than amused. Nami wasn’t the only one to catch that, though, as Uni reproachfully smacked the side of his head with the spoon.

“Dude. Don’t joke about the eldritch horror gods, yeah?”

“Sorry,” the ginger said, blushing slightly as he wiped away the curry splattered across his face.

“Eldritch horror gods?” Nami asked, recoiling at the thought. What the fuck?! Joras sounded vaguely familiar and given the context she guessed it had to be someplace in the North Blue, but she sure as hell didn’t recall reading anything about that! Was this something related to Northern culture, or were the guys just fucking with her?

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over, Nami-ya,” Law stated with a smirk, though she didn’t miss the glare he sent Shachi’s way. “We’ve been sailing under the ocean for over five years and I’ve yet to see a sleeping god who can turn you mad with terror.”

“No, just an underwater ruin or two that talks about him,” Ikkaku muttered, picking at her food.

Underwater ruins with tales of sleeping gods? Sounds like something Robin would be interested in, Nami thought, nervous sweat running down her neck. Not that she’d be able to blame her. Sure, the archeologist was macabre as hell, but Nami could appreciate her thirst for knowledge, creepy or not. Who knew what history and cultures had been lost to the seas? Maybe there were even Poneglyphs down at the bottom of the ocean!

Damn. Robin and Law would probably get along great. She wasn’t sure if she was frightened or comforted by this thought.

Uni seemed to notice her unease and patted her shoulder. “We’ve seen some strange stuff down there, but nothing more dangerous than Sea Kings. Which, I mean, aren’t exactly friendly guppies, but they’ll leave us be. The Tang’s Seastone coating and electrical defenses ensure that.”

Though she still found the whole concept horrifying, she was appreciated how hard Uni was trying to keep the peace and not make things needlessly frightening for her. The whole crew had a morbid sense of humor, but while she’d mostly adapted, she still found this whole conversation creepy. It made her feel a little guilty for wanting to pry into his business. Yeah, it was annoying to know the crew was hiding stuff from her, but Uni deserved a little privacy, right?

“Yeah, and if there were anything more, Uni’s fish buddies would warn us ahead of time!” Malamute added.

“Fish buddies?” Nami asked, eyebrows lifting to her hairline in surprise. So much for respecting his privacy. “Wait, can you talk to fish?”

The man in question stiffened beside her. “I, uh, I can understand fish a little,” he said, looking nervous. His large hands twisted the napkin in his lap, and he refused to look at her. “It’s a Haki thing.”

“Haki can do that?” she asked, surprised.

“Observation Haki can do a lot of things, and Uni’s the best at it on the ship,” Law cut in harshly, glare brokering no argument. “It’s a skill that’s saved our asses plenty of times.”

Nami blanched at his defensive tone. “Hey, I’ll take your word for it, but you don’t have to act like I insulted his mother or something.”

“It’s ok, Law,” Uni said, shrugging a bit, though his face seemed to sink a little further into his bandana. “I know she didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a fair question, and it is a weird talent.”

“It’s not weird. It’s fucking useful as hell and I won’t hear anyone belittling my crew.”

“I’d never belittle him—” Nami snapped, starting to stand up to give Law a piece of her mind before Bepo’s heavy paws fell on her shoulders, gently but firmly keeping her seated.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. “Law doesn’t mean you. It’s just…the last person outside the crew that found out, he was extremely cruel about it. Beat Uni to a pulp and even threatened to sell him as a freak show attraction before Captain found them.”

“Oh my god,” she replied, anger cooling quickly as she covered her mouth in horror, imagining Uni bruised and bloody on the ground at the hands of some bastard. Well, that would sure as hell explain why Law had taken such offense. If such a thing had happened to Chopper because he could speak to animals, she’d likely be just as pissed. From the scowls on the rest of the Hearts’ faces, the whole crew felt similar. Her gaze flicked to the fuming captain. “I’m guessing he ended up on your operating table?”

“I wish,” he growled, gold eyes glinting in fury as he crossed his arms. “Marines showed up before I could cut out his heart. Must have been his lucky day, but luck won’t be enough to save him if I ever run into Hyena-ya again.”

“Hyena?” she asked, the name not ringing any bells.

“Bellamy the Hyena,” Bepo explained, snout wrinkling in distaste. “He’s also from the North.”

Oh. My. God, Nami thought, wondering if the world was really so small. “You said Bellamy, right? Blonde hair? Spring powers? Asshole with a stupid grin?”

Law cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Seems you’ve encountered him before.”

She ground her teeth as she remembered the way he’d mocked Luffy’s dreams in the bar. “Yeah. On Jaya. His crew laughed at me for asking about Sky Island and his first mate tried to buy me. Later he stole Cricket’s gold, so Luffy went after him. I didn’t see the fight but given what an ass that guy was…yeah, Luffy wiped that stupid smile off his face.”

Once more the room fell silent, but quickly broke out into thunderous applause.

“Hah! I would have paid good money to see that!” Ikkaku laughed, spirits lifted.

“If he hurt Cricket, I’m glad he got the beating he deserved,” Ermine said with a grin.

Uni smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily. “When you see Straw Hat again, shake his hand for me! That guy’s a dick.”

Even Law was put in a better mood, though there was still a malicious edge to his smirk. “Good on Mugiwara-ya. Still wouldn’t mind doing some permanent damage to the fucker myself, though. Bad enough he insulted my crew, but that bastard should pick his idols more carefully.”

Nami’s brow furrowed at that. His idols? The hell did that mean?

She didn’t have time to vocalizing that question, though. Sweat ran down her neck when said smirk then took a more lecherous edge as he rested his chin on his fist, eyes glinting with mischief. “But Sarquiss-ya tried to buy you? I might have prioritize kicking his ass, then. I’m the only one who gets to be your sugar daddy.”

“Oh shut up! You didn’t even buy me new shoes!”

“You got her a suit but no shoes? For shame, Boss,” Ikkaku giggled, getting up to help Seiuchi and Jude clear the tables. “I thought you were supposed to be a ladies’ man.”

“I’m a cruel bastard who doesn’t do something for nothing. She can borrow yours.”

Sauntering over, she playfully poked him in the forehead. “Says who?”

Law snorted and childishly poked her right back. “Me. Your captain. The guy who pays your salary.”

“You pay me to keep the submarine running and sass you when you’re being an idiot.”

“I don’t pay you for that.”

“Mmmm, you’re right; that’s a service I provide for free.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say those two were siblings,” Nami chuckled under her breath.

“Right? When I was first recruited I was convinced they were secretly related,” Uni agreed.

Bepo gave them both a smile and said quietly, “I think it’s good for them. Especially Law. I think he secretly likes having a little sister again.”

Brown eyes widened at that little tidbit. Law had a sister? What happened to her? Bepo had stated the past tense, so there was either some kind of falling out or…

…oh no, she thought, turning to watch Law continue to bicker good-naturedly with Ikkaku, his expression annoyed but the glimmer in his eyes belying that he was enjoying himself. Another piece of the puzzle that was the Surgeon of Death had fallen into her lap, but it wasn’t a particularly happy one. Sure, people died or were killed all the time, but Nami couldn’t imagine what she’d be like if she’d lost Nojiko. And depending on how young they’d been or how she’d died, that could really fuck with a guy.

“Nami-ya.”

Her attention was yanked from her musing as Law called her name. He was on his feet, plate clean and smirk dangerous as he regarded her. Nami wondered whether this would be the last time she’d see him in a genuinely good mood for the rest of the evening. “It’s seven o’clock. Time to get ready to watch history be defiled by pretentious morons. And for your obnoxious thunder god’s sake, make sure you’re wearing shoes you can actually run in.”

( @ninhaoma-ya, @awesomi, @vannahfanfics)

#Fic: Welcome to the Heart Pirates #lawna #trafalgar law x nami #Trafalgar D. Water Law #lawnami #op fanfiction #op fanfic #heart pirates #heart pirate nami #ikkaku one piece #one piece ikkaku #uni one piece #law x nami #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #nami

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hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong · 3 years ago

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The Century War of Wyverns, Part 2: Chase the French Soldier

[Previous] [Contents] [Next]

Kat: Our first encounters in a strange new land! It... doesn't go well tbh, but I'm sure the next one will!

Cris: Turns out Spartacus doesn't understand "the back of your blade" very well.

Jeanne: {CWs for violence against humans, death, first-person panic attack}

------

God dammit, how the hell can that mountain of muscle move so fast? We barely got a word in edgewise and he’s already left us in the dust! If we don’t get there in time those soldiers are gonna be a big red smear on the ground. One more hill, and… he’s just… standing there, having a conversation with them? He gestured towards the one in the gaudiest uniform before walking over.

Spartacus: Placet expectare.

Spartacus: Ah master, there you are! I have glorious news! These soldiers are themselves fighting against the oppression of a false king! Of course, a true king is also oppressive in its own way, but still! Their leader even speaks latin! Roughly.

French General: C'est ton géant ?

Kat: <Ooh, ooh! I got this! Time for all that duolingo to do its thing!>

April (Kat): Bonjour, garcon!

I internally rolled my eyes as the soldier blanched.

Cris: <Kat. Garcon means boy. Let’s try something else.>

April (Cris): (Hey, Mash, do you know French? Mine’s a little rusty.)

Mash: (Sorry master, I barely know enough to say hello.)

April (Jeanne): (Well, English is a common lingua franca, might as well try that, right?)

Cris: <Good idea!>

Mash: Wait, that’s-

April (Cris): Sorry about that, tried to be polite, don’t actually know that much French. The big guy’s with us, and we were hoping you… could… Ah, fuck.

The soldiers had already surrounded us. Cries of “L’Anglais!” erupted around us as they pointed their spears in our direction.

Mash: The French are at war with England in this time period!

April (Cris): I gathered, yeah.

Spartacus: So now they seek to oppress us as well?

Mash: What are your orders, master?

April (Cris): Take them down but try not to kill the idiots. Uh… hit them with the back of your blade, or something.

Mash lifted her shield up quizzically.

Mash: And what part of this, exactly, is the blade?

April (Cris): Dammit, just try not to kill them!

Even holding back, it was clear the soldiers were no match for Mash Kyrielight. She ran circles around them, their every attack parried as their weapons shattered against their shield. Even three on one, the soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Meanwhile, Spartacus ha- oh God.

I faltered, stumbled off the road and retched. If Mash had a spotless technique, Spartacus’ was nothing but spots. He simply walked from soldier to soldier and shattered their bodies with his fists. He hadn’t even bothered to draw his sword. The few soldiers Mash pacified were bruised, but relatively unharmed. The ones unlucky enough to face Spartacus weren’t going to get back up.

The forest span <Jeanne?> around me. I know someone was calling our name, but I couldn't <Jeanne!> hear anything beyond the blood rushing to my head. My chest hurt, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't- <JEANNE!>

A sharp sting as my hand slapped my cheek. Cris stopped me from spiraling again. I took a moment to breathe properly.

April (Jeanne): Okay… Okay, I’m good. I think.

I slowly stood up and made it back to the others. The surviving French soldiers had already made their escape. Mash’s spirit origin was shaking. I put my hand on her shoulder as I got closer.

April (Jeanne): Mash, are you alright?

Mash: I should be asking you that, Master. I’m… I can’t believe it, but I’m still not used to this.

April (Jeanne): It’s only been a day or two Mash, you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with this.

Mash: A day? Oh, right.

Spartacus: Mmh. It might be better for you two if you don’t become comfortable in these sorts of things. The two of you are unoppressed by the experience of warfare. Hold that close to you.

Mash: Right. Thank you, Spartacus. So, what’s our next move?

April (Cris): Right, I hate to do this, but… we need to follow the soldiers that ran off.

Spartacus: Ahah, we must finish the fight then?

April (Cris): NO! Nonono. I mean, they’re going to run to the nearest place with people. They’re our only lead right now. Did you see which way they went, Spartacus?

Spartacus: Of course! Follow me!

----

On our way, we got in contact with Dr. Roman again. Turns out our plugsuit comes equipped with a translator- would have come in handy earlier, but fuck it, at least we won’t have to fight literally everyone we come across.

The sky was turning red when we finally saw the smoke clouds over the horizon. We rushed over a hill and finally got a look at the fort. It was in bad shape. Walls crumbled in, with smoke and fire billowing out from several windows. Dark shapes moved through the smoke, obscured in a haze.

Another wall fell over as we descen-

Kat: <Hey, look! Isn’t that one of the soldiers?>

Sure enough, one of the survivors of Spartacus’ rampage was kneeling at the top of the hill.

April (Cris): Hey! Hey you! Don’t fucking run, I’m talking to you!

The soldier had started, but before he made it to his feet we were already surrounding him. He was speaking too fast to translate at first, so I just pressed on.

April (Cris): Look, I get it if you don’t believe us, but we’re not gonna kill you.

April (Jeanne): We have traveled a long way because we heard something very, very bad was happening here. Please, can you tell us what is going on?

French Soldier: Oh, and what are the English going to do about it?! Insult her and run away?

Cris: <Apparently we can do a lot fucking more than your soldiers can.>

April (Jeanne): We have fought worse. Now, who is this “her”?

French Soldier: You’ve fought worse than Jeanne d’Arc? Hah! Unlikely!

Mash: Jeanne d’Arc? She should be dead by this point!

French Soldier: That is the worst part, she is! She was dead for three days, when the Saint of Orleans appeared out of nowhere and started razing all of France to the ground. She’s been tearing around with an Army of monsters for days now! Even King Charles couldn’t stand up to her!

April (Jeanne): Thank you. We will figure out a way to stop this, I promise.

By the time we got closer to the ruined fort, whatever had caused so much damage had long since disappeared. However, I could still make out faint traces of enchantment on some of the bodies scattered around the field.

April (Jeanne): Roman, I'm noticing something off about this corpse. What do you make of it?

Mash: Senpai, we really should get out of the open while there’s still daylight.

April (Jeanne): Give Roman a second, Mash. I'm sure there's something off about it.

Roman: Huh. Good catch, April. This body had been treated for necromancy. Large-scale necromancy is certainly rare, but it’s still possible with or without a holy grail. Either way, it’s good to have an idea of what we’re up against.

We entered the keep. Walking around was a nightmare, it was as if every square inch of space was taken up by the injured. Their groans echoed through the fort. Suddenly, I felt something on the edge of my scanning area. It was faint, but unmistakable. A spirit origin.

April (Jeanne): Mash, do you feel that?

Mash: Barely. There must be a servant outside the castle.

April (Jeanne): No, about thirty feet in that direction. Does anyone catch your eye?

Mash: There’s no one there who could be a servant, Master.

Cris: <This is pointless, let me look.>

Kat: <No way! You got to yell at the guy, lemme look, lemme look!>

Yay, I won! I turned where Jeanne was pointing. The whole place was just beat up soldiers & less beat up soldiers taking care of them. Oh, there’s one! A little girl is going around comforting people as they fall asleep!

April (Kat): What about that little girl? The one dressed in all white? Can she be a servant?

Roman: That’s not likely. Servants are invariably summoned at the “peak” of their myth. It’s possible for child prodigies to be summoned young, but the vast majority will either be young adults when they are most powerful, or at old age when they are most skilled. You guys should get some rest while you can. I’ve detected a leyline a day’s travel from here, you should set out in the morning.

We found a spot near a wall and curled up to sleep. I don’t remember much of my dreams, but when I woke up it was still dark. That girl was still tiptoeing around the soldiers, and every now and then I caught her singing, at barely above a whisper.

That was weird enough, but then something amazing happened! The soldier she was standing next to, his wounds suddenly shrank, until it was like he never got hurt at all! He shifted in his sleep, and she moved on to the next one.

April (Kat): (I knew it!)

I pulled myself out of our pile as slow as possible, and inched closer to her.

April (Kat): Excuse me?

Little Girl: Hello miss. (Please keep your voice down, people are sleeping!)

April (Kat): (Oh, sorry! This might sound weird, but… are you a servant?)

Little Girl: (I am a faithful servant of God, yes. Is something wrong?)

April (Kat): (That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean are you human?)

A strange look crossed the girls face.

Little Girl: (I was. Let’s talk outside.)

She led me by the hand out of the castle. She had such a strong grip, it was kinda awkward! Once we were a bit away, she turned to face me. Suddenly, a spear covered in flags appeared out of nowhere and landed in her hands!

Little Girl: As you have guessed, I am indeed a Servant, Lancer class. My true name is Jeanne d’Arc.

#fgo #fanfic #mastersona #singularity 1 #spartacus

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yunatheintrovert · 4 years ago

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shot through the heart (and you’re to blame) | Chapter 1 [Russell Adler/Female Bell!Reader Soulmate AU]

As you tapped your foot against the carpeted floor of the conference room to Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie, you felt your once anxious mind calm down.

For far back as you could remember-which really was just the year 1981-music with your ever trustworthy Walkman had always helped you with...well everything.

It had been one of the reasons you loved that pencil-pushing job in the cubicle at Langley as an intelligence analyst. No unholy amount of paperwork could overcome the clarity you felt at the sound of music blaring through the headset at your ears, drowning out everything else in your world. There was no voices, no ringing in your ears, no screams.

It was all just the consistent sounds of songs you listened to time and time again.

(And as much as you hated to admit it, there was that stubborn bit of hope that refused to die in every song you listened to. Because maybe, just maybe-you had someone out there when you had no one to call your own.)

That stability you found in a world that you knew you had no place in was all thanks to an old acquaintance and now friend. Belikov must have heard from Lazar about the noise complaints from your neighbors. After all, the next time you met him at the scheduled Chicago Cubs’ game, he handed a boxed Sony Walkman WM-5 model with his usual smile under his signature blue Chicago Cubs hat.

As much as you prized your precious Walkman, you couldn’t help but notice how the timing of the mixtapes it played was...uncanny.

Granted, you made the mixtapes yourself. But the MK Ultra program didn’t give you foresight into the future.

You remembered Lazar laughing amusedly at your musings about that. You swore it was true although perhaps that was the paranoia left over the MK Ultra program.

Yet as you sat patiently at the conference table, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding that punctuated the ringing silence the Walkman had before it moved onto the next song on your mixtape.

SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU'RE TO BLAME-

As the song you had listened to for years after quite literally getting shot in the heart rang loud and clear in your ears, you registered the doorknob turning across the room.

And suddenly, you just knew.

The song you had listened to for a year while getting as drunk as a fish in bars was coming back to haunt you with a vengeance.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-” you muttered to yourself, perhaps a bit more loudly than you intended.

Russell Adler walked through that door not a second later.

Even as you swiveled your gaze to the suddenly very fascinating waste basket at the opposite side of the room, you couldn’t help but look at your former...superior out of the corner of your eye.

He was as calm and composed as ever. Signature sunglasses and the ever present cigarette in hand, he looked the same as he did in 1981.

Years ago, you would have admitted that it was frustrating to be ignored that way.

But now, all you could hope for was that he was just here to sit in for the meeting.

If the implanted memories were any indication, Russell Adler always tied up loose ends.

And you were that one loose end that just wouldn’t die.

Quietly sighing to yourself, you soon turned your attention to the briefing that just started. Half of the people you didn’t recognize. But you did notice the familiar figures of Lazar and Belikov sitting in the seats next to Adler.

It must have been some time into the briefing that you felt a forceful nudge at your leg. Turning slightly, you faced your neighbor, recognizing the familiar face.

She was an analyst at the cubicles in Langley as well. Although, she had a fair resume filled with a reasonable amount of fieldwork related to the Eastern Bloc.

“Bell,” she said as you read her lips and the frustrated look in her eyes, “Turn off that damn Walkman.” you assumed she said that in a hiss.

Truth be told, you weren’t exactly popular among the analysts at Langley. You were rather aloof with your quiet lunches in your little cubicle and constant listening to music on your Walkman in the busy hallways.

Suddenly, you saw the analyst’s head turn towards the upper end of the conference table.

And just like before, you simply knew who your “neighbor” was looking at.

“There’s no problem, sir. It’s just her-” You saw the analyst gesture to yourself before she added, “I don’t know if she was paying attention to the briefing.”

There were several times in your line of work that you wish your conversational and social skills were more up to par....and this was one of those times.

You looked at Adler, shrouded in a sparse cloud of smoke with his signature sunglasses on.

“Bell,” was the word you registered all too well.

You felt the gunshot scar on your chest ache in pangs because you heard that word-BellBELLBell-in Vietnam all those years ago-nonono

It wasn’t real. And you had to listen to the advice the shrink gave you.

They were all just surreal dreams.

“Sir?” you quietly inquired, making sure to use the honorific. After all, there never ever was any personal feelings involved in the past and thus formality should be used to distinguish that (and deep down you knew it was for your sake because you had to draw a damn boundary between reality and whatever the hell MK Ultra planted inside you).

For a split second, you could have sworn something crossed his face. Although, you could never tell what he was thinking behind those shades.

“We’ve got a job to do, Bell.” You felt yourself freeze, “What is it?” He was testing you.

Of course.

“Objective is a downed American recon satellite over the Angolan desert. Secure perimeter, destroy sensitive technology, and exfil at 1300. Weapons armament is at our discretion,” you said in clipped statements before adding, “Further details will be assigned to us at a later time.”

Much to the frustration of your “neighbor”, Adler simply nodded approvingly at you in that ever slight way before taking a drag of his cigarette.

Luckily, the briefing was over in around 15 minutes without a hitch.

By the time it was over, your mixtape had already gotten to Tainted Love by Soft Cell and you were already in the middle of jumping out of your chair and making a hopefully subtle dash to the hallway.

From the pain you drive into the heart of me The love we share Seems to go nowhere

Suddenly, you felt a weighted, warm pressure on your shoulder and you instantly twisted around with your hand on the origin of the pressure-

-only for you to blink in consternation at the warm feeling of callused skin against your own.

He’s not wearing gloves, you thought vaguely for a moment as you held Adler’s large callused hand on your shoulder.

Wait-

“Sorry, sir-” you jerked away from him with an apology, “...old habits die hard.”

'What old habits? You had none, not with him.' you kicked yourself mentally.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings.” Ah, yes...The same kind of lecturing you would get in the safehouse when you would listen in on his calls...Granted that somewhat deserved, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t watching over you 24/7 like that time you saw him watching you wander around in the darkroom.

“Yes, sir.” you simply said. It was better to be unnoticed by Adler than it was to piss him off. If you had to be the same devoted obedient subordinate as before, so be it.

There just wouldn’t be any personal feelings involved this time.

(because there were none. It was never personal.)

And I've lost my light For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night

You couldn’t help but feel rather awkward at the silence that lingered in the air.

“If that’s all, I’ll be going now, sir.” you rather sheepishly said before moving to turn to walk away.

“What are you listening to, kid?” Adler asked suddenly.

“What?”

“The song,” he gestured to the Walkman secured at your waist.

“Tainted Love,” you quickly answered, “Soft Cell.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Adler’s lips twitch up ever so slightly in almost a rather smile....or grimace. You could never quite tell with him.

“It’s a good song, Bell.” was all he said before walking away.

And with that exchange, you were left alone and confused in the hallway.

Once I ran to you (I ran) Now, I'll run from you This tainted love you've given

Author’s Note:

This is my first time writing out Adler's character as well as even writing out a Call of Duty fanfic. Hopefully, it turned out okay. My writing is still pretty rusty at the moment.

Anyways, I love writing Soulmate AUs and I found the idea of it to be interesting with a Russell Adler/Bell concept. Aside from my love for Soulmate AUs, I also just had to write out post-canon ending Bell having a Walkman and listening to music all the time with it.

Also, in case anyone is confused, this has a canon-divergence where Bell got non-fatally shot by Adler just before getting pardoned by a high-ranking official for her efforts and then getting a pencil-pushing job as an intelligence analyst at Langley. It's somewhat based on the "happy ending AU idea" post I put on here. It's rather unrealistic but I decided to run with the idea since it ran well with the soulmate AU concept.

Well, thanks for reading!

#Russell Adler #Russell Adler/Bell #Russell Adler x Bell #Female Bell #reader-insert #fanfic #cod cold war spoilers #cod cold war fanfiction #Female Bell!Reader #fanfiction #shot through the heart (and you're to blame)#soulmate au #soulmate songs/music au #fic: shot through the heart (and you're to blame)

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smediumsmeatbae · 4 years ago

Note

14 and 34 for Steve Rogers? If you are doing the NSFW prompts! No worries if you aren’t! Thank you

Thank you so much for requesting this! I apologize that this is so late. September was bonkers for me. Hope you like this!

TITLE: A Hero’s Sacrifice PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Reader SUMMARY: Steve is always sacrificing himself for the good of the mission. What happens when he leaves his teammates high and dry? WORDS: 2,384 WARNINGS: Smut! No one under 18 plz. Swearing, angst in the beginning, bad smut writing *shrugs*. A/N: What??? K’s actually putting some writing out there??? Omg. :D This is my first smut with Steve and my first writing in about a month or so I think. So I’m a bit rusty. Also I suck at summaries so sorry. Lmao. Also, a special shout out to @angrythingstarlight. She has been a constant encouragement and companion through this really bad writing block. Thank you so much, sweet friend! No beta, all mistakes are my own. Please do not post this anywhere else without my permission Likes are amazing. Reblogs and comments are better.

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The crisp New York air kissed your cheeks as you stood on the rooftop of the Avengers compound. It was a quiet and clear night, crickets chirping softly in the background as the round moon lit the scenery before you and put everything in a hazy glow. This peaceful scene, however, did nothing to quell the anger and anxiety in your bones. The mission had been compromised. Your teammates and you barely got out with your lives, all because your leader, your captain, had to be a goddamn hero.

Yes he was Captain America, yes he had saved the world hundreds of times. He knew how to handle himself. That didn't mean that he wasn’t infallible. And because he was your superior officer, because the moniker of Captain America demanded respect, there wasn't shit you could say to him. You wanted to punch him, wanted to scream at him, tell him he had been an idiot for running off alone, without a plan, leaving you alone with your teammates clueless as to what to do.

A goddamn idiot.

Not that he'd listen if you could yell at him. Steve wasn't much for following orders if it meant a compromise to his values and morals. Normally, that was what you admired about him, what you maybe even found attractive about him, if you were honest with yourself. You couldn't think about that at the moment. The only thing that came to your mind when thinking about Steve was giving him a good knee to the balls.

The access door to the rooftop opened and your ears perked up at the sound of it. You turned around, to see who it was. You couldn’t hide the huff from your mouth and the roll of your eyes as Steve came waltzing through. What could he possibly want with you? He knew that you wanted to be left alone when you came up to the roof.

“Someone better be dying, Rogers.”

You didn't bother turning around completely to look at him. Your stance was close guarded even before Steve came through the door; arms crossed, head down, scowl permanently etched to your face. Then, when he made an appearance, your whole body went rigid. He was the last person you wanted to see.

“No, no one’s dying. I just…” “Then you should know I want to be alone right now, Captain.” Your voice came out more harsh than you intended, the hurt and anger of your feelings oozing out into them. You couldn’t exactly say you were sorry for how you sounded, though.

“Okay, I’ll just leave then.” “That makes sense. You love just leaving, huh. You’re pretty good at it, Steven.” “Look, I just got chewed out for two hours by Fury. I don’t need it as well from someone who is supposed to be my friend.” “Your friend?” You spat. “Friends don’t compromise each other’s safety. Friends don’t leave each other hanging in the middle of a battle!”

He hung his head in that moment and sighed out, putting his hands on his hips. Clenching and un-clenching his jaw, he looked at you as if he was trying to figure out what to say. He looked conflicted and sad and tired. All the emotions and physical exhaustion of the day was catching up to him. Well, you weren’t going to be the one to feel sorry for him.

“While you’re trying to think of a comeback, Rogers, I’ll be downstairs. The air is getting too chilly up here anyway.”

As you tried to walk past him, he grabbed your arm opposite of him, blocking you from the door. His eyes were a mix of energies: anxiousness at the forefront, You had never seen him so vulnerable.

“Hydra was there for me. To kill me.” “Hydra… but the briefing didn’t say anything about Hydra agents.” You looked up at him, confused. “I spotted them as you and the team were taking down the enemy we actually came for. They were sleeper agents; highly skilled assassins. If I would have stayed there, they would have killed you all just to get to me. I had to draw them away.” “I can take care of myself, Rogers. You should have let us help you.” “I couldn’t… I couldn’t let anything... “ His voice trailed off and he swallowed thickly as you looked up at him. Was he trying to hold back tears? “Steve…”

Your hand absentmindedly reached out and cupped his cheek. Your body seemed to forget all together that you were still mad at him. You couldn’t contain yourself though. No matter how pissed you were at Steve, you knew when he needed you and you couldn’t deny him that. He looked at you then, a single tear falling from his eyes, more threatening to find his way down. There was something else there too, something that you couldn’t quite figure out until it happened. Steve’s mouth was on yours, needy and wanting, and also tender and honest. He pulled your body into his with one hand and put the other behind your head, keeping you close to him.

“I couldn’t let them have you, you’re mine.” Steve rasped against your lips as he parted away. Your breath was shallow and ragged, as if he had kissed all the air out of you. Leaning up, you kissed him again, this time more sure in your actions, letting him know you wanted this just as much as he did. Steve swiped his tongue along the bottom of your mouth, asking for access and you granted it to him, both of you exploring each other's mouths. Hands were wandering; your hands were tangled in his hair and his hands were moving closer to your ass. God you loved how he towered over you as he kissed you. How his broad shoulders seemed to swallow your frame in his embrace. You wanted more, you needed more.

“Take me to your room.” You breathed out a whisper, breaking the kiss again.

Your hands were clinging onto his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, closer to you. You had a desperation to feel him, all of him and if you stayed on that roof any longer, you were going to make that happen in front of all of nature and anyone who decided to also come up on the roof.

Steve just nodded and grabbed your hand, leading you towards the door. The sexual tension was palpable as you rode the elevator down to his floor and walked towards his room. There was this electricity between the two of you where before there was none. Steve and you had been friends before but he was your superior and while there weren't any rules about dating, he had a moral obligation to distance himself romantically from you. You accepted his decision and kept your distance as well, even if you did have a crush on him. Everything now, after you had both thought you lost each other, after all the intense emotions of the day, after the roof, his moral obligations didn't seem to bother him any longer as he was taking you to his room.

Once there and the door had clicked shut, he was on you. His mouth slotted against yours, passionate kisses causing shivers to go throughout your whole body. You moaned in response, your hands sliding up his chiseled chest, making their way around his neck. His hands rested onto your hips, squeezing them and rocking them towards him slightly.

"Been wanting this for so long." He purred as he stroked your back lightly with his fingertips. "You're so beautiful." "Oh god, me too." You breathed, heat flooding your belly.

You stood like that for a bit, arms and lips searching each other in the living room, taking each other in. He was so beautiful it sometimes made you ache just to look at him. Now, with his intense blue eyes looking at you, lust blown, you could see the want in his eyes as well. Hands a bit shaky, you took them and guided them down to the buttons on Steve’s oxford shirt, unbuttoning each one. You could feel his hot breath onto your skin as his hands nimbly pulled at your tank top and pulled it up, grazing your skin with his knuckles as he did so. Once his buttons were free, you lifted your arms to help Steve rid you of your shirt. Gingerly, as if you were going to break at the action, he cupped your breasts with one of his palms and lightly thumbed over your stiff nipples.

“God, you're amazing.” He breathed as he captured your mouth again, still keeping a steady rhythm with his hands but you could feel him holding back. "More, Steve, please." You mewled into his mouth, scratching the back of his neck. "Don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart." He panted in between kisses. "'M enhanced, I can... take it." You urged out your words as Steve caught a soft spot on your neck. "Don't wanna chance it." "I’ll take you against that fucking wall if I have to, Rogers." You frowned playfully and wickedly at him as you pulled away from his assault on your neck, with great effort.

A growl ripped from inside him, something coming loose from your words. He picked you up with ease by your ass and started carrying you to where you assumed was his bedroom. You wrapped your legs around his slim torso, body on fire with his touch. His steps were heavy down the hall, making your core bump against him, and it made you even more hot for this man. This Adonis of a man was about to absolutely ruin you and you couldn't be more happy.

Steve laid you down on the bed and wordlessly started to undress the bottom half of you. He pulled off your leggings and panties in one swift moment, causing you to gasp slightly at the action. You felt the air rush to your legs and between as well, signalling how wet you were. Steve groaned at the sight of you before him, glistening and ready. You sat up to lean on your elbows, biting your lower lip slightly, wanting to see all of Steve as he started to undress as well. The clink of his belt was like a song to your ears and you could already see his bulge straining painfully against his slacks. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as he pulled down his pants and boxers, his erection springing free and bobbing below his belly button. A small, involuntary moan slipped past your lips as he leaned onto the bed, making his way toward you. You felt the dip of the mattress around your body as he hovered over you, his blonde locks coming loose around his face. You could feel the heat coming off of his body as his arms caged you in under him.

Redistributing his weight, he leaned over heavily onto his right arm and took his other hand and ran it down your side. It felt delicious, him feeling all of your curves and you practically purred at the sensation as shivers flooded your body. He got to your lower thigh and hooked his strong arm around it, pulling it over his hip. The heel of your foot dug into his perfect ass as you braced yourself for him; you didn't know how much longer you could wait.

“Steve, ple---” Before you could get another word out, Steve pushed the tip of him into you, causing you to let out a moan. “What was that, sweetheart?” He smiled cheekily at you. “Just shut up and start moving.” “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned.

He was gentle at first, letting you get used to his size. Then, once he knew you were ready, he started in on a brutal pace, snapping his hips into you with precision, taking you closer and closer to the edge. You spurred him on as well, demanding for Steve to go harder, faster, to let go. At one point, you were having to put your hands on the headboard above you to keep your head from slamming onto the wooden frame. Even though he was slamming into you at an amazing pace, you a moaning mess under him, he still gingerly swept your hair away from your sweat soaked face and kissed you, checking the look in your eyes to make sure you were doing okay. You would almost be endeared with it if you weren’t so fucked out.

You could feel yourself starting to come undone, the pressure in your belly mounting like a roller coaster climbing up its first hill. Once you were over the hill, you yelled out in pleasure, your hands gripping tightly onto the rails of the headboard as you rode through your orgasm. You could tell Steve was close as well as his pace became erratic and his breathing was becoming labored. You took your hands off of the headboard and clawed at his back, staring him in the eyes causing him to moan out.

“Come for me, Steve. You feel so good, baby.” You caught his shoulder in your mouth and bit down.

He let go, letting out gasps of breath and shouting out, filling you up completely. It caused you to have another mini orgasm from the feeling of his. Sticky with sweat, and completely sated, Steve landed on the bed and rolled over to his side, taking the sheets and covering both of you with them. You rolled over to meet him, hugging his body to you as you laid your head on his chest.

“Don't ever sacrifice yourself again.” You said so quietly that you thought he didn’t hear you. “Can't promise that, doll.” Steve replied as he lazily stroked your shoulder. “I know. Can’t blame a girl for trying though.”

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that he couldn’t. He would always be the man to make the sacrifice play, to be the one to lay down on the wire for his team. You know that you couldn’t, and wouldn’t change him, but there with your head on his shoulder, you took some comfort to know that he was there for now.

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TAGS:

@t-stark35

@angrythingstarlight

@cheeseburgersstuff

@chrissquares

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers smut #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #beardburnsupersoldiers

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Heaven, Hell and You

John Constantine x OFC (Valarie Moore)

Masterlist Chapter 1

Warnings- Violence, biblical references (sort of, I think)

Chapter 2

Humming under her breath, Valerie strolled through the little convenience store in the city. She still donned her uniform, light blue scrubs and white shoes, though thankfully, she was only half as tired as usual. Even better was the fact after her shift gone by, Valerie would have the next twenty four hours off and wouldn't have to see the hospital, and by extension, the ICU for the next day or so. It was her one day off for the week and she was determined to make the most of it. The most beginning with unwinding in a warm bath and a glass of wine.

The shopping basket was hooked in her crooked elbow as she slowly walked to the liquor aisle, slowing down even further as she passed shelves lined with different kinds of pasta on her way. Maybe she could make herself dinner too, instead of ordering takeout. For a minute, Valerie seriously considered it, but then, remembering how long it might take and how much she'd anticipated doing absolutely nothing, she decided that it could be an activity for some other night and that pizza would do just fine. Once again, she began, head down, cast towards the beat up tiled floor, not even noticing that she was walking straight into someone.

"Shit," she swore, coming into contact with a man's chest, consequently stumbling backwards, "Sorry," Valerie huffed a quiet, breathless chuckle upon noticing how strikingly handsome he was; sharp bone structure, pale skin and raven hair.

"Its my fault," he dismissed, not even bothering with returning her shy smile. Instead, he shoved one hand into the pocket of his black trench and readjusted his hold on his half filled basket, "Sorry about that," he nodded politely, proceeding to furrow his brows in what she perceived to be confusion. "Do I know you?"

Equally confused, Valerie's lips quivered with questions unspoken, and eventually, she found herself tucking a soft brunette lock behind her ear, the little diamond stud on her earlobe twinkling teasingly, “I don’t think so,” she licked her pink, bare lips, “Maybe I just have one of those faces,” Valerie giggled quietly, though, she could tell by the man’s stare that he wasn’t buying it for a second. It was slightly unnerving, the way he was looking at her, like he actually believed that they knew each other.

“Maybe,” he scoffed, apparently only agreeing cause he really couldn’t place her, “Sorry,” he cleared his throat quietly.

He seemed to shake off whatever he was feeling, moving to go around her before she could even dismiss his apology and assure him that it was all good. As Mr. Tall, dark and mysterious, went about his way, Valerie turned around, sparing him one last glance, trying to ignore the disappointment in their conversation being over. She didn’t really get out a lot, discounting work, and her flirting skills were very rusty, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t know a hot guy when she saw one, and she’d just spoken to one, barely.

When he didn’t look back, either pretending to not see her or just ignoring her completely, Valerie sighed heavily, continuing towards the limited liquor selection without another look back hoping to eventually dust off her disappointment that he hadn’t shown much interest in her.

2 Weeks Later John usually preferred to drink alone, at his loft, sometimes in front of the television, sometimes while he worked. Needless to say, John didn’t ordinarily visit bars and pubs, but alas, Angela had called earlier that day wanting help with a case, and seeing that she was one of his only friends, he didn’t really think it right to refuse her. So there he was, at some no name, low lit place in the city, nursing a glass of whiskey straightening up when he saw her come through the doors of the place. “Hey,” she smiled softly, still in her work clothes, holster peeking out from beneath her blazer, file in hand, “You got started without me,” she nodded to the glass on the table as she sat on the opposing chair.

“You took too long,” he huffed, bringing the glass to his lips. The air around them stank of cigarettes, which wasn’t exactly ideal considering that, quitting had been hard, and even a year later, the smell alone still tempted him sometimes. Reaching into his pocket, he dug around for the pack of nicotine gum that he had taken to carrying around, shoving a stick into his mouth before talking again. “That the case?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, handing over the manila folder, “Why don’t you look it over while I go get a drink?”

Wordlessly, John took it, letting it lay open on the table before him, slowly sipping his drink as his weary eyes scanned the pages, looking for anything that would prove inhumanity. There were definitely some things that looked ritualistic, and John could certainly see why Angela had grown some suspicions; the Latin scrawling and the way the bodies had been mutilated pointed to something supernatural. But John could also easily see the human factors, the little details that showed him the killer was actually human; there were slight discrepancies in the incantations printed in blood on the walls and the marks were hardly drawn with fluidity. “Your guy, whoever he is, is human,” John eventually determined, sliding the folder back towards Angela.

Slumping her shoulders, she took a swing of her beer, running a hand through her hair with a defeated sigh, “Seriously? I just thought….”

“I can see why,” he nodded, “But here,” he hit one of the pictures with the pad of his fingers, “And here,” he tapped another spot, “These translations don’t make sense. It’s definitely Satanic worship, but not by a half breed.”

“Great,” She groaned, “Now its back to the drawing board I guess…” John didn’t really hear the rest of Angela’s sentence, for when he looked up, he was greeted by a familiar face. It was the girl from his dreams again, and of course, the same one he’d met at the convenience store just about two weeks ago.

Since then, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, his troubling dreams had only grown more lucid, and once or twice, he’d even found himself unable to determine if he was actually dreaming until he’d wake up, most times with his heart ready to burst from his chest and his mind a mess. At first, he’d tried to convince himself that meeting her had been a dream too, but now, seeing her walking into the bar, flanked by about four other people, John knew that it was real. She, whoever she was, was real.

And she was absolutely stunning in person, far better than what his mind had managed to conjure up. It wasn’t hard to think that she wasn’t real, John never thought that it was possible for a human to look so……..remarkably flawless. Could humans even be made that perfect? Part of him longed to know her; know who she was, what she was like, why she’d dominated his dreams for months before they’d even crossed paths. But another, though weaker, part urged John to keep his distance, to stay away from her; those dreams had to mean something, and above everything, they meant that she was trouble.

Still, John found himself, sitting in a wooden chair that didn’t really do anything for his back, staring at the girl he’d been losing sleep over as she stood at the bar, getting drinks while her friends claimed a table. She wasn’t wearing scrubs that night, instead, she’d switched them out for a little black dress that ended above her knees, boasting her very nice legs, with capped sleeves and tiny red polka dots about the entire thing. Though his eyes stayed on her, she didn’t look his way for a second, too busy trying to wave over the buzzing bartender.

“Are you even listening to me?” Angela snapped her fingers in front of John’s face, rousing his attention. Meeting her frown, John finished off his drink, not really able to lie and say he had been, considering she was very likely to question him on it, knowing full and well that he wouldn’t have an answer. “What are you looking at?” Angela turned in her chair, trying to see what, or rather who, he was seeing.

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffed gruffly, rolling his whiskey orbs and twirling the empty glass in his hands, “I’m gonna get another drink.”

“Feel free to flirt while you’re at it,” she teased lightly, and he largely ignored her, not even turning Angela’s way as he headed towards the bar.

He’d had every intention of ignoring her, just like he had when she’d turned around to give him one final glance back at the store, but by some unfortunate coincidence, the only empty spot left at the bar just happened to be right next to where she was standing. Slipping in, John maintained his silence, not even looking at the woman as he leaned on the lip of the varnished, wooden bar top, drumming his fingers impatiently. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, though, all she had to do was turn to the side to before her eyes lit up in recognition, “It’s you,” she gasped, taking a tentative step back.

Clearing his throat quietly, John didn’t bother to force a smile, smiling wasn’t really his thing anyway, “It is,” he nodded, “Funny seeing you here,” even if he had absolutely no interest in smiling with her, that didn’t mean he was particularly opposed to seeing her smile.

But, alas, she didn’t. John couldn’t blame her though, passing jokes weren’t really his area of expertise, and she just scrunched her face, “Is it though? I mean, its downtown L.A, you probably see the same person three times a week, it’s just, you almost knocked me over, so you actually remember.”

Rolling his eyes again, John shook his head, avoiding her pretty dark gaze. She had nice eyes. No, nice might have been an understatement, she had gorgeous eyes, so dark and bottomless, almost completely black. If given the opportunity, John thought that he wouldn't mind getting lost in them. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding them so much, because he wanted to mind, because getting lost in her eyes meant he’d have to get to know her, and getting to know her meant letting her in. And his life wasn’t one that allowed for that sort of thing. Besides, he didn’t even know her name.

“You walked into me,” he argued half heartedly, hoping the bartender would make his way to their end soon. The longer he stayed, the more they’d talked, and the more they talked, the more he’d want to know.

“If I remember correctly, I believe you said that it was your fault,” she quipped, a teasing glimmer in her dark pools, and a smirk up turning her lips.

Huffing a chuckle, John sighed in relief when the bartender drew nearer, “I was being polite, don’t make me regret it.”

“What a gentleman,” the woman taunted sarcastically, no malice in her tone, though, it was laced with subtle intrigue, and before John knew it, she was offering her petite hand, “I’m Valerie, Valerie Moore.”

Reluctantly, John took her hand, enclosing it in his larger, calloused one, “John Constantine.” As hard as he tried, it was difficult to pretend that her touch didn’t have an effect on him. Her, Valerie’s, hands were so soft, and John felt like just the slightest haste could hurt them. He could see why she was in the medical field though, he could tell by the scrubs she’d been wearing, with the hospital’s name etched on the breast pocket, her hands felt healing. It was hard to describe how, but quickly, John had imagined that anyone graced by Valerie’s touch would feel better about anything in seconds, he knew he did.

Scrunching her face, Valerie giggled as she reclaimed her hand, and by just her relaxed demeanor, so different from how flustered she’d been at the store, it was obvious that she’d probably been drinking even before getting to the bar, “Like the Roman Emperor?”

Snorting, John squinted his eyes, “What?” He fought a smile, caught off guard by the fact.

Glancing down at their feet, her pale cheeks took on a rosy hue, accentuating her thick dark lashes, “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, her giddy giggles softer, “My dad’s a history teacher and sometimes I just-”

“Hey,” a matronly woman, no doubt years older than Valerie interrupted, gently laying a ring adorned hand on her girl’s bare shoulder. Maybe she was her mother, though it didn’t quite seem like it, surely though, she was someone that cared enough to come check in when Valerie was caught in conversation with a lanky stranger, “Everything okay hun?” The short, plump women looked between them, and it was only then that John realized just how close they’d been standing.

“Huh?” Valerie cast her wide innocent eyes towards her friend, “Yeah, I’m fine Martha, I was talking John’s ear off over here,” her blush deepened. She was so, painfully innocent John thought, girls in L.A weren’t usually like that, so blushy and reserved.

Nodding slowly, Martha gave John a cautious once over, as if determining whether or not he was worth her friend’s company or not, “Okay,” her tone held a skepticism and when the bartender placed a some beers near where they were standing, Martha took a few, only leaving behind one for Valerie, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, but everyone’s right over there. Right Val?”

“Yeah,” she nodded astutely, “I’ll be right over, thanks Martha.” When the older woman was out of earshot, Valerie turned back to him, offering a shy smile and quick blinks. After, she took a quick, tentative sip of her beer, before speaking again, “Sorry about that, Martha’s just…..protective.”

“It’s okay,” John inhaled deeply, vaguely aware of Angela casting him an intrigued stare from their table. He knew she wasn’t jealous or anything of the sort; they’d tried the whole dating thing for a short stint, after he’d started cleaning himself up and she’d had time to properly grieve for her sister, but in the end, had decided that they were much better off as friends. “I should let you get to it,” he got his drink, another finger of whiskey, “Be careful, okay?” John didn’t know why he’d let himself say it, but the urge might have nagged him otherwise. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that Valerie might be in actual danger.

“Um,” stunned, Valerie straightened her back, swallowing thickly, “Yeah okay. It was nice to meet you John,” and before he could return her words, just after her smile faltered, she was turning on the flat heel of her black ballet pump and hurrying off towards the group she’d arrived with, and unlike that night in the store, she didn’t look back.

It was late when Valerie and her friends from the hospital had finally decided to leave the bar, nearly stumbling out onto the sidewalk. “You sure you’re good to drive Val?” Damien, one of the other Nurse practitioners, probed before he could start walking in the direction of his own car.

“Yeah,” already, she was rummaging through her little purse for her keys. Of course, she wasn’t exactly sober, but Valerie didn’t live too far away from the place they’d chosen, it was just about a fifteen minute to her place. “I got this,” she laughed giddily, trying to suppress a stumble as she moved away from the group. The rest of goodbyes were exchanged with an air of skepticism, and her friends seemed reluctant to let her leave, but Valerie was a bit past noticing their worry, eventually shaking them off, slowly staggering towards her car, parked all the way at the top of the street.

Everything was fine, at least for a while until the night chill broke through her thin coat and at some point, the path in front of her started to seem bleary. Worse yet, she was pretty sure that there was someone following her, keeping close the shadows, several feet behind her, their identity shrouded. Unnerved, she sped up, clutching her keys tightly, the metal cool in her palms. Heavy, shallow breaths were hard to contain, and that was when it happened, sending the iciest chill up her spine.

“Precious little Valerie shouldn’t be walking alone. Bad things happen when pretty girls walk alone….” The ragged, hoarse voice seemed closer than it ever had, and then, out from the shadows, merely two or three feet in front of her, was a boy, no older than sixteen, his skin hard and yellow, and his eyes unfocused and glassy.

Half a panicked scream left her quivering lips and Valerie could feel her heart trying to break through her ribs and leap right out of her chest. In an instant the boy…..or whatever was left of his apparently decaying form lunged for her, barely phased when she swung her bag offensively, hitting him square in the jaw. “What the fuck?” She breathed, too frightened to scream as she stumbled, falling back into the damp sidewalk.

Wildly, she kicked him in the face, not caring if her attempts of fighting back were barely buying her time. It couldn’t end that way; she was too young. “Let go of me!” She violently wiggled her leg out of his grasp, scrambling up and trying to run towards her car, her left shoe slipping off in the process, nearly causing her to slip on the slippery concrete.

For a split second, Valerie thought that she might have escaped her nasty faith, but nothing was as unforgiving as whatever was after her. Enraged, it’s high pitch, demented shrill rang out ear piercingly, “No!” It reached for the back of her dress, “Valerie comes with me!”

It was over. It had to be, the teenager from hell had caught her. He was stronger than her, or so she thought, and he was about to drag her to whatever hole he’d crawled out from. But then unthinkable happened, all in a blur; a familiar form leaping out of alongside the darkened store fronts, formerly protected by the darkness, was now fighting her battle for her. And much more efficiently too. In what seemed to be an instant, though might have just been minutes sped up by her adrenaline fueled mind, John ‘not the Roman emperor’ Constantine, had the kid pinned down, splashing what Valerie could only presume to be water, or maybe clear liquor on his face. Really, she didn’t know, but she could tell that it had been enough to weaken him enough, so John could subsequently start reading from a little black book. “Close your eyes,” he growled, taking a minute from his words.

“What?” Confused and scared, it was safe to say that Valerie was having a hard time processing even the simplest instructions.

Taking another quick, very reluctant break, John, more annoyed than ever, simply spat, “Your eyes, close them!”

Without any other reasonable explanation besides not wanting him, or anyone else to viciously attack her, Valerie shut her eyes tight. Her other senses kicked in, working in overdrive, trying to piece together what was going on, though all she could comprehend were John’s continued prayers and then, after a few minutes, a body tackling her, once again knocking to the floor again. It wasn’t the boy though, no, he had smelt disgustingly of sulfur, but this person gave off another aroma; soap, cologne and whiskey. Cracking one eye open, Valerie sighed in relief once her suspicions were confirmed; it was John.

His face hovered less than an inch over hers, lips so close that it would take barely any effort to lean up and kiss him. Their breaths were shared and Valerie could feel John’s hard chest pressing on her breasts, his weight heavy on hers, though, she didn’t think she wanted him to move anyway. His presence and their proximity was so consuming that she hadn’t even noticed the shattered glass surrounding them, pieces caught in her hair, though his larger body shielding her from the worst of it. “You-”

She didn’t get to finish, for the minute that John realized that he was lingering, holding her down for longer than he needed to, he struggled into a standing position, offering his hand to help Valerie do the same. “You need to come with me,” was all he chucked out when they’d just started grasping their bearings, his fingers enclosed around her upper arm, trying to pull her along.

Though, now sobered by her near heart stopping experience, Valerie fought his grip, almost yelping when she saw the boy laying on the ground, looking far different from how he’d been when he attacked her, and the glass from one of the store fronts completely shattered, “What the fuck is going on?” Her hair was wet from some puddle or the other, her clothes were soaked through too and one side of her shoes was still missing. And that was just the physical damage. What was going on in her head was something entirely different.

“I can explain this when you’re safe,” he urged her along, not even phased by her fighting.

Trying to yank her arm away, Valerie refused to give in so easily, “And I’m safe with you? I barely know you. And we can’t just leave that kid on the sidewalk.”

“He wasn’t the one that almost died back there,” his low, gruff voice dripped with annoyance, and Valerie could tell that he really just wanted her to shut up. But how could she with all that was going on?

“What was that back there? What the hell was wrong with that kid? Are you a priest, why were you saying Saint Michael’s prayer?” The questions just tumbled out of her mouth, right as she’d finally wrenched herself from John’s grip.

Finally, realizing that she was too stubborn for them to make it to his car, John slumped his shoulders, begrudgingly giving in. Why’d he have to want to save her so bad? “You speak Latin?”

“What?” She scoffed, folding her arms, “I don’t, and if you’re not going to answer my questions, then I’m going back to my car.”

Turning on her heel, Valerie had just started walking again, when John halted her with a series of brief explanations, “That was a possession, and then an exorcism. That kid was possessed and no, I’m not a priest.” When she turned back to him, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, “Now lets try this again, do you speak Latin? And don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t,” now traded places, with Valerie being the annoyed one, she spoke through gritted teeth, “Why’s that so important to you anyway?”

“You ask so many questions,” he rolled his eyes, “And its important because that’s the only way you would have understood a word of that prayer. Unless you’re a really devout Catholic.”

Taken aback, Valerie’s eyes widened, jaw hanging slack, “I’m not,” she gasped, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d set foot in a church or even prayed. “You…..I….you were…...that was Latin?”

“Well it wasn’t exactly English,” John joked, dry and humorless, only frowning when he noticed her trouble, “But you didn’t know that.” All she managed was a slight shake of her head. “Did you understand what he was saying?”

It couldn’t be. “Yeah,” nothing followed the breathy peep, as Valerie was too busy getting lost in a swirling pool of despair. A demon possessed kid knew her name, tried to kidnap her, and now she could speak dead languages? Maybe she should have just stayed home that night. “What’s…..I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” John grabbed her shoulders, probably thinking it would ground her, Valerie knew the little trick well, it was something she did when patients started freaking out, something about having someone’s comforting touch was centering. “But I might be able to help you, I just need you to trust me, okay?”

Trust him? A man she didn’t know? A man who could probably want her dead, just like some apparent demon.

But his eyes were so sincere, and beneath his cynicism and sarcastic quips, it actually seemed like he cared.

It wasn’t something her father would approve of, and Martha would definitely give her a lecture or two on her naivety, but there she was, thinking that maybe John was exactly who he said he was; someone that could help.

“Okay,” Valerie relented, finally letting John urge her to his car, going wherever he’d take her just so she could have some answers.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea @luxx-aeterna

#keanu reeves #Constantine #john constantine #john constantine x reader #constantine x OFC #keanu reeves x reader #john constantine x you #constantine x reader #constantine x you #constantine 2005 #constantine fanfic #ff #fanfic #keau reeves fanfic #au #heaven hell and you

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janaeekook · 4 years ago

Text

Incapable ii. || {myg}

“You cant love Min Yoongi, he doesn’t know how to love. Or care for that matter. You’ll just end up getting hurt.”

pairing: assassin!yoongi x reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: - mafia - depictions of death -

series masterlist

ii.

"This morning I received this." Namjoon spoke handing his phone around the room.

Unknown- You spill our blood, we spill yours.

"That's for rat face?" You asked,

"Has to be." Jin spoke.

"Taehyung do you think you could pull information from it?" Namjoon asked the tired looking, fluffy haired boy.

"I can try." He took the phone starting to get to work on it.

"Alright, Y/n, Jimin, get A-team together, gather as much information as possible." You both nodded, heading to the east wing to retrieve the 4 members of the A-team, Jeonghan, Jen, Win, and Kai. The members of army bowed to us as we entered, heading to the common room were you found the 4 sitting on the couch.

"Y/n, Jimin." Jeonghan stood quickly bowing which the rest of them followed.

"There's no need for formalities with me." You chuckled hugging him and Kai, You turned to Jen trapping her in a hug, Win who stood next to her smiled at you before you also gave him a hug, "I hope you've all been well, Namjoon gave us a casual intelligence mission."

Jimin handed Jeonghan a manila folder, his eyes skimmed over the pages before his eyes flicked back up to Jimin, "Is this all we have?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Taehyung is working on gathering more remotely, but they're good, they know how to cover their tracks." Jeonghan nodded at Jimin’s words before handing the folder to the other three.

"The Russian mafia? Why would they be in Seoul?" Win asked.

"Wouldnt be much of a mission if we knew right?" You jokingly poked fun at Win, He punched your arm lightly.

"Lets get going as soon as possible, we dont want to waste anytime." Kai said handing the folder back to Jimin.

Jeonghan nodded, "10 minutes, we'll meet at the entrance."

•

You tied your hair back and away from your face before leaving your room and heading for the main staircase, but the second you stepped into the hallway you collided with someone's chest.

The hands gripping your hips lingering longer than they should, the tips of the fingers constricting ever so slightly into your hips. You looked up your breath catching in your throat Yoongi's cold eyes stared back into your own, cheeks ablaze. Your skin all too aware of how he was holding onto your sides before they fell away.

"Uh, sorry." You hurried quickly away from him and down the stairs, not wishing him to know how much power he had over you. Or better yet read you like a book and know you'd fantasized about his hands on you the night before.

Yoongi watched you scurry down the steps. He had felt you shrink beneath his solid gaze, He felt you melt in his grasp, He had felt the control he had over you the brief moment you were in his hands and deep down he wanted more though he'd never admit it.

Jeonghan handed you an earpiece, you put it in your ear before going over the plan, "We're starting downtown dont draw attention to yourselves, you can't forget we're still highly wanted suspects by the government, and keep your eyes open. Understand?"

"Loud and clear." Jen said.

Jimin spoke next, "Alright, Kai and myself will be together, then with Y/n and Jeonghan, Jen and Win do you think you can handle yourselves on your own?" The two only nodded, they were experienced and used to working alone anyway.

You looked to your side peering up at Win, he glanced down at you and smiled. You all did a special handshake you made up years ago in training before heading out the door.

"Hey," a voice stopped you in your tracks, you turned around to see Jungkook, he wore a low V-neck shirt which exposed his tattoos that designed his neck and chest; complimenting the sleeve running down his right arm. You told the others you'd be right out and turned your attention to Jungkook. He was a very attractive young man, you had found yourself tangled up in sheets with him on more than one occasion but nothing had ever been made official, it was more of a stress reliever than anything.

"Hey." You said with a smile which he quickly returned.

"Be safe alright?" He told you.

"Always am." This caused him to smile wider, before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, and without another word you made your way out the door to join the team.

"What's up with that?" Win looked to you with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

"Jungkook?"

"Its nothing." You said with a smile, playfully punching his arm.

"Hey just looking out for you." He said flashing you another priceless smile before climbing into the vehicle. You sighed, following after him.

•

It had been 2 hours since you started to search, you walked around the streets with Jeonghan. He was quite a bit taller than you, he wore a baseball cap that shadowed his face, a man bun tied at the base of his neck due to his long hair.

"That man, all black straight a head." He suddenly stated, his eyes narrowing at the suspicious looking man.

"You got something?" Jen's voice came through the ear piece.

"We're on the main road, it's a bit crowded but I've got my eyes on him, we'll tail him." Jeonghan said, the man was thin, if his behavior weren't so odd you'd probably look right over him. "He just turned left at the bbq shop, he seems to be headed towards the docks."

"Headed that way." Win spoke.

You and Jeonghan reached the corner the man had turned down, Kai and Jimin were there as well. Jeonghan looked around the corner before waving us on.

"Keep your guards up." You spoke in a hushed tone. We all continued down the rather quiet road compared to the bustling road you'd just come from, the dock ahead was old and rundown unlike central ports. An abandoned factory you'd assumed, stood at the end of it, all the windows boarded, moss stretching up the old concrete and rusted metal.

"Well that's not sketchy." Jimin stated from behind you.

"Spread out, surround the perimeter see if there's anything of concern." You suggested and everyone nodded continuing forward before splitting to circle the aged building, Win stayed at the front watching over the building and studying the main entrance.

You walked around, Jeonghan still at your side, The sloshing of the ocean to your right and the monstrous building to your left.

"Anything?" Kai asked through the ear piece.

"Negative, Jen?" Jeonghan said.

"Nothing here."

"It doesn't make sense for there to be nothing, circle back around to Win. Win you have anything at the front?" Jeonghan asked, he was answered with silence, "Win, do you copy?" His question was met with another chilling silence. A blood curdling scream came from the direction we had come, you and Jeonghan looked at each other before taking off in a sprint.

You found Jen on her knees sobbing in front of Win, blood spilled from his throat staining his shirt before it seeped into the fine cracks of the concrete around him, forever stained a rusty red puddled that began to encircle his head. Your stomach lurched at the sight, the choked noises as he tried to find his breath but only finding his blood which was suffocating him slowly. An odd looking weapon still stuck in his chest, ungodly amounts of blood spilling from his fatal wounds, you felt frozen as he choked on his own blood. What could you do? Could you do anything? You felt utterly hopeless, fear clawing at the back of your mind, you didn't want to lose someone else, but what could you do?

You willed yourself to move but your feet didn't budge, Jens hands frantically trying to cover his wounds, to cease the blood from evading his body. Your eyes finally met his, softening upon seeing you, you'd bet you'd looked rather like a deer in headlights. His lips shook as he continually struggled for breath, but he managed to quirk them upwards the slightest bit, as if to tell you it was ok before you watched in horror and unexplainable helplessness as his eyes rolled back into his head, his chest no longer rising and falling, in an attempt to take in stuttered uneven breaths.

"No." You whispered, not wanting to believe the sight before you.

"No." It couldn't be Win.

"No." There was no way he could be dead.

Your mind couldn't process it; that he now laid there, no light, no life behind his eyes. Gone. Warmth fading from his skin.

Jen wrapped her arms around his body, You took stumbled steps towards her pulling her up into your chest, She continued to sob, gripping at the back of your shirt with her blood stained hands. Win had been with us for as long as you could remember, you stared at his pale face before allowing a single tear to fall. You looked around for any sign of the person who'd taken your friends life.

"I-Its my fault! I-I sh-should've stayed with him." Jen cried into your chest, you closed your eyes more tears slipping over your cheeks.

"No, Its not your fault. None of us could've known." You spoke softly into her ear, stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her down. When in reality your mind was just as frantic as hers, you mind begging for Wins eyes to open and tell you he was alright.

But he wasn't, the blood being evidence to that. It was real. Painfully, brutally real.

"We need to get him out of here." You told Jimin still holding onto Jen.

"I'll call Jungkook." Jimin said, his face seemed as shocked as the rest of us. No one had ever been able to sneak up on Win before or land an attack on their own, the person who did this had to have been very skilled.

•

You sat silently in the passenger seat, Jungkook driving. When Jimin had called him he thought it had been you that got hurt, although he was relieved, he had just lost another brilliant gunman. It was only the two of you in the car, the others had been taken in another one.

"You alright?" He finally broke the silence, his tone was soft.

"Ya, nothing I haven't seen before." You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to bite back the tears that threatened to spill.

"It was Win, y/n." His tone dropped lower, you didn't want to respond for fear of your voice breaking. When you joined, you spent most of your time with Win, Jeonghan, Jen and Kai. They were your best friends and they got you through a lot.

It was quiet the rest of the way home, when Jungkook pulled up you jumped out walking up the steps and pushing the door open. You headed straight for the stairs not acknowledging the eyes of everyone on you as you came through the door.

"Y/n." You looked over your shoulder to see Jungkook and the others looking at you, "Where are you going?"

"Bed."

"It's 3 o'clock, Y/n." His tone remained soft.

"I'm tired." You stated, mentally cursing at yourself for allowing your voice to break. You hurried up the steps and to your room, shutting the door behind you and sliding down the dark wood as your body shook with each silent sob that racked your body.

•

"Y/n? Why didn't you save me?" The blood ran from his throat, soaking his all white clothing in dark crimson.

"I-I'm Sorry."

"Do you know what it feels like to have your throat slit?"

"N-no."

"Maybe I should show you then-"

You screamed yourself awake, it carried through the whole house. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you sobbed, the crown of your head littered with beads of sweat as anxiety ripped at you. The door to your bedroom swung open. Jungkook was the first one in followed by your brother and the others. Namjoon's eyes softened at the sight of you, he hurried over pulling you into a hug.

"Shhh, it's ok." He caressed you're hair in a soothing way.

"J-joonie, it was awful."

"It was just a dream, you're safe." He whispered, you looked over his shoulder, everyone's faces filled with worry, even Yoongi. You let your glistening eyes linger on his, "Get some rest ok?" Namjoon asked, pulling himself away from the embrace, you grabbed his wrist.

"Stay."

He sighed, "I've got work to do, y/n." You pouted.

"I can stay." Jungkook spoke from behind Namjoon, who now looked at Jungkook questioningly, "I'll watch over her."

"Is that alright?" Namjoon turned whispering to you, You nodded, he gave your hand a squeeze and smiled sadly at you. He remembered you getting nightmares when you were younger, and having to hold you until you fell back asleep, he wished he could be there for you like back then but his work called. He lead everyone out of the room to continue their prior activities. When the door had shut Jungkook immediately climbed into the bed next to you, propping his elbow on the pillow next to yours, resting his head in his hand.

"You alright?" He asked, you laid on your back staring at the ceiling.

"It was just a bad dream." You told him, not wanting to elaborate. He simply hummed in understanding, "did you get any information off the weapon?" You asked quietly fiddling with the sheets in your hand.

"We don't have to talk about that, y/n." He spoke soothingly.

"I want to know, Jungkook, please." You turned your head to look him in the eye, letting him know you were serious.

"Well, while you were asleep, I began to analyze it. It's an oddly shaped knife, the letters N-C-T were carved into the handle. They seemingly want us to know who they are, but the question we're trying to figure out now is, why?"

"N-C-T? Who are they?" You questioned but Jungkook shrugged.

"Beats me, they seem to be another group and we can't underestimate them anymore," He spoke as he played with the ends of your hair, "You should get some more sleep."

You nodded, though deep down you knew you'd wouldnt be able to fall back asleep; That your subconscious would only torment you. He put his arm around your body, your mind wandering, feeling miles away from your physical body. The thoughts left in your mind turned over again and again; Who was NCT? What are they looking for? What are they trying to prove?

taglist: @art-myg @hwaddict @ahgasearmyfan @gee-nee @janeelizabeth1216 @elliegrace1999tvd @sunnynxy @boba-king-iroh @deathkat657

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minuteminx · 4 years ago

Text

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Five: Old Appalachia

Chapter Summary: Charlie's not sure she's cut out for the Commonwealth, but fate thinks otherwise.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“By being natural and sincere, one often can create revolutions without having sought them.” ― Christian Dior

Outskirts of Concord, December 2287

Charlie had always been somewhat of an idealist. She had to be, growing up in bumfuck Appalachia in a family just high enough above the poverty line that the government wasn’t legally required to offer financial assistance. Her dad was an overworked, underpaid line worker in some automotive factory, and despite never once stepping foot in a coal mine, he carried his ancestors’ resentment toward anything and everything “nucular,” as he called it. He’d always pop off with these wild conspiracy theories about atom bombs and the end of times. It seemed laughably prophetic now.

Her mom had stayed at home, reading books to her and her little brother, and promising them they could change the world if they wanted to. It was those words that kept Charlie going, pushed her towards that Ph.D. that had seemed so monumental back then, so important. Now, as she stomped around an irradiated wasteland, caked in blood and aching from head to toe, she realized how fruitless it had all been. All those years training to help other people only to spend over two centuries in cryostasis and wake up unable to even help herself.

Thank God for Preston. She didn’t know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t almost died trying to help him at Concord. She really had no business in a suit of power armor or holding a minigun and fighting a fifteen-foot tall lizard. Even nearly two months later, she couldn’t come up with a single logical reason why she volunteered so readily. Was she now going to throw her life away just because a friendly face asked her to? She laughed at herself. Probably.

Charlie found herself doing a lot of things simply because Preston asked her to. Grueling, difficult tasks like “eating enough,” “staying hydrated,” and “getting a good night’s sleep.” He drove a hard bargain, that Garvey. What did he take her for anyway? Someone stable?

In the past month, he’d been taking time away from the laundry list of other things he had on his plate, just to teach her some excruciatingly basic Commonwealth survival skills. She’d learned the names of all the things that could possibly kill her: Raiders, Gunners, zombie-like creatures called feral ghouls, supermutants, various types of wildlife threats, and radiation. Everything was irradiated, from the food to the water to the thunderstorms . At this rate, she just figured she was either going to die or grow an extra ear on her forehead. It was a tossup.

She’d also asked Preston to help her learn to protect herself. She didn’t like the idea of guns or violence or any of it, but it was foolish to walk through Hell defenseless. He tried so hard to teach her to shoot one of those god awful laser muskets, but it took too long to ready a shot that she was inevitably going to miss anyway. He had eventually given up on trying, and instead placed a 10mm in her hand. It was nicer than the one she’d used in Concord, with glow sights and an extended mag. Apparently Sturges had fixed it up for her. She was beginning to believe there was nothing that man couldn’t do with a roll of duct tape and half an hour.

“MS. CHARLOTTE!”

Charlie jumped as Codsworth abruptly hovered in front of her face. She’d almost forgotten the Mr. Handy unit had accompanied her on an assignment for Preston, out in Lexington. Once she’d shown some proficiency with a weapon, he thought it would be good practice for her to take out a “small” band of Raiders who were troubling a nearby settlement. It was not small, and while she dealt with the issue and convinced the Tenpines settlers to throw their lot in with the Minutemen, Codsworth knew she’d not gotten out of the ordeal unscathed.

“What, Codsworth,” she asked, more annoyed than he deserved.

“Mum! Oh thank goodness you responded,” the robot exclaimed giddily floating about in front of her, “You have been staring off into nothing for the past hour of our journey despite my efforts to entertain you with conversation.”

She had not noticed him speaking once, well, at least not since he’d mentioned Nate and Shaun when they’d passed by the rusty remains of a playground. Maybe she’d tuned him out after that. “Sorry Codsworth. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Are you aware that you are bleeding?”

“What?” Charlie glanced down to the large tear in her vault suit, and the blood pouring from a bullet wound in her thigh. She hadn’t even felt it since she used one of those stimpak syringes. She’d almost forgotten she had it. “ Shit. ”

“Such language, mum! Hardly befitting of a lady of your stature.”

“Find me a lady of any stature who doesn’t curse when she’s been shot in the leg,” Charlie quipped, grunting as she sat down to redress the wound, “Do you still have that gauze you picked up at the plant?”

“Yes, of course,” came his quick reply as he produced a bundle of cleanish gauze in one of his metal arms, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking the cloth from him and beginning to work, wrapping it tightly around her leg. She just needed something to stop the bleeding until they made it back to Sanctuary. They weren’t too far now, maybe a mile or so from the bridge.

Once she found her amateur wound dressing to be suitable, Charlie continued on back to the settlement, Codsworth prattling on endlessly about the bliss of pre-war life. She understood where he was coming from. That didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.

She stopped suddenly in her tracks when she spotted movement ahead of them, off to the side of the dirt road. It looked like a man in raider leathers, digging for something.

“What is it, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked loudly and without an ounce of tact.

Charlie shushed him, but it was too late, the man had already heard them, rising to his feet and moving his hand to draw his weapon. She didn’t let him have the chance, firing several rounds into his chest before he could. She hated that she was getting good at that.

She approached the body, prone and lifeless, and knelt down, beginning to rifle through his pockets for anything useful: ammo, stimpaks, caps . Yes, caps . If anyone had told her that in the future the formal currency would be Nuka Cola bottle caps, she wouldn’t have tossed so many of them in the recycling bin.

It wasn’t until she looked up that she noticed that there was another body, a young woman lying in a shallow grave also donning the signature raider attire. Her arms were crossed ceremoniously across her chest, hubflowers scattered across and around her body. Charlie looked down at the man she’d just killed and remembered that he had been digging.

She felt sick. In her mind, she conjured an entire tragic scene in which a poor, mourning raider had simply been trying to bury a loved one and was startled by the obnoxious shouting British robot. When he reached for his gun, just a reflex, he’d been shot in the chest by some cagey redhead with an itchy trigger finger. If she’d only paid more attention, she might have noticed sooner and she and Codsworth could have taken a wider arc around the man. He wouldn’t have had to die.

Pocketing her looted items, she holstered her gun and bent down to pick up the shovel, starting first by filling in the grave of the lady raider. It was the least she could do.

“Pardon me, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked, attempting to be gentle, “What are you doing?”

She sniffed her nose, fighting back the tears she wanted to cry, and pointed the shovel at the woman. “He was just trying to bury her.”

Charlie swore she could hear the gears in Codsworth’s massive metal head clicking and smoking as he tried to make sense of her behavior. After a moment, he spoke. “Need I remind you that these scoundrels would have murdered us on sight?”

She shook her head and stuck the shovel into the dirt. “Doesn’t matter.”

As she worked, her memory was flooded with painful, frozen flashes from the vault. Images of the callous man who killed Nate and stole her baby, of Nate’s stiff, frozen body that still lay in the cryochamber, perfectly preserved with the exception of the fatal gunshot wound in his chest. Charlie had opened the chamber, hoping she could save him, or at the very least say goodbye, but he was already gone. She’d slipped the wedding ring from his finger and left him there, entombed along with the rest of her neighbors who unwittingly signed themselves up for a sick science project. When Preston learned what had happened in 111, he offered to help her lay everyone to rest properly, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t stomach the idea of walking back into that frozen hell.

She could, however, offer some absolution to this Raider.

“I’m going to bury him next to her,” she announced, looking at Codsworth before moving over several feet and beginning to dig a new plot.

The robot protested with an exasperated huff. “I applaud your sentimentality, mum, but it is getting quite late. At this rate it will be completely dark before we return to Sanctuary Hills.

“If you want to go on ahead, you can,” Charlie said with a dismissive wave up the road, “Tell Preston I’ll be along shortly.” “Perish the thought,” Codsworth retorted, properly offended. “I will not abandon you to the wasteland at night. Just… do please hurry.”

Charlie worked as fast as she could, but her body was weary from her days of journeying and fighting, so digging and filling in the grave had taken longer than it should have. When she finally finished, the clock on her PipBoy read “23:00,” and the sky was completely dark, well except for the stars. They, at least, had survived the apocalypse.

It was after midnight before Charlie hobbled across the bridge and into Sanctuary Hills, Codsworth zooming past her, a cacophony of buzzing and whirring and shouting for Preston. At this rate he was going to wake up the entire settlement. She managed to make it over to the home where Sturges had set up his workshop, and flopped herself down on the concrete with a grunt. The effects of the stimpak had worn off, and with the bullet still lodged firmly in her leg, it hadn’t healed entirely and it throbbed like a bitch.

There was a hurried rustle of footsteps, accompanied by Codsworth’s voice complaining about how she’d “foolishly buried some raiders against all good judgement.” If anyone needed a chill pill, it was that robot.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Codsworth,” Preston said, a gentle laugh falling off the ends of his words, “I’ll handle it from here.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Garvey. I apologize for my mistress’ recklessness.” His words were pointed and Charlie couldn’t believe she was being tattled on by her own Mr. Handy. He zoomed off to busy himself with the fruitless task of trying to restore their old home.

Preston shook his head, and continued to laugh as he approached Charlie, “Man, that machine is something else.”

“No joke,” came Charlie’s weak reply, as she attempted to adjust herself to sit more comfortably.

“Whoa,” Preston exclaimed and rushed to her side. “You okay?

He hadn’t noticed the wound, and for whatever reason Charlie didn’t want him to. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He frowned, warm brown eyes flicking down to the blood seeping through the gauze on her leg, and then looked back up at her. He smiled, but she could tell he was worried. “That’s funny, ‘cause you don’t look too fine.”

“I beg your pardon,” she bantered. Deflection. She couldn’t stand the way his concerned expression made her feel. “I know I’m not a supermodel or anything but--”

“Charlie.”

She faltered under his gaze, tears immediately bubbling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and fought them back before speaking. “There were more Raiders than we thought. Codsworth and I got overwhelmed and I got shot in the leg, but I’m fine. People get shot around here all the time, right?”

“We try to avoid getting shot,” he remarked, his exasperation not quite as shrill as Codsworth’s, “How many raiders were there?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty.”

“Jesus.” He rose to his feet and walked over to the metal cabinets just past one of the workbenches. He knelt and opened one of the doors, reaching far back inside. He emerged with a full fifth of Old Appalachia and a medical kit that was, like everything else in the world, held together by duct tape. He returned to his previous position at Charlie’ side and sat down making an almost concerted effort to make eye contact. “You know I wouldn’t have sent you out by yourself if I’d--”

“This isn’t your fault, Preston.” She lay a hand on his arm, and offered him a smile. “If anything it’s mine for rolling in the front entrance, guns blazing.”

He laughed. “Man, you’ve got to be more careful.”

“No promises.” Charlie lifted her hand from his arm and pointed to the bottle of whiskey. “What’s that for?”

“You,” Preston answered, picking it up and handing it to her, “We have to get this bullet out of you before it gets infected, and you’re going to want something to dull the pain. So, start drinking.”

“Say no more.” Popping open the bottle, she kicked back a long, burning swig. The whiskey tasted like home and two-hundred years ago. She watched as he opened up the medical kit and dug through the items inside. “Have you ever done this before?”

“What? Dug out a bullet,” he asked, bitter smirk on his lips, “Yeah. More times than I would have liked. Like you said, people get shot around here all the time.”

Charlie took another drink and swallowed hard, the alcohol not working fast enough to keep her pulse from jumping at the sight of metal tweezers and rubbing alcohol. “How bad does it hurt?”

Preston laughed again, glancing over at her this time. “Bad.”

“Well… that’s comforting.”

“I’m just being honest,” he explained, positioning himself so that he had a good look at her affected leg. He took his gloves off and looked up at her, “May I?” She nodded nervously, and watched as he unwound the bandage and cut away the remaining pieces of vault suit. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the injury until now, and she was thankful that the bullet seemed to be of a small caliber, like those that turrets fired, and wasn’t lodged too deeply. Under the bright lamplight, she could see it’s dull metal reflection. Preston sighed in relief, most likely noticing the same thing.

That it would hurt “bad” had been an honest understatement. Even after several shots worth of whiskey, the sharp burning pain of alcohol and tweezers pulling the bullet from her thigh was enough to make her light headed. Even Preston’s gentleness couldn’t spare her that much, and she squirmed and held her breath just to keep from screaming and waking up the others. When it was all said and done, she was trembling, out of breath, and sobbing like a child.

“Congratulations,” Preston said softly as he began to dress the now clean wound, “You survived your first Commonwealth surgery.”

Charlie let out a weary laugh and let her head fall back against the wall behind her, looking up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. “Thanks, doc.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was a long pause in which she heard him inhale as if he were going to say something, and then exhale as if he thought better of it. She brought her eyes down to him, effects of the alcohol really hitting her, along with the endorphin high. “Something on your mind?”

He stopped what he was doing to meet her gaze. “Why’d you go to all that trouble to bury those raiders?”

“I…” She began, but hesitated, worried that he’d disapprove of her compassion for members of a group that’d terrorized him for days on end at Concord, who killed some of his friends. “I thought it was the right thing to do. When we walked up on him he was in the middle of burying a comrade. He’d spread flowers over her and everything…”

She choked on the last words and trailed off, but Preston seemed to understand, as he nodded and went back to dressing her wound.

“I feel sorry for them sometimes too,” he admitted, as he tied a neat knot in the bandage, “They might be messed up, but they’re still people.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded.

“You’re a good person,” he stated, eyes fixing on hers. “I’m… I’m glad you decided to stick around.”

Her face became hot. It must have been the whiskey finally getting to her, she told herself. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for her to get all flustered over a compliment. She carelessly let her hand fall on his arm again. “Me too.”

Charlie awoke the next day, more afternoon than morning, tucked neatly into a bed that she could scarcely remember crawling into. In fact, everything from the time Preston had finished dressing her wound was blurry and she made a mental note to avoid the Old Appalachia from now on, or at least to refrain from drinking half a fifth in one sitting. She crawled out from beneath the thin blanket and sat up, leg aching more than it had since she’d gotten shot. Damn.

Glancing down, she noticed she was wearing a pair of faded jeans that were too short for her and an old white tee that exposed her navel when she raised her arms to stretch and yawn. They were not her clothes, and she’d no idea whose clothes they were, or how she got out of her vault suit and into them. She snorted out a laugh at the thought of poor Preston fumbling around in the dark trying to help her change. She doubted that’s what happened, but her memory was too fuzzy to say it hadn’t.

Across the room, folded neatly atop her dresser was a familiar blue and yellow fabric, and she hopped up-- too quickly, wincing at the pain in her leg-- and limped over to take a look. Picking it up and unfolding it, it took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t her whole vault suit anymore, missing an entire bottom half, and split open down the front. She also noticed that there were neatly stitched seams along the edges. A jacket? Someone had gone to the effort of making a jacket from her vault suit and she didn’t even know who to thank.

She slipped one arm in and then the other. It fit like a glove, a much more comfortable, less skin-tight glove than it had previously. A quiet knock on the doorframe nearby drew Charlie’s attention and she darted her head up to see Marcy standing in the doorway, smirk in place of her signature scowl. Suddenly, Charlie remembered.

“I’m glad it fits,” Marcy said as she looked Charlie up and down. Preston had woken the other woman up the night before to ask if she had anything Charlie could wear. Marcy had cursed and complained, but ended up shooing him away and helped her get changed and into bed. Apparently she was also the culprit behind Charlie’s new jacket. “Couldn’t salvage the whole thing.”

“You did this,” Charlie asked, examining the sleeves.

“Yep,” Marcy stated, looking down at the ground as if she was embarrassed, “Couldn’t get back to sleep after Garvey woke me up, and figured it might be good to have. Considering none of my clothes are quite long enough for your beanpole ass.”

Charlie laughed, and tugged at the bottom of the t-shirt. “Thanks, Marcy.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. I still think you’re useless,” Marcy retorted with a huff, but it was clear she didn’t mean what she said. “And I want my clothes back as soon as you find something else to wear.”

Charlie nodded, and Marcy turned to walk away, but stopped and pivoted back around on her heel, pointing an index finger at her. “Mama’s been waiting for you to wake up. She found some Jet this morning and is off her rocker talking about some bright glowing heart shit. Just a heads up.”

Before Charlie could even say her thanks, Marcy was gone. Turning her attention back to herself, she realized she had no clue where she’d left her PipBoy. She scanned the room, and saw it sat on the floor near her boots. Picking it up and examining it for damage, she fastened it to her wrist and then slipped on her boots before heading out into the hallway.

It was a bit disorienting at first. She wasn’t in the place where she normally slept, instead she stood in the house that had become the common area for all of the settlers. She must’ve been too woozy and injured to make it farther into the cul de sac. She turned to her left and spied Mama Murphy in the open living room, sitting in her specially crafted chair, feet dangling happily just a few inches from the ground.

“Hey kid,” she hollered, motioning for Charlie to come closer, and Charlie obliged, secretly hoping that her doped up insight would give more answers about where Shaun had been taken.

“Mornin’ Mama,” Charlie answered and made her tedious way over to the old woman and sat down on the sofa near her.

“The Sight,” Mama croned, “It’s shown me more about your boy, your sweet boy.”

Charlie winced, unsure if she wanted to know now, but leaned forward and took the old woman’s outstretched, weathered hand. “What is it,” she pleaded.

Just as Marcy said, Mama Murphy recited a prophecy about Diamond City, and people with chained up hearts refusing to provide Charlie with answers about her son’s whereabouts. With the exception of one. One heart that would lead her way, “so bright against the dark alleys it walks.” It didn’t make sense, but she’d never been to Diamond City, didn’t have enough information to even begin to decipher it.

“What does that mean,” she asked clumsily

Mama smiled, and shook her head. “Beats me, Kid. I only know what the Sight shows me. Maybe you get me some mentats, maybe I--”

“Now, Mama,” grumbled a familiar voice nearby, Charlie followed the old woman’s gaze to where it had been preemptively fixed on the door Sturges had just entered, face covered with smudges of oil, “You know Ms. Charlie’s not gonna fall for any of that nonsense.”

She shrugged. “Meh, you never know, Sturge. Seems like she wants to find her boy.”

“Not sure the boss would like it too much if he knew you were abusin’ her good graces,” Sturges scolded her playfully as he popped open a bottle of Nuka Cola, and sat the cap in a pile with others on the counter.

“Preston's not my boss,” Mama scoffed, and then turned back to Charlie, “He’s waiting for you though, kid.”

“Preston?” Charlie asked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Me? Why?

Mama and Sturges exchanged a glance before Sturges spoke up. “Don’t really know to be honest. He doesn’t really say much about how he’s feelin’, but he’s been worried ever since you left.”

“He sees your promise,” Mama chimed in, “He sees what I see.”

Even with the analgesic effects of a newly injected stimpak, walking the length of the neighborhood had proven to be a slow, awkward process for Charlie. Her leg was weak, throbbing, and numb, but at least it still worked. At least she was still alive.

The more time she had to think about her escapade at Corvega, the more she realized how she’d survived on nothing but pure, unadulterated luck. She’d seen it in Preston’s eyes the night before, his bewilderment that she’d managed to take down a raider gang of that size. She’d also seen his guilt, as if he intended to blame himself for something that had not happened. For all she knew of him, that was normal. Whatever had happened before she ran into him and the others in Concord really did a number on the guy.

Charlie heard him before she saw him, humming and making an effort to tune a two hundred year-old guitar. A smile twitched on her lips, heart warming at the sight of him sat on a rusty patio chair, surrounded by an audience of lawn flamingos. He had his hat off and laying on the table. In her two months of knowing him, she’d never seen him so relaxed.

“Your G’s a little sharp there Garvey,” she called out to him playfully as she made her way over and sat down in the chair across from him, propping her good leg up on the table. He didn’t flinch or show any other signs of surprise at her approach, and continued to fiddle with the guitar.

“I know,” he answered, tearing his eyes away from the instrument to look up at her, “I can’t get the damn thing to cooperate.”

“It is at least a couple of centuries old.”

He sat the guitar down and turned to face her more squarely. It was the first time she could remember getting a good look at him with his hat off. Objectively, of course, he was handsome, with soft features and a smile that he definitely knew how to use to his benefit. Preston was nice. He wasn’t naive. How could he have been, growing up in a world like the one she’d woken up in? The scar that ran from temple to cheekbone on the left side of his face was more prominent than it had seemed before, masked in shadows. It looked like an old wound, and she wondered how he’d gotten it.

“Well,” he said, amusement plain on his face, “Being a couple centuries old hasn’t stopped you.”

“It certainly tried,” she replied, ignoring the knots in her stomach and back of her mind telling her it might have been better if it had stopped her. “Damn near got the better of me at that plant.”

Preston nodded and let out a breath. “About that… how are you feeling?”

Charlie looked down at her injured leg and then back up at him. “Like shit,” she stated, “But I suppose that’s better than the alternative.”

“That’s for sure,” he said, sort of absentmindedly, gaze seeming unfocused and off in the distance. There was a long, heavy pause before he spoke again. “I don’t think I ever got around to saying thank you last night. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us since Concord. Without your help...well, I’m not sure we would have made it.”

“I…”Charlie began, but trailed off, “You’re welcome, Preston.”

There was another pause and he leaned forward and grabbed his hat, tracing his fingers across the brim. “I know that I told you I’m one of the last Minutemen, but I don’t think I ever mentioned how it ended up that way.”

She shrugged. “I figured you would tell me when you were ready to talk about it.”

“I’ve started calling it the Quincy Massacre,” he said somberly.

“Quincy. That’s where you and the others are from, right?”

“That’s right,” he answered, “Sturges, Mama Murphy, and the Longs all lived in Quincy when the Minutemen got a call for help dealing with some Gunners who’d been scouting the area. I went with Colonel Hollis, my commanding officer at the time, and several others to answer the call. It all went downhill after that.”

Unsteadily, Preston opened up to her, explaining how his contingent had been the only to arrive, and their numbers were too few to handle an assault by the much more heavily armed Gunners. Colonel Hollis had called for help, only for a traitorous Minutemen veteran named Clint to show up and lead the Gunners right through the gates. Preston told her how he had to watch settlers and his own comrades die, helpless and running through the streets. He’d made a knee jerk decision to evacuate, and take as many survivors with him as he could along the way. Apparently, that wasn’t where the trouble had ended though. He and his group traveled for over a month without finding anywhere safe to settle, facing disaster after disaster until finally getting trapped up in the museum at Concord.

The story was heartbreaking, but to watch Preston tell it was even more so. Charlie could tell that he blamed himself for each and every loss that happened under his leadership. He wore his guilt all over his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said softly, “And I’m glad that I showed up when I did, although I really have no idea how I managed to do… all of that.”

“It’s almost like it’s fate... or something,” he muttered. His words were followed by an embarrassed laugh and a shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe his own mouth. “Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time around Mama.”

“Hey.” Charlie laughed, and slid her leg off the table, leaning forward to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Hope’s addictive. Just like the chems.”

Preston sighed. “Damn it if that’s not the truth.”

“Also, I think the old loon might be onto something,” she added, tapping a finger to her temple, “The only reason I limped out to this end of the settlement to see you was because Mama said you wanted to talk to me, something about you seeing my promise?”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said appearing genuinely surprised, as if Mama Murphy’s clairvoyance was something new, “She’s out here stealing all of my thunder.”

The way he looked at her, as if she held the entirety of his hope in her trembling hands, made her shift uncomfortably. The weight of Mama Murphy’s words now settled on her shoulders like a lead blanket. She had never been one to believe in coincidences, but it was hard to accept that any of this was her destiny.

She cleared her throat, attempting to be nonchalant. “So, what’s this promise of mine everyone is so certain of?”

“The Commonwealth desperately needs the Minutemen,” Preston explained, “Now more than ever, and I plan to rebuild them stronger and more organized, without all of the petty squabbles and infighting that have plagued our history.”

“Sounds like you just need to find a good leader,” Charlie remarked, feeling helpful.

Preston eyed her intently and she suddenly regretted her words. “Exactly,” he said with a grin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she protested, waving her hands in front of her in a panic, “You’re not suggesting that I should lead the Minutemen, are you?”

“I am.”

“On what qualifications?” She was nearly shrieking. “I know next to nothing about the organization, it’s history. I can barely hold my own in a fight. I--”

“Charlie,” Preston remarked, rather directly, “The Minutemen aren’t an army. We’re citizen soldiers, people of the Commonwealth banded together to protect ourselves and decide our own futures. We fell apart because our leadership forgot what we stood for, but you could bring us back together, bring the whole Commonwealth together.”

“Why me?” Charlie was flattered at his faith in her but so confused. “Why not you, or anyone else?”

“You helped us at Concord and every day since, without anything in it for you,” he explained, “You had your own problems to deal with and you helped us anyway. Hell, you even won Marcy over. That kind of compassion and selflessness has been in short supply around here for a long time.”

“Preston, I am flattered by all of this, but I’m not sure I can take on that kind of responsibility right now.”

“Listen,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile, “If you really don’t feel like you’re up to it, I’m not going to twist your arm. I get that it’s hard to deal with other people’s problems when you’ve got your own.”

Charlie pondered for a moment, and asked, “What would I have to do?”

“Just what you’ve been doing,” he answered as if it were obvious as day, “Help people. Recruit. Spread hope. And I’ll be behind you every step of the way.”

She couldn’t deny that it was tempting. As much of a mess as she was herself, she was compelled to help others. If anything, it could give her something to focus on, a sense of purpose, a way to use her skill set. She brought her eyes up to meet his, chased away the nagging doubts in her head, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

“Well, the leader of the Minutemen has always held the title of General, and since I’m the last of the Minutemen, there’s no one here to argue with me when I say it belongs to you now.”

“So I’m General Smart now?” Charlie laughed at the complete absurdity of the situation. Leading a bunch of neo-colonials to resettle Massachusetts wasn’t exactly how she pictured her life turning out. “Does that mean I get a cute little hat?”

Preston returned her laughter, relief washing over his face at her decision. “If you want one, General, then absolutely.”

Perhaps her mother had been right all of those years ago. Maybe she really could change the world.

#preston garvey #fallout 4 #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #revolutionary #fanfic #my writing

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libralita · 4 years ago

Text

Way of Kings Reread

This is my post Rhythm of War reread so if you don’t want spoilers for Rhythm of War then come back later. These are essentially just the notes I took during this read through so things like “Szeth is darkeyed” isn’t really stellar commentary but there are a few interesting things in here. Also this reread was like…very sporadic so I probably missed things.

“A man with a long grey and black beard slumped in the doorway, smiling foolishly—though whether from wine or a weak mind, Szeth could not tell.

‘Have you seen me?’ the man asked with slurred speech. He laughed then began to speak in gibberish, reaching for a wineskin.”—Page 23

Oh god, it’s Jezrien. Nooooo.

I’m curious to see how Humans being voidbringers plays into Szeth’s punishment.

“Occasionally, light would flash without the thunder. The slaves would groan in terror at this, thinking about the Stormfather, the shades of the Lost Radiants, or the Voidbringers—all of which were said to haunt the most violent highstorms.”

Interesting that they’re called the “shades”, perhaps referring to cognitive shadows?

“Talenelat’Elin, bearer of all agonies.”

Wait…do people know about Taln?

“This room is called the Veil…That which comes before the Palanaeum itself. Both were here when the city was founded. Some think these chambers might have been cut by the Dawnsingers themselves.”

First of all, Veil, haha. Second, interesting bit of lore.

“Thaylens had their own systems of rank.”

I’d like to know what it is.

It’s very interesting that philosophy and history are feminine arts and yet the merchant is still trying to sell Shallan on a romance novel

I wonder if Yalb still has his drawing. It was probably ruined so that sucks.

“There, she used all her remaining sphere to fill of all nine colors and all three sizes.”

Hmmmmmmmm. Nine and three. Interesting

“Then he’d have someone to talk to in Damnation. They could reminisce about how terrible Bridge Four had been, and agree that eternal fires were much more pleasant.”

K…Kaladin please don’t joke about that.

“His ways were odd—though Lirin made certain that his son didn’t mix up the Heralds and the Lost Radiants, Kal had heard his father say that he thought the Voidbringers weren’t real. Ridiculous.”

RIP

“He reached the base of the slop, wind-driven rain pelting his face as if trying to shove him back toward the camp.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“She looked exhausted. ‘These things are heavy!’ She lifted the leaf. ‘I brought it for you!’”

I love her so much I could cry.

Szeth is a dark eyed.

We need to get the void sphere back.

“It was fairly ordinary, a simple piece of rock with a few quartz crystals set into it and a rusty vein of iron on one side.”

Iron.

“‘Today,’ King Elhokar announced, riding beneath the bright open sky, ‘is an excellent day to slay a god. Wouldn’t you say’”

Owwwwwwwwww my heart

“One might say that gods, as a rule, should fear the Althei nobility. Most of us at least.”

Y’know…Sadeas has a point

Actually they should probably fear Taravangian.

Sadeas wears red plate. I always imagine him in green.

Shardplate is naturally slate gray. I wonder if it’s the same color as what your limbs go if they’re cut by a shardblade. Hmmmm.

“Adolin found himself wishing, passionately, that his father would do a little more these days to live up to that reputation.”

Adolin, sweet pie, NO

I miss Elhokar so much

Also the Thrill of Contest, that’s interesting.

“I felt like a youth again, chasing after your father on some ridiculous challenge.”

Dalinar, we all know that it was Gavilar chasing you

“There was someone watching me in the darkness that night.”

My poor baby…

“‘I defy you, creature!’ Elhokar screamed. ‘I claim your life! They will see their gods crushed, just as they will see their king dead at my feet! I defy you!’”

Elhokar…

“Adolin—stalwart as always—had dismounted beside the king. He tried to stop the claws, striking at them as they fell. Unfortunately, there were four claws and only one of Adolin.”

Hmmmm, Adolin v 4 is becoming a pattern.

“Dalinar should have been there to defend him. Only two things remained of his beloved brother, two things that Dalinar could protect in a hope to earn some form of redemption: Gavilar’s kingdom and Gavilar’s son.”

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Let me first assure you that the element is quite safe. I have found a good home for it. I protect its safety like I protect my own skin, you might say.”

It has been ten years and I still have no idea what this means.

“Kaladin punched Moash right in the gut, where he knew it would wind him. Moash gasped in shock, doubling over, and Kaladin stepped forward to grab him by the legs, slinging Moash over his shoulder.”

Ahhhhh I could read this paragraph over and over again.

“He worked himself ragged. In fact, he felt close to collapsing several times, but every time he did, he found a reserve of strength from somewhere.”

I wonder where.

“Rockbuds had opened nearby, their vines reaching out to lap up the beast’s blood.”

Gross.

Insult his son and the Blackthorn will peek through

“I had…things to be about.”

I don’t like the way Wit said that.

“You going to do Alethkar a favor and rid it of both of us?”

That is a very interesting line for Wit to say…Also concerning. Wit what are you up to?

It’s very interesting that without Sadeas and Gavilar, Dalinar has to learn how to be a politician. It’s clear that both men maneuver others while Dalinar is blunt force. Good character development, I really love it as a political scientist.

“Brother, follow the Codes tonight. There is something strange upon the winds.”

Hmmmmmmmmm, I think Gavilar was planning his death.

“We’d protect Gavilar’s son. No matter what the cost, no matter what other things came between us, we would protect Elhokar.”

…Would…Elhokar have died if Sadeas was still alive?

“The book was used by the Radiants as a kind of guidebook, a book of counsel on how to live their lives.”

That…something that I forgot. Dalinar maybe you should have some required reading in your Radiant generation.

It’s interesting that Shardplate and Rsyhadium have no problem with humans using them but shardblades do.

“Dalinar was shocked that he could remember the story word for word,”

Hmmmmmm

“Could he train himself out of freezing in battle like that?”

End me.

“You sure he’s not decayspren wearing a man’s skin?”

S…Syl…is that a problem we have to deal with?

“They break the land itself! They want it, but in their rage they will destroy it. Like the jealous man burns his rich things rather than let them be taken by his enemies! They come!”

The…humans?

“‘Hm,’ he said. ‘Yes. We’ll be getting right to that soon. It’ll be grand. Lots of prancing, sauntering, and er…’

‘Promenading?’ Yis the leatherworker offered.

‘Isn’t that a type of drink?’ Adolin asked.

‘Er, no, Brightlord. I’m fairly certain it’s another word for walking.’

‘Well, then,’ Adolin said. ‘We’ll do plenty of it too. Promenading. I always love a good promenading.’”

He and Shallan are truly made for each other.

“Highprince Aladar has begun to talk of taking a short vacation back to Althekar. I want to know if he’s serious.”

Oh?

It’s very interesting how Gavilar after death is portrayed as having grown weak and yet there’s so much reverence for him.

Three gods, huh?

It’s interesting that Dalinar can feel the thrill in these visions.

“It was a topaz entwined with a heliodor, both set into a fine metal framework, each stone as big as a man’s hand.”

Is that some kind of fabrial? Is she an edgedancer/truthwatcher? She seemed to have Stoneward shardplate. How confusing. I guess she could have borrowed Shardplate.

DABBID MY SON!

“‘Next time it could be you!’ he called. ‘What will you do if you’re the one that needs healing?’

‘I’ll die.’ Moash said, not even bothering to look back. ‘Out on the field, quickly, rather than back here over a week’s time.’”

Oh that would be so unfortunate.

REREADING THIS BOOK WITH THE TEFT SECTIONS OH OHHHHHHHHH BOY SUFFERING. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE

“I was under the impression that you were going to aid the queen in protecting the king’s interests in Alethkar.”

That is interesting to think about. What would have happened in Navani had stayed in Alethkar? Did the Unmade compel Navani to go? Or would she have been under the influence of the Unmade?

“I have determined that the queen is sufficiently endowed with the requisite skills needed to hold Alethkar.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh

“‘Well, I suppose that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I kind of trust Sadeas.’”

Interesting. Also my son, my love, Elhokar...you are so dumb.

“‘You still argue he isn’t a bad king?’ Navani whispered. ‘My poor, distracted, oblivious boy.’”

HE COULD HAVE BEEN GREAT

Ishar is the herald of luck?

WAIT ROION! TURTLE MAN! My baby!

My god I sometimes forget that Dalinar has no fucking chill and no impulse control.

“The Almighty himself depended on the Alethi to train themselves in honorable battle so that when they died, they could join the Heralds’ army and win back the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is that…Honor’s influence or Odium’s? Or has Odium corrupted this idea? Because judging by Rhythm of War, Odium’s end goal was to raise an army from Roshar and then send them across the Cosmere.

“My sense of honor makes me easy to manipulate.”

Whaaaaaat? You Dalinar. Pffttttt Noooooo. Pfffftttttt.

“‘He is well, though you presence here is sorely missed. I’m certain he could use your counsel. He is relying heavily on Brightness Lalai to act as clerk.’

Perhaps that would make Jasnah return. There was little love lost between herself and Sadeas’s cousin, who was the king’s head scribe in he queen’s absence.”

First, there’s another Sadeas we must deal with besides Sadeas’s nephew that I’m sure will be around in arc 2. Second, interesting wonder where that drama stems from.

“They may be a little too stable. The world is changing outside, but the Shin seem determined to remain the same.”

Hmmmmmmmmmm

“Gavarah hadn’t reached her twentieth Weeping when she proposed the theory of the three realms.”

WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA. Lemme hear this theory, my dude.

“He reminds me of my uncle Dalinar. Earnest, sincere, concerned.” “We could do with more men like Taravangian,”

I…mmm….aw man…I…that’ll be a yikes for me.

“He found a half-finished bridge. It had eventually grown out of that one plank Kaladin had used.”

ASODFKJSLDFJSLDF JUST LIKE THE FOURTH BRIDGE

“Had something moved in the darkness?”

His spren?

“‘Roshone lets them know he finds them contemptible. And so they scramble to please him.

‘That makes no sense,’ Kal said.

‘It is the way of things,’ Lirin said, playing with one of the spheres on the table, rolling it beneath his fingers. ‘You’ll have to learn this, Kal. When men perceive the world as being right, we are content. But if we see a hole—a deficiency—we scramble to fill it.”

This feels like how Lirin is acting in Rhythm of War.

Y’know it really makes sense why Kabsal would be working for Thaidakar.

Is…Kabsal attempting to get Shallan to join the Ghostbloods? Rhythm of War makes me wonder how honest Kabsal was towards Shallan. Yeah, Jasnah thought Kabsal was just manipulating her but she didn’t say how she knew this.

“He smiled, then drew the bow across the edge of the metal plate, making it vibrate. The sand hopped and bounced, like tiny insects dropped onto something hot.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is called cymatics. The study of pattern that sounds make when interactive with a physical medium.’

As he drew the bow again, the plate made a sound, almost a pure note. It was actually enough to draw a single music spren, which spun for a moment in the air above him, then vanished. Kabsal finished, then gestured to the plate with a flourish.”

Well, Rhythm of War certainly made this more interesting.

“Bridgemen aren’t supposed to survive. There’s something about that. He wouldn’t be able to ask Lamaril. That man had gotten what he deserved, though. If Kaladin had the ability to choose, such would be the end of all lighteyes, the king included.

Your inner Moash is showing.

“I want you to go back into the barrack and tell the men to come out after the storm. Tell them to look up at me tied here. Tell them I’ll open my eyes and look back at them, and they’ll know that I survived.”

No wonder a religion might be forming around Kaladin.

“Teft lingered too, as if thinking to spend the storm with Kaladin. He eventually shook his head, muttering and joined the others. Kaladin thought he heard the man calling himself a coward.”—Page 517

Brandon Sanderson, leave me the fuck alone.

“‘Taking the Dawnsahrds, known to bind any creature voidish or mortal, he crawled up the steps crafted for Heralds, ten strides tall apiece, toward the grand temple above.’—From The Poem of Ista. I have found no modern explanation of what these ‘Dawnshards’ are. They seem ignored by scholars, though talk of them was obviously prevalent among those recording the early mythologies.”—Page 524

Wait…who’s he? And aw man this becomes more relevant in a few years.

“‘Then you’re not a murderer,’ Kaladin said.

‘Not for want of trying.’ Sigzil eyes grew distant. ‘I thought for certain I succeeded. It was not the wisest choice I made. My master…’

‘Is he the one you tried to kill?’

‘No.’”

We need some backstory.

Marabethia sounds similar to Twitter.

“It claimed that humming of all things, could make a Soulcasting more effective.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“That isn’t the kind of thing the Dawnsingers did. They were healers, kindly spren by the Almighty to care for humans once were forced out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is…that right?

“‘We believe that the Voidbringers were real, Shallan. A scourge and plague.. A hundred times they came upon mankind. First casting us from the Tanquiline Halls, then trying to destroy us here on Roshar. They weren’t just spren that hid under rocks, then came out to steal someone’s laundry. They were creatures of terrible destructive power, forged in Damnation creature from hate.’

‘By whom?’ Shallan asked.

‘What?’

‘Who made them? I mean, the Almighty wasn’t likely to have ‘created something from hate.’ So what made them?’

‘Everything has its opposite, Shallan. The Almighty is a force of good. To balance his goodness, the cosmere needed the Voidbringers as his opposite.’”—Pages 634-635

Thaidakar’s reveal really makes Kabsal a more…suspicious character. Like how much does he actually know? How much does Thaidakar actually know? Also, I don’t know if Odium is the opposite of Honor. I guess we’d need all 16 shards names to compare.

“A city where people lived in gigantic, hollowed out stalactites hanging beneath a titanic sheltered ridge.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT

“‘I doubt many would disagree. But I mention these horrors for a purpose. You see, it has been my experience that no matter where you go, you will find some who abuse their power.’ He shrugged. ‘Eye color is not so odd a method, compared to many others I have seen. If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, Moash, I doubt that the world would be a very different place. The abuses would still happen. Simply to other people.’

Kaladin nodded slowly, but Moash shook his head. ‘No I’d change the world, Sigzil. And I mean to.’”

Hmmm, yeah that didn’t exactly work out.

“‘That makes you wiser, presumably?’

‘Damnation no,’ Teft said. ‘The only thing it proves is that I’ve more experience staying alive than you.’”

Brandon. Leave. Me. Alone.

“Cenn stopped wheezing. He convulsed once, eyes still open. ‘He watches!’ the boy hissed. ‘The black piper in the night. He holds us in his palm…playing a tune that no man can hear!’”—Page 671

Is…is that a reference to El?

“I’m sorry I drove you to suicide. Here’s some bread.”

How people on this website think Moash’s redemption arch is gonna go.

“‘…why Thaidakar would risk this?’ Amaram was saying, speaking in a soft voice. ‘But who else would it be? The Ghostbloos grow more bold.’”—Page 701

Jasnah was complaining last chapter how she hates being wrong but she was wrong about Shallan’s intentions and that Amaram is not as smart as he seems. Yeah, he’s wrong about who sent the shardbearer to kill him but if I was in the cosmere and someone tried to kill me, I would assume it was Thaidakar. On that note, holy fuck, I need to know what conversation prompted both Gavilar and Amaram to assume that someone trying to kill them had to be Thaidakar. I really hope that Gavilar’s pov is next for KOWT for his death so maybe we could get a conversation where they talk to Thaidakar through cube skype or maybe this avatar (whatever the hell that means.) God Rhythm of War makes this scene so much funnier.

“You’d have changed your mind. In a day or two, you’d have wanted the wealth and prestige—otehrs would have convinced you of it. You’d have demanded that I return them to you. It took hours to decide, but Restares is right—this is what must be done. For the good of Alethkar.”—Page 703

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—this is why we reread—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Kaladin is going to have some words with Restares.

What happened to Baxil and Av?

?????????????????????????? Why do these two Ardents know about the Physical/Cognitive/Spiritual realm?

“Eight weeks? Forty days of winter at once? That war rare.”—Page 728

Did the weather used to be more consistent on Roshar?

Oh god Rhythm of War has made the Recreance so hard to read.

“If I abandon my principles, then I become something far worse than they. A hypocrite.”—Page 741

A hypocrite is a just a man changing or something. I forget the quote.

“Have you been paying much attention to the conflict between the Tukari and the Emuli?”—Page 753

“And the Tukari are led by that god-priest of theirs, Tezim.”—Page 754

Look at the foreshadowing.

“‘Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.’

Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more religion. ‘Why? What should it matter if I have goodwill toward you?’

The ardent smiled. ‘We will speak with you again.’ He bowed low and withdrew.”—Pages 756-757

OKAY AT FIRST I THOUGHT THIS WAS FUNNY BECAUSE THE ARDENTS GET VERY MIFFED AT DALINAR IN OATHBRINGER BUT “we” HOLY SHIT THAT’S ONE OF BUG PEOPLE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I can imagine why this bug man wants his goodwill because they’re pretty sure he’ll destroy them.

“‘This thing will not happen,’ Rock said. ‘Is impossible to get sphere out of the chasms.’

‘We could swallow them,’ Moash said.

‘You would choke. Spheres are too big, eh?’

‘I’ll better I could do it,’ Moash said. His eyes glittering, reflecting the verdant Stormlight. ‘That’s more money than I’ve ever seen. It’s worth the risk.’”—Page 766

I swear to god, one of these days Moash is going to swallow a sphere.

“You call him the Stormfather, here in Alethkar.”

So people in Alethkar think that Jezerin and the Stormfather are the same person?

“Light grows so distant. The storm never stops. I am broken, and all around me have died. I weep for the end of all things. He has won. Oh, he has beaten us.”

O…Oh man, I hope this isn’t foreshadowing for KOWT.

“We should have expected this, Dalinar thought. We started bringing two armies to a plateau, so they have done the same.”—Page 781

Interesting that Kaladin thought about this when fighting the Fused by Dalinar didn’t fighting the Listeners

“When other men failed, a field of crops got worms in them. When a surgeon failed someone died.”

Well…if your crops fail then you could very much cause a town to starve to death.

“Though there was one thing he clung to. An excuse, perhaps, like the dead emperor. It was the soul of the wretch. Apathy. The belief that nothing was his fault, the belief that he couldn’t change anything. If a man was cursed, or believe he didn’t have to care, then he didn’t need to hurt when he failed. Those failures couldn’t have been prevented. Someone or something else had ordained them.”

Those are some fucking foils right there.

“They watch me. Always. Waiting. I see their face in mirrors. Symbols, twisted, inhuman…”

Babbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbby

“I wish to sleep. I know now why you do what you do, and I hate you for it. I will not speak of the truths I see.”

The sibling?

“I’d surrendered my plans, but you’ve returned them to me. I’ll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers.”—Page 881

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

LISTEN I KNOW ELHOKAR IS AN IDIOT BUT HE’S MY IDIOT

“The further you look, the more pieces that wind breaks into.”—Page 995

That’s interesting

“A champion could work well for you, but it is not certain. And…without the Dawnshards…”—Page 997

Well, we’ll see how Rysn plays into this.

#Brandon Sanderson #way of kings #Stormlight Archive #cosmere #TaylorRereadsSA

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tired-college-student-writing · 5 years ago

Text

Tim’s Secret Weapon pt. 10

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home. Part 1 Part 9 Part 10(HERE) Part 11 This will probably be the last update for awhile, I start student teaching this coming week and I’m nervous as all hell right now ____________________________________________

“We have so much to do,” Marinette mumbled as she stood, stretching her shoulders out.

“Such as what angel?”

Adrian raised his hand, “Letting Paris know that there’s more heroes here is probably near the top.”

“Got it in one Kitty,”

Kim snorted, “They might flip out otherwise when they see so many new masks running around and think we have a Scarlet moth incident on our hand.”

The team groaned out agreements from around Chloe’s room as the Bats looked over them with mild interest. It was closing in on midnight, each of the teens remaining having gotten permission from their parents to stay at the hotel for the night. The Kwamis had taken the plate of cookies, camembert, sugar cubes, sashimi, honey, bananas, and celery Chloe had ordered, and promptly ignored the strange look the room service personnel had given her, for them to the closed bedroom, excited to have so many of them together and free to talk openly without hiding or disappearing into the hidden dimension of the miraculous box.

“What’s a Scarlet moth?” Tim asked, trying to remember if he had seen the name anywhere in his research, “Hawkmoth’s apprentice?”

“Nope,” Chloe groaned, rubbing her eyes with an exhausted air, “It’s when Hawkmoth akumatizes someone, Mayra probably so that their power is to power him up so that he can akumatized multiple people at once. The akumas turn scarlet when he does this so we nickname him Scarlet Moth when he pulls that crap.”

“First time,” Marinette sighed, “He had someone make an illusion of me akumatized, killing Chat Noir in front of all of Paris. Most of the city was distraught enough to fall prey to the akumas and it took Chat, me and three other temporary heroes to take him out. Since then he’s pulled Scarlet Moth out eight times with various levels of success, and twice they’ve done something similar but with Mayra’s amoks, we call those Crimson Peacock events.”

“It’s a ridiculously long day every time,” Chloe groans, “Akumas usually take anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour to fight, Amoks usually take an hour or two, both will be three to four hours, but crimson Peacock and Scarletmoth? The quickest we’ve taken those out is six hours.”

The Gotham heroes groaned in sympathy, images Joker, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow and the Court of Owls bigger plays flashing through their heads. Telling the citizens that there wasn’t a major issue to deal with would make their jobs easier.

“What we’re just going to knock on that Ladyblog chick’s window then?” Jason asked only to see the Paris heroes' faces scrunch up in disgust.

“No, Never,” Kim spat, “Not in a million years. Not after all the fucking stunts she's pulled.”

“Language Master Kim,” Alfred chastised with a raised brow, “You can express your distaste for the young woman without resorting to such vulgarity.”

“Sorry,” Kim blushed sheepishly, “But she really has pulled a lot of things that tick me off, don’t even think I could list them all. Harassing people over not agreeing with her ‘professional’ opinion, taking the side of Lila even over Ladybug telling her, reporting anyone else trying to share miraculous news for not going through her.”

“Chasing us down when we’re about to change back to harass us about our identity as if we hadn’t already explained to her why we keep them secret,” Alix added with a tired frown, “The amount of times I’ve had to use Burrow just to get one of us away from her is ridiculous.”

“Dragging her little sisters into the middle of the Akuma attacks for footage,” Adrian hissed, anger causing his eyes to nearly glowing, “I can’t even begin to count every time our jobs were made harder because we had to rescue them…or how many times those little girls got hurt… ”

“Not to mention the shipping wars and rumors she starts just for views,” Chloe grumbles, “If I have to hear another take on how I’m either in love with my superhero self or trying to murder her to take back the bee miraculous, I’m going to gouge my ears out with a rusty spoon.”

“So yeah,” Marinette concluded, “We don’t interview with Alya anymore. She used to be a really good friend but Lila has spent years twisting her ambitions and changing her into someone toxic.”

“Take the Bee miraculous?” Dick asked, dislike for the reporter growing more with every word but decided to take the safe route and change the subject, no need risk akumation, “Why would they think that?”

Alix snorted, “Oh cause out of everyone in Paris the last person anyone would think to have the bee miraculous is Chloe.”

“Yes,” Max agreed, eyeing the blonde, “I’ve been meaning to ask, how did Marinette decide to give you your miraculous back after the Miraculous Queen incident?”

“Because she only did as we planned,” Adrian said with a slight smirk making the other's jaws drop, “Hawkmoth was already watching her and trying to get her to go dark with the promise of the Bee miraculous he had taken from us.”

“Chloe actually reached out to me,” Marinette laughed, “Remember when she made that big deal about allowing me to do commissioned work for her that year?”

“Well yeah,” Alix said slowly, “But she does that like once a year… Even when she was at her worst Marinette Originals were hot ticket items.”

“I was really trying to get into contact with the mangy cat, or at least that’s what I said. I kinda… knew Marinette was Ladybug..” Chloe grumbled, not looking at them.

“WHAT!” The mentioned heroine squeaked, “How on Earth-”

“After getting Pollen,” Chloe cut in, “I realized she bore a striking resemblance to a certain red and black toy I stole from you when Prince Ali visited when showed up Princess Perfume.”

“You knew this whole time?” Adrian asked, “And said nothing even while akumatized?”

“I mean, duh,” The blonde scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous, I might not have done my homework back then but I’m not an idiot. I just focused on my hate of Ladybug and didn’t think about Marinette at all, he was too giddy to have such a powerful Akuma he didn’t go digging in my head.”

“So you what,” Alix asked, as Marinette struggled to reboot her mind, pulling the conversation away from chaos “Just let her get akumatized?”

They nodded, Adrian taking over again, “M’Lady, Chloe and I decided that that could work in our favor and we could just draw him and Mayra out and take back the miraculous they had stolen”

“Of course,” Marinette sighed, coming out of her stupor, “We weren’t expecting it to be right after such a hard Akuma, or for her powers to be just as devastating. Luckily she gave the miraculous to different users so Hawkmoth was none the wiser about each of your identities. After her staged meltdown at me, Chat went to check on her and offered to let her build a new Bee hero as we had retrieved that miraculous. With a quick illusion from the fox miraculous a month after Abeille hit the scene, we have video evidence of those two making peace with the Bee changing hands, and Chloe wishing Abeille luck even if she could no longer be Queen Bee.”

“Impressive Strategy,” Kagami hummed, “I believe if Lover Eater and Miraculous Queen hadn’t been such unusually hard foes to fight then you could have won. It was unfortunate that the circumstances were such.”

“It sounds like you overlooked some variables in your plan,” Bruce hummed, “but overall it sounded like a decent plan for having only been fighting for a little under a half a year at that point if you were expecting the usual level of difficulty with the Akuma before Chloe instead of a much tougher opponent like the one you faced.”

Marinette smiled, “It was a mess in practice,” She admitted with a small smile, “But it made it clear that even if Chat and I could use multiple miraculous for short periods, we couldn’t continue any longer without help, not to mention the previous guardian was lost.”

“Lost!” Max yelped, paling drastically, “I was under the impression that the miraculous cure brought back any fatalities that are caused by miraculous related events. How did it fail on the guardian?”

“Not like that, I’m sure, Master Max,” Alfred broke in, “Duusu explained once that the guardians have a… failsafe, if you will, to prevent the identities of the holders from being found out through them.”

Marinette nodded, eyes growing distance, “He resigned as he guardian handing it over to me. Doing so the magic of the miraculous wiped their very existence from his memory. He didn’t even know that the turtle bracelet he wore was magical let alone know the secrets the miraculous held any longer.”

The room grew cold as the teens' faces fell. The Bat’s grimaced as they looked around the room, knowing the uncertainty that was coursing through all of them

Marinette shook her head, “It doesn’t matter, he’s enjoying life with an old flame he had to abandon to take care of guardian business, but that does bring me to the next thing we have to do.”

Chloe smirked widely, “Got an extra on you then?”

“No, We’re just going to loan them for a few minutes”

“Seeing an Akuma or amok isn’t a skill that is inherent, it’s how so many people don’t realize someone is possessed until they transform,” Adrian explained, “Took us a while to realize why some people could see the butterflies and feathers and others couldn’t.”

“There are four ways you can see an Akuma that we have observed,” Max took over, “The first is if you are the intended target of the Akuma, next is if you’ve already been akumatized, we all thought that it was just PTSD of being akumatized, but their accuracy was more accurate then simply being observant would allow. Third and… most unsettling is those that parish during an Akuma battle and are brought back by the miraculous cure can view them.”

Eyes snap to Marinette, who is looking at her hands with a bone-weary sadness that any hero can relate to.

“You can raise the dead?” Jason asked, a little edge of unease in his voice. The bats knew he was thinking back to his own death, Tim reached out a hand to squeeze his knee. Being brought back to life wasn’t pleasant in their experience.

“Yes,” She tells them, “All damage is repaired as if it never happened, that includes any death or injury that may happen during the fight. If I’m transformed I can also do some healing but it’s likely to knock me out quicker then I can heal something more serious than a broken rib unless I have an energy source to pull from.”

“That’s fucked,”

“Jason!”

“Nah he’s right,” Marinette brushed off Damien’s growl, “but the last way you can see the akumas is the way we’re sticking with. Using a miraculous and the miraculous ability it possesses.”

The Bats blinked at them but they glanced over to see the other Parisians already rising to their feet.

“It’s about time for patrol anyways,” Chloe groaned, “It’s Adrian’s and Kagami’s night,”

“It’s Friday and we’re already sleeping over,” Marinette hummed, “We could all head over to the training area and get this over with, then let you two go out while we train for a bit. I’m thinking miraculous swap drills.”

“Should we suit up?” Bruce asked with a raised brow.

“Would probably be a good idea,” She suggested, “It’s not far from here so no need to use Voyage to get there, we’ll just take the rooftops.”

____________________________________________

An abandoned warehouse on the edge of the Seine, and the Paris team entered with an air of happiness, as the Bat’s took in the space. Half of the floor empty for sparing, while the other half appeared to be made into an obstacle course. Old couches and chairs were grouped between the two zones, most likely placed there for breaks in training.

“Not bad,” Dick commented as he looked around, “So how are we doing this?”

“I’m keeping the earrings, but you guys will each try one of the other miraculous”

“I call the Cat!” Jason yelled before Marinette finished, causing Dick to pout.

“No fair! Selina likes me best!”

“No way circus boy!”

“Selina,” Bruce cuts in, “Likes me best, that’s why we’re engaged. These aren’t toys, stop arguing over them.”

“It’s alright,” Adrian laughed as he removed his ring, “We were the same way when M’lady first suggested training with each other’s miraculous. They can be exciting.”

Tim was only half listening as around him the Paris team other than Marinette were pulling off their jewelry, numbers draining of color as they dropped down, except for one.

“Kagami isn’t a true user.” He said offhandedly, as her burgundy refused to falter even as her number dropped to a still formidable 8.

“What?”

Longg glared at him, “Even if she was not blessed by my hand, she is still my chosen wielder and no less a worthy opponent for the corrupted holders, do not forget it.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” He offered, “Merely observing. Her number didn’t lose its color and dropped down to an 8 instead of a 12.”

“What is a true user?” Kagami piped in, “and why are you aware of it?”

“Short answer,” Plagg piped in taking his ring from Adrian, “Reincarnation is real and we blessed souls who are more linked to our aspects then anyone else in the world. Yadda Yadda…”

Pollen smacked him upside of the head with her comb

“Hey!”

“Someone had to do it since Tikki isn’t here,” She told him with a slight huff, “You forgot to mention that just because they have been blessed by us doesn’t mean that they’re going to be a good holder, nor does it mean that if they’re not blessed that they’re going to be a poor holder.”

“Well duh!” He complained, “Kags is one of the best dragons we’ve had in the last millennium, and Mayra sucks at her role! I didn’t think I needed to mention it.”

“It would probably help if Mayra was a true peacock instead of just a true holder,” Kaalki hummed.

“Whatevas,” Plagg brushed off floating lazily over to Jason, “I want the zombie anyways.”

“Rude,” Jason snarked but took the ring gently from the small cat, “How do I do this?”

“Just put it on and say Plagg Claws Out,”

Tim raised a brow as his brother put the miraculous on and his 10 bled from it’s usual rust to neon green, “Wait.”

The room froze.

Jason raised a brow, “What replacement?”

“Take the ring off,”

“Why?”

“Your number…” He winced, still unused to mentioning the floating digits.

Jason brushed right by it, “What did it jump up to a 15 like Marigold’s or something?”

“No… Just changed color. I really hope it’s not permanent.”

Jason slid the ring off and the rust returned allowing the younger man to breathe a sigh of relief.

“It go back?” Dick asked gently.

“Yeah, back to the normal rusty red. Looks like the miraculous turn then user’s color to something associated with them,” He breathed, “Good, I was worried I’d be staring at neon green over Jay’s head forever.”

“Hey!” Plagg snapped, crossing his tiny arms, “What’s wrong with green? It’s always been my color.”

“It’s also the color of people suffering Larzath sickness,”

The bats flinched and Jason held the ring with a grimace before slipping it back on, “Let’s get this over with then so I can go back to red, Plagg claws out!”

The sickly green light overtook him and the number started to climb.

Finally, the number disappeared and Jason was left standing in clothes similar to his normal hero outfit but tweaked.

Everything he wore was now jet black, from his boots to his helmet, with neon green accenting his boots, fingernails that had grown out into long wicked looking claws and eyes. A thick black belt wrapped around his hips and hung behind him, flicking softly on its own accord and on top of his helmet the metal was shaped into delicate-looking cat ears. The silver baton attached to the small of his back, right over his leather jacket

Dick let out a low whistle.

“Impressive,” Damian muttered, “The transformation somehow made you look even stupider than normal, Todd.”

“Like you can do better,” Jason countered, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “But also, holy shit I feel like I just got pumped full of caffeine and really want to test out what I can do.”

“Transformation does that,” Kim snickered, “You get used to it after a while, but that’s why we brought you all here instead of letting you transform in the hotel.”

“Wait until the others transform and we can give them a test run around the warehouse,” Marinette told him, before turning to the other, “Let’s get a move on boys,”

Tim found himself moving towards Max, who was sliding on an extra set of glasses he had with him, no doubt his original ones.

“May I?” He asked earning a smile from the other boy.

“Of course,” Max agreed, “Right Kaalki?”

The tiny horse eyed him, “Famous and world renown in both identities, how could I say no? The transformation phrase is Kaalki, Full Gallop.”

He nodded, turning to look back at his family. Xuppu while Damian was examining the dragon choker, asking questions of Longg and Kagami. He was surprised to see Bruce accepting the bee miraculous from Chloe however.

“The hair comb?” Dick laughed slightly, “Thought you’d go for the Pocket Watch, B.”

His father sent him a bland look, “I don’t do blue.”

The bats all cackled.

“Super doesn’t have to know,” Dick teased, placing the circlet on his head, 10 glowing and shifting to a soft tan, “we can keep a secret.”

“I don’t have a single son that I can trust not to tell the Boy Scout I was wearing his color if I took the rabbit,” He spoke evenly attaching the comb to the side of his cowl, his 11 flickering to a golden honey.

“I’m hurt Father,” Damian said as he Hastened the choker around his throat, his 11 burning to a fiery red, “I would never willing talk to Superman.”

“You’d tell Jon,”

“I never denied that fact, merely that I wouldn’t tell his father,” The youngest Wayne cheeked earning an eye roll from Bruce.

“Pollen, Buzz on,”

The Bat suit changed more than jason’s, with the gloves and shin guards now coming to hard points stipped with yellow, and the cape was gone, replaced by large translucent wing fluttering restlessly. His cowl no longer came to the classic bat ear peaks, instead long thin antennae like fixtures replaced them and the white eyes changed to dark green compound eyes. Around his hips were his utility belt usually lay, the same bee themed top that Abeille wore was wrapped.

“Alright we can all agree that the old man looks stupider then me right?”

The Paris team eyes blew wide at insulting the Batman to his face but his sons just agreed easily earning an infamous batglare that they simply shrugged off.

“I will send all of you home and bring Cass and Duke to assist instead,”

“No you won’t,” Tim mocked as he slide the glasses on, repeating the transformation phrase he was told. Energy spiked within him too an ungodly level and at the same time pain seared through his head, knees buckling almost instantly under the pressure.

“Are you alright?” Max yelped catching before he crumbled to the floor.

Blinking rapidly the pain slowly faded to a low pounding right behind his eyes, Tim glanced up and froze.

Bruce and Dick were on him almost instantly, pulling him to one of the couches to sit down, rapid fire assessment questions about how he was feeling, just like they did any time someone got hurt in field flying at him. Bruce all but pounded into them to never lie to these questions after Dick nearly fell into a coma his first year as Robin. Even when on auto pilot he could tell the truth to them.

He vaguely heard “Changes in vision?” and simply nodded.

“What changed, spots? Blurry? Colors weird? tunnel vision?” Bruce questioned softly, sliding the glasses down his nose to look into his eyes, but didn’t remove them.

“They’re gone,”

“What’s gone?”

Tim never let his eyes drift from above their heads.

“The numbers, my numbers are gone.”

____________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @celestiacq @peculiarlylostdreamer @dani-ari @melicmusicmagic @themcclan @nyctamaximoff @nataladriana9 @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @urbanpineapplefarmer @graduatedmelon @lexysama @hecate-hallow @ki117h3dr4g0n @vinerlover @interobanginyourmom @bluefiredemon @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @clumsy-owl-4178 @shizukiryuu @whogavemeaninternet @schrodingers25 @lunar-wolf-warrior @urbanpineapplefarmer @xxmadamjinxx @crazylittlemunchkin @littleredrobinhoodlum @rougemme @dur55 @phantommeow12 @kand-roo @silvergold-swirl @officiallyathiana @completelypeccable @redhoodsdoll @nataladriana9 @mariae2900 @northernbluetongue @sturchling @thesunanditsangel @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo @bobothyross @taoiichii @magnitude101999 @magicalfirebird @nataladriana9 @panda3506 @aquariusrunes @woodland-queer @sayarock121 @mindfulmagics @magic-miraculous @my-name-is-michell @naoryllis @slytherinqueen2432 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @captainartsypants @nanakeid @legendaryneckjudgestudent @smolplantmum @the-real-ginakid @nyaabinch @elmokingkong @gentlemanoftimetravel @whitennerdiest@imbrium-mare @tired-butterfly @corabeth11 @aestheticnpoetic @amirahevens @sassakitty @letterlust

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bitletsanddrabbles · 4 years ago

Note

All of your titles are intriguing! But I’m going to go with “Bullies” and/or “Dead Swallows”

OKAY! Neither of these have gotten very far, so sharing snippets is a no-go, but I can do summaries and trivia!

Bullies: I’ve actually posted the intro to this one as a WIP Wednesday. It’s basically a Mary’s eye view of Season 6, with a bit of an emphasis on parallels with Thomas, if I can manage it without being clunky.

Dead Swallows: This is one of the few stories where I have a very clear cover concept, and if my drawing skills weren’t so rusty that bits were falling off, I would draw it. It’s Thomas standing there, either with a white background or something similarly minimalistic, looking down at a dead barn swallow that he’s holding. It looks really awesome in my head. Who knows how it would come out on paper? ...anyway, in case the title doesn’t give it away, it’s a Thomas bump into the Duke of Punch Me Crowborough later in life. They don’t get back together. I really want to write it, but I can never quite get a beginning down since it would have to be at a country house that isn’t Downton, but now that Thomas is butler, I can’t come up with a reason for him to be there that I’m sure people will buy. I mean, Tumblr reminded me with at least three “in your orbit” posts last night that this fandom is really critical of having to suspend it’s disbelief for two seconds in the name of the plot....

...but I really, really want to write it and not just so I can have the Duke have lost a leg in the War.

...there would be Baxter bits too.

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #wip stuff #ask answered #mary crawley #thoams barrow #summaries

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what-a-messsss · 4 years ago

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2x1 rewatch

My poor Netflix is so confused. I’ll hop on my phone to see if I can find a detail in an ep and then it’ll try to start the show again at halfway through 4x7 or the end of the finale, and I have to figure out what ep I’m actually looking for.

All aboard for “Unquiet Mind.”

Ok, realizing that Jacob and Vic are both ‘play with the radio’ types and Henry and Walt are both ‘or silence’ types is probably a bit funnier to me that it should be. Didn’t really expect to be finding character parallels between those two.

BAAAABY! I totally forgot about the baby buffalo! Eeeeee!

Interesting that the prisoner (whose name I have totally braindumped, whoops) knows that Walt would know about the meaning of the white buffalo to the Cheyenne.

$10 says that doctor agent is a redhead because of Starling. For being 2% of the population, redheads sure do make up a disproportionate part of fictional character real estate. (I say with lots of love for Cady...)

Also, I feel offended on behalf of both the Red Pony and the Busy Bee by the sign Cowboy’s Corner claiming they have the best food in 3 counties. Piffle.

“Progress. Prosperity. People. I’m Branch Connally, and I can alliterate. Vote for the PP People.” Shut uuuuuup. Jacob, I’m blaming you for this. If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have had the money to be annoying us even when he’s hours away. Boooo. (I mean, obviously also blame Barlow, but that’s more of a ‘with a shovel to the face’ kind of blaming, rather than an eyeroll and calling ‘boooo’ at the screen because your fav was a pain.)

Ah ha, title drop. I haven’t really paid that much attention to the episode titles, I’ll be honest. This is the only title drop I can actually remember other than Jacob’s line about “Dogs, horses, and Indians,” although it still bothers me immensely that the episode title doesn’t have the Oxford comma, omGs.

Durrel’s discoloured eye is really good. I’m guessing a scleral contact lens? Just different enough to be noticeable and a little off-putting without drawing too much focus. It keeps the mental discomfort we get from it just around the unconscious level.

That’s right! Ruby is out of town! Min and I decided that she was at a conference in Idaho Falls, since we had already said that her family lives in Texas, and I like the idea of her also doing vocational enrichment training and keeping on the cutting edge of her wheelhouse of policing. She’s a heckin’ boss, and I adore her.

This is the most random thing in the world, but that’s sort of my wheelhouse... Does Katee Sackoff have a scar on the tip of her nose? Because I swear at 9:09-11 it looks like it. Not that it matters, but I’ve never noticed it any other time, and now I’m really curious.

Ope, longer hair Henry in this flashback. With emotions and it’s killing me. I also didn’t think about the fact that the Halfmoon’s were talking to the white police instead of (in addition to?) the tribal police. Though that would have been during Malachi’s reign, since it was 4 years ago. Oof.

Is that a gas fire? Because if that’s one of the lines on fire, isn’t the whole place in serious danger of going up in a massive explosion? There was an explosion like that locally last year and it took out the whole station and killed two people. Please tell me they called in the fire as soon as they saw it when they were pulling up. (Of course they didn’t, who are we kidding. It’s these two.)

So they’ve been driving along with their lights on, pull up maybe 8 feet from the abandoned prison van... explain to me why he turns his headlights off at that point? Anybody waiting to ambush them is going to have their eyes more adjusted to the dark, and these two loose the light and there is already no element of surprise because they pulled right up to the van. Why did you turn the lights off, Walt? I mean, maaaaaaybe the headlights being on would have reflected off of the van windows and make it harder to see inside? But that is not particularly good reasoning, I feel. (Meta guess being that the director/whomever figured that the lights off left them in a colder colour palate and heightened the drama. Which... they’re not wrong. But whyyyyyyy would Walt turn them off, not the director?)

“Come on out and I won’t shoot you!” prisoner McGoober yells, having just tried to take Vic out with a shot to center mass. Ok, sure buddy, we believe you. The laser sight catching the falling snowflakes does look cool.

Good use of an elbow, Walt. I’m not actually sure if it was supposed to be a punch but wasn’t lined up great with the camera, but I’m ruling it an on purpose elbow, because Walt is absolutely a dirty fighter, and an elbow is more likely to lay somebody out if you’re close enough.

Oo, what amazing precautions you’re taking. You actually grabbed a scarf. And my gods, gloves. ...work gloves? Which I know from experience save next to no heat, what the hell, Walt. I just... why hasn’t he closed his fucking coat?? ::screaming:: Staving off hypothermia isn’t emasculating, you KNOB. Well at least the snowbunny actually brought a flashlight. How forward thinking of him. And has zipped up his coat. Lawd.

Ew, I just agreed with Branch. :( How dare the writers make that happen.

And in strolls Agent Pretty von Douche to make everything just that much more annoying. Special Agent in Charge Towson, FBI. Burrpaderrpaderp. Myeh.

Such special, very agent, much in charge, wow. >insert doge meme here, lol<

“Whose in charge in his absence?” Hmmmmmmm. They ended the shot on Vic, and the look on her face is just... prophetic for how I figure she handles being in charge when Walt abruptly decides to fuck off into the wilderness for the Treasure Hunt portion of his Manly Midlife Crisis, before they can have an election. Lol. Womp womp.

Dang, spit strings dangling from your stubble is... uh, a look. >.> Did you know that your nose is one of the first parts of you that tends to get frostbite? And that we know you have a scarf? (Yelling at Walt is my new hobby. It’s not a good hobby, but it is mine.)

HI HENRY. Great, you’re at the hallucinating part of the fieldtrip. Not that I’m complaining, because even your imaginary Henry is more sensible that you will generally let yourself be. (Also, he’s pretty, and I am very shallow.)

Yeeee, one of the only poems that I actually have memorized. Lovely Robert Frost. Though Robert Burns would also be quite apt. And miles to go before I sleep and all.

“The cavalry has arrived.” Henry is so fucking droll. I can just imagine the little kernel of muted glee he has at the irony of using that phrase. I adore him. “We ate,” says von Douche. Honey. Booboo.

Fuck off, von Douche. He’s so In Charge. Burrpaderrpaderp, pthb. “Any request for activities will go through me.” That’s so cute. And Henry’s look would kill you at a thousand paces.

It does annoy me that Vic keeps calling him Walt when talking about him with the fibbies. Like, we get it, you’re real close with your boss, but you might get more traction with them by reinforcing the fact that he’s a fellow law enforcement officer and the head of your department by calling him the Sheriff rather than broadcasting how unprofessional you both are.

Bless Ferg for actually speaking up, though. Branch just falls in line without a peep (though if I remember, he’s plotting his own little insurrection.) And Henry is just quietly in the background, gathering data and being invisible as he decides to be.

“I don’t like your tone.” Well I don’t like you FACE. That’s actually a lie, it’s a very nice face. But you’re just such a douchecanoe.

For all that Branch is a rusty wingnut, he does occasionally have decent observational skills. And he is less emotionally riled, so he sees that Henry is planning something while Vic is too busy fuming. I’m wondering how that lands with Ferg/why he doesn’t notice, and I think he’s still just isn’t very good at thinking out of the box yet. Or seeing stuff that’s out of the box. He definitely gets better about it as time goes on, but it’s an interesting thing to think about as far as his character development. He’s focused on what he can think of to help, and isn’t expanding that to see thinking about what others might be able to do to help, which Branch does, but Vic doesn’t.

The gunshots in the cabin and the lever action rifle and all are taking me straight to the beginning of Red Dead2. Sadie, is that you? Nope, it’s Omar, aaaaahahaha, I forgot he was in this.

I love that Henry keeps his saddle at home/the bar. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though. Maybe figured that he’d keep it where the horses are stabled, I guess. But I can imagine him keeping it close in case, and cleaning the tack and oiling the saddle as a way to unwind after a hard day or something.

Heeeeehehehe, the look on Henry’s face when he leans in to Branch and goes, “...supporting the FBI.” Such a beautiful way of expressing how very little he thinks of Branch without ever having to say it. “Right now, I am the sheriff.” You are so deeply obnoxious. And do not play nice with others.

And here’s Walt with his circumstantial evidence, laying out his assumptions, and being right, which is all good and such now, but he is so in the habit of doing this shit and being right that he cannot accept when he isn’t right about things.

Well at least Omar has his place stocked for the weather. I know I fall farther on the ‘over prepare’ end of the spectrum, but Walt not having better gloves in his truck in the dead of winter makes me roll my eyes so dang hard.

This hallucination of Fales is a fascinating bit of character study both for Walt and for Fales. Walt’s subconscious effectively calling him out for his suicidal tendencies with not there Fales asking him, “Are you looking to get yourself killed?” is more honesty than it seems like Walt tends to allow himself.

ASAC Hall is actually better at dealing with people like a human, but von Douche isn’t actually wrong. Vic is understandably pissed by the withheld information, but she does stomp around like a bull in a china shop and pretty much never stops to think. Maybe they all would have gotten farther if von Douche or Hall had asked the night before if the locals had other options, but unlikely.

I FORGOT SHE PUNCHED HIM. The look on Hall’s face was priceless.

Eeeeeee, I do love that Walt left a trail, knowing that Henry would be coming after him. Branch’s comments to Henry show that while he can observe people and sometime predict how they’re going to act, he can’t really understand why they’re doing it, if it’s beyond his own lens of experiences (which are pretty fucked up). Whether it’s cynicism or just stunted empathy, conceiving of someone’s motivations being selflessly altruistic are just beyond his ken. That’s pretty sad, honestly, and makes me hate Barlow even more. Everything in Branch’s life has been transactional, calculated.

Oh, and now he pulls something up over his mouth. Ok. Great, into the water.

I fucking love Ferg. His gleeful awe over Vic hitting Towson literally made me press my hands to my face, giggling. And he’s such a good friend. And she’s such a pill. I get that she’s feeling guilty and hurting, but it takes no effort not to take it out on Ferg. How easy would it have been to say, “Somebody has to keep working on finding them. Go back inside, Ferg,” instead of “You have to get out of here,” and just running him off like a jerk.

Cady having cut off contact with Walt gives me life. AND THEN his shitty self-protecting LYING brain comforts him by having her say, “You were only trying to protect me, Dad, I get that,” because that’s what he keeps telling himself to excuse taking her agency away and lying to her for at least a year, and continuing to manipulate her! GAAAAAH! “I can’t lose you...” THEN CHECK YOUR DAMN SELF, DISASTER BOI.

I’m not sure if hallucination!Theo telling him that there was nothing he could do is a sign of a healthy recognition of that, or the same kind of lying to himself because it’s what he wants to hear that he’s done with Cady? The “...but I knew someone was coming to help me,” rather smacks of the latter, since earlier in the ep Walt says that that’s what he would want to know if he were held hostage.

I have decided (with my shippy goggles firmly in place, if not molecularly fused to my face) that him doubting that Henry is coming to help him is what makes him realize that he’s getting hypothermia. Because the idea that Henry wouldn’t be coming to get him is so utterly ridiculous that clearly his brain is on the fritz.

The fact that the phone works after his dunking is also a minor miracle. I know I said earlier that Walt is a dirty fighter, but oof, he’s the one who just took a dick shot. I mean, that’s one way to use a cell phone.

Again, not super sure what it says about Walt for him to imagine Theo watch him in the process of killing Durrel. Poor Henry. That whole mess would have been incredibly stressful. Your jackass boyfriend is way high maintenance in rather spectacular ways.

#Longmire #episode commentary #spoilers #spoilers for the whole show probably

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male changeling fae (Mhorrin) x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So some of you have waited over a year for Mhorrin’s story. I promised someone a long time ago that Mhorrin’s reader would be male, but mostly (as always really with my readers), they’re fairly neutral except for the odd pronoun or body part...

I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s one of my favourites I think, and Mhorrin is a sweetheart who deserves some love. I had a lovely patron who wanted to commission me to write his story, and when I said that a long time ago I'd promised Mhorrin a male reader, they said that was fine, so here it is! I'm pretty proud of this one, and I really hope you enjoy it.

There’s a fight with a big spider at one point, so arachnophobes might not like that bit so much, and a few descriptions of injury, but not life-threatening, and not to the reader. Also Bridget likes to curse a bit. I like Bridget. :)

Wordcount: 10,064

---

Why was it always bloody raining in these parts? Sheets of drenching grey drizzle drifted across the landscape from a low, oppressive sky, and the thick canopy of trees barely offered any real shelter. Heavy drops spattered down from above with almost the force of falling acorns, and sent the decaying leaf mould leaping and scattering.

Kicking idly at a fallen branch that lay across your path, you scowled as you tramped onwards through another patch of quagmire. Apparently there had once been a half-decent road winding its way between the huge trunks of ancient trees, their bark smothered with thick moss and laced with lichens, branches dripping with ferns and orchids, but now it was little more than a muddy ribbon rutted with potholes and puddles. Ahead and to your right, you could just glimpse the wide, lazy river sliding along between slick, muddy banks just to the south of the approaching town, and you turned your leather collar up further to ward off the fat drops which plummeted from the canopy overhead.

A collection of wooden houses with patchy thatched roofs, composed more of moss than reed, huddled miserably outside the colossal stones of the town’s wall, but hardly anyone was about in this weather. Even the chickens had given up their scratching in the mud. A huge, dark minotaur ducked briefly out of a doorway and glowered up at the small shred of grey sky visible between the branches before grunting something in disgust and slamming the door shut, leaving you to make your solitary way towards the wooden gates of the town. The pair of human guards barely even seemed to notice you as you struggled through the sludge towards them.

Inside the town walls the place was hardly any cheerier or more welcoming than outside. Despite the rain, however, there were a few vendors standing beneath ragged canvases, hawking their wares to those who scuttled by searching for shelter not trinkets, and in the distance a smith’s hammer could be heard ringing on iron. Other towns you’d passed through had bustled with life but this place seemed to be made up almost entirely of humans; any non-humans you saw were scowled at in a way that made you jumpy and wary. There wasn’t a pleasant feeling to this place at all.

A dwarf stumped past you with eyes focused firmly on the distance, heading towards the blacksmith’s, but as you pushed open the door of the first inn you came to, you saw a massive orc behind the bar which reassured you somehow.

The orc nodded at you as you approached and grunted, “Keep your weapons sheathed in here, human, you’re welcome to drink. What can I get you?”

“An ale,” you said, “And a bath.”

“The house ale is a copper,” he said. “The bath is six.”

Too tired and foot-sore to haggle, you nodded.

“Drink up, and I’ll have the bath drawn for you,” the orc grinned, clearly noticing the weariness soaking through your body now that you’d stopped walking. He was huge, with arms easily twice as big as your thighs, and one of his thick tusks had been cracked off, but his yellow-eyed gaze was friendly enough and he waved over a curvy human woman who greeted him with a kiss before letting him speak, which he did with a fond chuckle.

You took yourself off to a quiet corner of the nearly-empty inn, and groaned noisily as you eased your sore shoulders out of the travel pack and your wet leather and mail jerkin. You’d been wearing it for nearly a month solid as you’d moved steadily west in search of… something. Sure, you needed the work, but you could have joined the army if it was steady pay and a meal in your belly that you’d truly been looking for. Your journey had been about something more than that though. Shivering slightly as you sank onto the cool wood of the corner bench, you wondered if perhaps you’d find whatever it was that you were lacking here, in this formerly-prosperous trading town on the banks of a silted up river.

Somehow you doubted it.

Once you’d bathed and changed into the last of your relatively clean clothes, you returned to the bar and asked the orc if he knew of any employment for a young man of considerable skill with a bow and blade, though you didn’t own the former currently. The orc eyed you up and down, clearly getting the measure of you, and then shrugged. “There’s a bunch of mercenaries in the outer buildings,” he said, jutting his heavy jaw towards the direction of the huts outside the walls of the town. “Five of them: a big human woman, elven twins, a minotaur, and… something else. Not sure what he is. Only met them all the once, you see. Still, they might take you on if you’re any good.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I can ask at any rate.”

The rain had miraculously eased up just a little but you still donned your trusty - and now probably a little rusty - mail and leather jerkin once again, and headed out in search of the group. You’d arranged to leave your pack in the care of the orc at the inn for the moment, in case the mercenaries weren’t looking for another blade for hire.

It didn't take you long to find them. With the cessation of the rain, folks had started to emerge from the huts you’d passed on your way in, and outside the one where you’d seen the minotaur, you found two elves, a tall, beautiful woman with short chestnut hair and a scar across her lips, and the one the orc had called ‘something else’. It was immediately obvious why he’d said as much; the creature gave off a strange, almost otherworldly feeling that sent shivers down your spine if you looked at him too long.

He stood tall at over six foot, with a hunched, misshapen back over which he had draped a long leather cloak that came down almost to the mud of the road. He appeared to have the legs of an animal with long, black claws that flexed as he stood there, though his skin was hairless and an odd, almost slate coloured blue-grey. His hands, you saw as he reached to pass one of his companions their travel pack, were mottled with paler grey and he had two thumbs and long, strong-looking fingers. Covering his elongated - perhaps canine? - face was a carved wooden mask, and his hair was black as an oil slick; long, plaited, and falling to his waist.

The minotaur was nowhere to be seen now.

Approaching with your palms open and empty, showing no threat, you called out to them, “Hey, you guys are a mercenary group, right?”

The elves looked up as one and nodded, but it was the human woman who answered. By the gods she was muscular, and you didn't mind admitting that she was more than a little intimidating. “Why, you got a job for us?” she asked, looking you up and down in the same way the orc had. You where more lithe than muscular yourself, but years on the road had made you lean and solid in a way that other warriors and fighters usually weren’t. Not that you didn’t have your softer areas too though.

“Actually,” you smiled, “I’m hoping you’ve got a job for me. Any chance you’re looking to take on an extra blade?”

She glared at the sword on your hip and pouted, unimpressed, one eyebrow sailing high and placing one hand on her hip before looking at the other two, who shrugged. Somehow it seemed like an encouraging kind of shrug, and you nibbled your chapped lip while you waited for her to answer.

“Alright,” she said with a beautifully feral grin. “If you can best me with a blade, we’ll see about taking you on for a contract or two.”

That hadn’t been quite what you’d expected, but you supposed she had a point. “What are the terms of the fight?” you asked, rolling your shoulders out. You suddenly felt very grateful for the good work that the heat of the bath had done to ease out the stiffness from hauling your travel pack around.

“First to draw blood wins,” she said. “No intent to kill, maim, or seriously injure. We’re doing it properly, but this is sparring only.”

You nodded and drew steel. “Agreed.”

She grinned and her honey coloured eyes lit up as the two of you began to spar. She was strong but slower than you, and the two of you danced, circling each other in the mud of the street while the twins and the strange, silent one looked on from the shelter of the dripping eaves of the nearest hut.

In the end, you beat her with a well timed dart to the upper arm, but only just, and she sheathed her huge two-hander and held out her gauntleted hand to you, ignoring the small ooze of blood through her shirt sleeve. “Welcome. Name’s Bridget,” she said as she nearly crushed your hand in her fingers, making you rather wheeze your own name as you introduced yourself. “These two idiots are Elduin and Luirlan -” the two elves grinned and held out their hands.

Their palms were as rough and callused as your own, indicating that they preferred blade to bow - unusual for their kind, but not unheard of - and they had both cropped their brown hair short along one side, revealing their tapering ears. Luirlan had a scar through one eyebrow and a notch missing from the tip of his left ear, and Elduin had a leaf and vine tattoo that ran up his neck and onto his scalp, but other than that, they were utterly identical.

Bridget went on to say that the minotaur was named Ned, but he’d gone to have a nap ‘like a fucking old man’ and had therefore missed all the excitement - “His loss,” she grinned - and the final member of their group she introduced as Mhorrin. The figure, swathed in his heavy leather cloak, simply nodded without approaching, bowing his mysteriously masked head before turning away and returning his attention to repacking his bag.

Swallowing, you hoped that the others would balance out the relative creepiness of Mhorrin, and that you hadn’t made a mistake in joining them. Still, it had to be better than going it alone anyway.

Just after sunrise the next day, you joined them at the city gates, and the small mercenary company moved on in search of new work. Ned quickly found a contract about seven miles further west along the road. The job involved eradicating a small nest of demon-spawn that had been terrorising travellers along the King’s Road, eating them and disembowelling everyone they came across.

The nest was apparently located a short distance back from the road towards some mineral springs, and the elves and Ned soon tracked it down to a dank hollow between two huge sycamore trees. You and Bridget stalked closer, while Mhorrin drew his huge, cruel bow from his stooped back and hung a little way behind on the lip of the dell with an arrow nocked, flights to cheek, ready to loose. The strength in his wiry arms must have been prodigious because he never shook or trembled. Only a few days ago you’d seen him hunting rabbits with unfaltering accuracy, so you weren’t surprised when he aimed a deadly pine arrow straight past Ned’s ear, sinking it deep into the chitinous plating of the first creature to emerge from its festering burrow in the ground. The creature was dead before it had gone a single pace from the entrance.

The demon-spawn were vile, spewing acid and darting forwards to lash out with their serrated claws, but you and Ned cornered the second, while the twins finished of a third, and Bridget hacked another to pieces under a rain of arrows from Mhorrin. You’d just lowered your sword, the steel dripping with the viscera and slime from your own kill, your arm stinging from a light spattering of acid, when you saw one last demon-spawn scuttling down the rough surface of a tree behind Mhorrin.

“Mhorrin! Above you on that sycamore!” you yelled, and he ducked and rolled out of the way just in time for you to hurl your long belt knife at it, striking it in the chest and pinning it to the bark like a three foot long, toxic beetle in a gruesome collection. The creature’s stinger had missed him by inches and still hung in the space where his head had been, dripping onto the forest floor.

“Thank you,” he murmured, checking that the curved, wooden mask was still in place with his odd, grey-skinned, twin-thumbed hand. It was a graceful hand, with long fingers that spoke of strength and cleverness as well as the calm control of a bowman, and you stared at it for a moment longer while he listened carefully to the forest around you.

“Phew,” Bridget grunted from not far away, wiping her own zweihänder on a clump of thick grass at the base of an oak tree. “Think that’s the last of them. Those were some freaky motherfuckers… Everyone alright?”

“Yeah,” came the reply from Ned and the twins. You were a little breathless and a bit scuffed, but otherwise ok, and Mhorrin only nodded.

“You want to check out the thermal springs that these fuckers have stopped everyone visiting?” Bridget asked with a playful glint in her hazel eyes. “We’ll have it to ourselves before the hoards start moving back in!”

Everyone agreed, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and once you’d torched and sealed the nests and burrows, the troop moved off through the trees to the nearby springs.

While Ned practically bombed his way in, sending hot water splashing everywhere, closely followed by Bridget in just her underwear and chest wrappings, the twins were a little more demure, and you followed last. The water was deliciously warm, though it smelled quite pungently of minerals, and you groaned as you lay back and ducked your head under the water, washing out the sweat and grime from the fight. Mhorrin, it turned out, had no intention of bathing with everyone, and only washed his hands and feet carefully in the edge of the shallowest pond before retreating to a quiet rock a little way off.

As Ned resurfaced, huffing and blowing spray like a buffalo, you shot Mhorrin a curious look as his figure retreated, and asked Ned in a hushed whisper, “So… uh, what’s the deal with Mhorrin? I’ve been with you a week and he’s hardly said a word…”

“Keeps himself to himself mostly,” the gregarious minotaur shrugged. His thick, black hair was already curling wildly, and he had drops like diamonds on his thick eyelashes. “You got any more questions though, I suggest you ask him.”

“Fair enough,” you said. Of course, his answer had done nothing to quell the curiosity that was quickly blossoming inside you. Swathed constantly in that thick, leather coat, careful with all his movements, masked and distinctly ‘different’, Mhorrin was a mystery to you. While you weren’t generally one to pry, you couldn’t help the desire to get to know him at least, but it seemed that the strange being - you didn’t even know what he was - kept his cards tight to his chest.

As you swam across the deep pond, however, you rolled over and noticed that Mhorrin’s gaze appeared to be locked on your body as you slid through the water. Resting your feet on the bottom of the rocky pool, you stood, chest half out of the chalky blue water, and called out to him, “Hey, Mhorrin! You not coming in?”

You actually had yet to hear him speak more than a few words to anyone, but he surprised you with a full sentence as he drew his thick cloak more tightly about himself and said, “I don’t think it would be as pleasurable as you imagine, human. But thank you all the same.” Behind the mask, his voice was rough and rasping, deep, and his words were quietly and almost gently articulated, as though he had large teeth to work his tongue carefully around.

“Fair enough,” you said again, backing off, but you still felt the slight sting of disappointment anyway.

As the weeks slid by into months and you travelled further with this group of blades for hire, you began to feel at home in the rather odd family. Bridget was loud and brusque, but she had a tender heart, and you realised she was easily hurt by comments tossed her way in taverns along the road. Ned did his best to tell them all to fuck off, but you soon discovered that, despite her closeness to the minotaur, it was you with whom she found a scrap of comfort with on evenings by the campfire when the others were bedding down. Perhaps it was easier to bare her heart to a relative stranger. Either way, you liked her and you let her.

“I’ve always been too big and too strong,” she snorted on one such night when you’d passed through a town and she’d had comments tossed her way - this time about being part ogre. Ned’s earth-shattering snores already drowned out the crickets in the grasses, and the elves were quietly occupied a bit further from the fire, talking quietly in their own language.

Taking a sip from your wineskin, you crooked your elbow over your knee and leaned forwards. “No such thing as too big or too strong,” you grinned, hoping to lift her spirits.

Mhorrin was sitting not far away, whittling a forest creature out of a stick of firewood, and the steady scratching of his blade against the wood slowed as you spoke, though you pretended not to notice.

“If you weren’t how you are, you wouldn’t be able to protect the people you care about. Plus, I now know first hand that you give great hugs.”

She smiled and leaned back on her hands, her body going taut for a moment as she stretched out along the warmth of the fire. She crossed her feet at the ankle and shot you a sidelong glance. “You know,” she said, “If I didn’t already know that you like men more than women, I’d think you’re making a move on me.” She grinned playfully and you laughed, pleased that her mood was lightening a little.

Her words made your eyes and thoughts drift once again to Mhorrin. His back was hunched high over his right shoulder as he sat on the edge of the ring of firelight, and his almost animal-like legs were folded beneath him. Swathed in that cloak of his and masked as he was, you knew almost nothing more about him after those first few months than you had in your first week with the company.

You recalled your gaze and turned it back to Bridget. “Yeah, true,” you chuckled, scrubbing at the scruff on your chin with a scar-knuckled hand. “Well, I’m just showing my new friend the love she deserves. You’re gorgeous. Anyway,” you added with a snort, “You like pretty little elven women yourself, so I think any attempts at flirting from me would fall on deaf ears…”

She leaned over and gently smacked your upper arm with the backs of her fingers. It was a friendly, affectionate kind of tap, and you shivered slightly at the warmth of the unexpected touch. “Appreciate it,” she said, not appearing to notice your reaction. “I love this bunch of idiots so much, and I’m glad you stuck around too.”

With a wonky grin, you laughed and lay back, staring up at the sky above with your arms behind your head for a pillow. You drew a deep sigh that filled your lungs completely, and then let it go. As great as it had been to be with them, to have a modicum of stability and continuity in your life, you did ache for privacy at times, and as close as you all were, that pang of loneliness which had haunted you for a long time still stabbed at you now and again, usually when you least expected it.

“That was a big sigh,” Luirlan commented as he too came to settle down silently for the night beside the dwindling flames.

“Just relaxing,” you said. You didn’t think anyone quite believed you, but no one took it any further. They gave you that privacy at least.

Mhorrin’s blade had stopped feathering details into the sculpture completely now, and, risking a quick sidelong look at him before you closed your eyes, you saw that he was staring at you. You flashed him a quick smile but got no response. Disheartened and more than a bit miserable, you drew your cloak up around your ears and tried to get some sleep.

Three days later the company arrived at a town that was much livelier and more prosperous than the one where you’d first met Bridget and her friends. Made of red brick and sandstone, some faced in mosaics of knapped flint, the merchants’ houses which bordered the wide market plaza were mostly three storeys tall, and they all glittered with large-paned windows. Elduin whistled through his teeth as he looked up at them, and Ned snorted. “This is where we should have been all this time - I can practically smell their gold. Folks like this always want someone to do some dirty work for them, or at least some heavy lifting!” He and Bridget flexed simultaneously and then fell about laughing at the silliness of it.

Mhorrin was the only one who seemed truly uncomfortable here.

Even the elves, who moved like shadows amongst the trees and could imitate almost every bird call you’d ever imagined, laughed and shoved each other playfully as you made your way through the market, but Mhorrin hung back, apparently staring at the ground, with his shoulders high and tense.

Doubling back, you fell into step beside him and murmured, “Everything alright?”

He nodded tersely and then added, “Not overly fond of places like this.”

“Fancy towns?”

“Any towns. Too busy. Too open…”

You bumped your shoulder gently against his side and said, “We’ve got your back, Mhorrin.”

You sensed the smile beneath the mask in the slight softening of his body, but he made no further reply. Side by side, the pair of you walked across the marketplace, following where the others led.

An old, ovine satyr stood behind a stall selling everything from herbal ingredients to sweets and snacks, and the elves slid over to her just as a human threw down in disgust whatever she’d been holding in her hand. “At that price? Go chew on a patch of nettles, you ugly old sheep!” the customer yelled at her and the satyr bleated something unspeakable at her retreating back.

“Sorry about that,” she grunted as she turned to face the elves. “People just don’t know the value of things that are hard to find. What can I do for you?”

They haggled cheerily over the price of various herbs, and the twins also came away with a large bag of licorice which they immediately dug into with the enthusiasm of small, lanky boys.

You watched them until Mhorrin’s soft voice at your ear made you jump. “Nothing for you?” he asked.

You shrugged, astonished that he was speaking to you. “Not really. You?”

He immediately shook his head. “I’d like a bath and a room at an inn,” he said, which surprised you.

So far he’d not shown himself as someone who liked his creature comforts. Clean he certainly was, but he was always efficient about bathing, heading into the river or stream after the others had returned shivering to camp, or using the baths in whichever establishment they called home for the night alone after everyone had finished. You wondered what it was that he felt the need to hide, but never went so far as to pry and ask.

Something of your curiosity must have shown, as he chuckled softly and said, “Am I so strange that my desire for a hot bath and a comfortable bed shocks you?”

The playfulness in his tone was more shocking to you, though only because it was so unusual for him to be so chatty and informal.

When you said as much, he shook his head, the long, tarred ship’s rope of his plait swaying. “Ah, what a bore I must be to you,” he all but whispered behind his wooden mask.

Before you could refute him, a young child with the hooves of a deer and the horns of a demon pointed at Mhorrin and tugged at their mother’s arm. “Look! Is he a tiefling too? Why is he wearing a mask?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shooting Mhorrin an apologetic look to which he apparently didn’t deign to respond. “It’s rude to point. Come on.”

Mhorrin’s heavy sigh made your head snap round but he was stalking away after the retreating backs of the others before you could get a good read on him. Not that such a thing was ever truly possible with his intense need for privacy and the mask and cloak covering almost all of him.

The inn that Bridget found was a few streets back from the marketplace, backing onto the temple and its grounds. “What about it, lads?” she asked. “If we double up on rooms, we should be able to afford this place quite comfortably after that last job we took.”

Everyone agreed that it was a huge step up from your last arrangements, and while she and Ned predictably partnered up, and the elves nodded at each other, Mhorrin turned to you with an odd tension in his body. “Do you mind?” he asked breathily.

“Sharing with you?” you asked, your voice catching in your throat at the chance to speak with him later in a more private setting. “Of course not!”

He nodded once, and it was all decided. Bridget paid up, and even managed to acquire a contract from one of the patrons who happened to be meeting a friend there for a drink.

“Oh thank the gods,” the merchant sighed, pressing a bejewelled finger to his temple. You had a job not to stare at the gem-encrusted rings that studded his hand and the gold chains that dangled around his fat neck. “I’ve been looking for someone capable enough of ridding the cellars of this pest for a week now, but no one will do it!”

“Just tell us what it is that needs killing,” Bridget said evenly.

“It’s some kind of spider, but it’s enormous. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you it’s the size of a small horse! It’s lurking between my finest barrels of Black Cedar red, and I’ve got the mayor and most of the council coming for dinner on Thursday, and if I can’t serve them that with the roast, then I don’t know what I’ll do. Even I can’t simply procure a wine of that vintage at such short notice!”

Bridget smirked and Ned hid a snort behind an artfully timed cough. You shot Mhorrin a look, but he had taken a step back into the quiet shadows and remained silent as always. Part of you ached a little when you saw him simply standing there, waiting for the next thing to be decided. Did he have no agency? No whims of his own? No desires? Did he just drift wherever Ned and Bridget and the others led him? As if he sensed your rising anger, Mhorrin’s face turned a little towards you but you shook your head and looked away. The private places of his heart were not for you to barge your way into.

Somehow Bridget wangled the most outrageous price from the desperate merchant, and the six of you headed over to his huge city mansion almost immediately after dumping your travel gear in your bedrooms. The room that you and Mhorrin were to share was beautiful, with a wide stone sill and twin beds on either side, a large silk rug in the centre, and two huge and elaborately carved wardrobes that neither of you would need.

The spider did in fact turn out to be the size of a small horse, and Elduin hissed, as you shut the door on it and backed out into the hallway to discuss your plan one final time, that it was more common to find these things up in the mountains where the goblins tunnel after emeralds and sapphires and the endless veins of silver.

“What the hell is it doing in the city then?” you growled. “It’s fucking huge!”

To your surprise it was Mhorrin who answered. “Many creatures such as that are traded as exotic and monstrous pets. One that size, and producing that much venom, would fetch a handsome price on such a market.”

Luirlan turned to him and said with a wry grin, “You think you can stick it full of arrows before it rolls us up like a party snack and sucks us dry?”

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “For all their size though, they’re damned quick. I’ll need a distraction.”

The twins looked at Ned and Bridget, and they nodded just as Elduin yipped, “Why are we always the distraction?”

Bridget grinned, “Because you’re also damned quick.”

Ned chimed in with, “Plus you look like a tasty little party snack,” which earned him a punch to the sternum which probably hurt Elduin’s knuckles more than Ned’s chest, judging by the gruff chuckle the minotaur gave.

“Ok, fine,” Luirlan said more seriously. “We’ll go in and chuck some throwing stars and powder snappers at it while Mhorrin turns it into a stationary porcupine. What about you two?” he asked Ned and Bridget.

“We’ll make sure you don’t get turned into that party snack for real,” she said darkly. “One of us on either side.” She turned to you and added, “And you’ll watch Mhorrin’s back.” There was no room for debate in her comment, but neither did she leave room for doubt; she knew by now that you would truly have Mhorrin’s back, and she trusted you with her friend’s life. Something about that made your chest ache and glow, and you nodded.

With the plan finalised, and your assorted weapons eased in their holsters and belts, you re-entered the dark cellars. None of you had any magic, so the elves tossed a couple of powder snappers they’d bought in the market which flared and popped when they struck the ground, and the spider, which had been crouching low between two enormous barrels at the far end of the stone-lined chamber, rose up and chittered softly in alarm.

The sound of it sent shivers down your spine like nails on a chalkboard, but you focused on the creature with your beautiful steel blade held firmly in your hand. Beside you, the gentle and now familiar creak of Mhorrin’s bow as it flexed was a steadying reassurance in the dark of the room.

The first arrow struck the creature in one of its eyes, but somehow - despite the power of the bow and the deadliness of the aim - it survived.

“You pissed it off real good!” Luirlan yelled as he dived out of the way of its lashing, frothing mandibles. “Oh fuck!” he yelled as it slashed at his skinny body with one of its eight, hairy legs. “It’s got fucking claws too!”

The fight went more or less to plan, with Mhorrin loosing arrows at vulnerable points on its body, but its hide was so thick that they seemed more like thistles in the coat of a wild boar than the deadly pine shafts of hunting arrows. Bridget yanked Elduin back out of the way just in time, and Ned hacked off one of its legs, making the spider spit and scream, retreating back towards the barrels. At that point it seemed to notice that Mhorrin was the source of the stinging barbs in its side, and it scuttled with the speed of a hunting hound fresh of its leash straight at you.

Ned was too far away to take another swing at it, but he hurled his great axe at it, though it missed and embedded itself in a smaller barrel to your right, the scent of wine filling the chamber to replace the fusty dank smell of the spider’s lair.

It was almost upon the pair of you, so you stepped in front of Mhorrin, barely noticing the arrow that hissed past your ear as the spider reared up again, its horrifyingly enormous mandibles clacking and glistening in the low light of the room. You swung at the taloned leg that darted forwards for you, but it was Mhorrin you gave a sharp cry from right behind you. The creature hadn’t been going for you at all, and its six inch long claw had gone through Mhorrin’s thick leather cloak like a needle through silk.

With a howl of rage, you drove the point of your sword upwards into the rearing spider’s throat until the hilt hit its soft fur, and you reeled back as it writhed and screamed. Forgetting about the creature and your blade, you turned and found Mhorrin on the floor, though he’d only been knocked back by the speed of the attack, and was quickly staggering upright.

“Mhorrin,” you gasped but he shook his head.

“I’m alright. It’s…”

“You’re bleeding,” you stated. “Let me look at it.”

“No,” he said, his spare hand flying up to press it into the stab wound. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll tend to it myself.”

You scowled, but there wasn’t much you could do. The others finished off the spider and brought down the oiled tarpaulin they’d prepared earlier to deal with its corpse, as per their contract.

The merchant was hardly as grateful as he might have been when he discovered the damage that Ned’s axe had done to one of the casks, but even without the cost he’d removed from the final payment to cover the replacement of the wine, you’d earned yourself a small fortune.

Mhorrin’s progress back to the inn was slow, but he showed no signs of passing out and he refused to take your arm or lean on you. When you were back in your room, you tried again to offer your help.

“Please,” you said. “I’ve got salves and bandages, and thread to stitch you up if it needs it, though I don’t think it will. I know what I’m doing. I’m not some hedge doctor; I’ve patched people up before, and done it well.”

He was breathing steadily but rapidly, the shallow rasp of his breath the only betrayal of the pain he must have been in. His masked face revealed nothing.

“Please Mhorrin,” you said even more gently. “Let me help you.”

“I can manage,” he said, though the conviction had gone from his tone.

“I know.”

After another few breaths, he nodded. “Fine.”

The tension that suddenly filled the room seemed nearly choking, but you took a breath and stepped back while he turned away from you and reached up to unlace the knot that held his wooden mask in place. He took the tiniest intake of breath before he removed it, and then set it down on a table nearby, still with his back to you.

A moment later, he undid the buckle that held his heavy cloak in place, and folded it carefully over the back of a chair so that the strange, black blood which still oozed from the wound in his shoulder wouldn’t mar anything.

You’d never seen him without the shapeless leather cloak, and without it, he seemed suddenly so much more slender; almost vulnerable. His waist was invitingly narrow and he wore loose trousers of the kind that many satyrs and fauns preferred, leaving his paw-like feet bare from the ankle. Over his top half, he wore a rough-looking linen shirt that was stained black with his blood, a fact as unusual as the rest of him.

He plucked at the hem of his shirt and murmured without looking at you, “You need this off as well, I suppose.”

You didn’t respond immediately. The right side of his shoulders was markedly higher than the other, making his spine curve and his shoulders hunch, and beneath the thin fabric of his shirt you could see ridges and bumps on the points of his shoulders. There was something alluringly beautiful about the unusual quality of his body. You’d never seen anyone like him in your whole life, but now was not the moment for that. You had not been given this moment for the luxury of admiring him.

“Or do you just want to gawp at the monster like everyone else?” Mhorrin snarled with real venom, still staring at the wall in front of him. The hiss of breath through his nostrils reminded you of a lurking naga in a dark cave, dangerous, threatened, and poised to strike.

“Yes please,” you murmured sheepishly. “I need it off.”

In a single motion, he ripped it over his head with no care for the open wound in his left shoulder, and dumped it on the floor before reaching for his mask and shoving it roughly back onto his face before you’d even seen it.

His back was the same mottled light and dark grey as his unusual hands, like water spattered on granite, but his spine was prominently ridged and he did indeed have almost horn-like protrusions at the shoulder joints, reminiscent of those that some lizardfolk have. He was clearly not reptilian though, you discovered as you cleaned the wound, earning nothing but a sharp intake of breath from him, and the same again as you smeared the heady-scented salve across it; his skin was warm to the touch, and surprisingly smooth, though you tried not to let your fingertips linger.

Mhorrin did gasp, however, when you pressed the clean dressing down over the antiseptic salve, keeping your other palm flat to his shoulder. The wound was on his left side, and the gnarled hump on his right shoulder rose and fell as his breathing quickened.

“Did I hurt you badly?” you asked and to your surprise he shook his head.

“No.” A moment later he laughed huskily, nervously, and said, “Your hands are cold.”

“Really?” you snorted. “That’s what’s bothering you right now?”

“You’re right,” he returned with sudden sourness returning to his words. “I have much bigger things with which to concern myself at the moment.” He didn’t seem to be talking about the wound.

Not understanding his words, you nearly let go of the wad of dressing, but you steadied yourself and returned to the task at hand. In no time he was bandaged up, and it didn’t bleed through the wrapping, so you figured you’d made the right decision.

“All done,” you said, and he rose immediately from the chair and fished out a clean shirt from his pack while you washed your hands in the stand at the corner of the room. This time he didn’t wait to remove his mask, and forced it over his head, ripping the dusky blue shirt slightly at the throat.

Once it was on, he snatched up his leather cloak and stalked from the room, securing it with the buckle as he left. His clawed feet faltered at the doorway, almost as if he had been on the point of turning and speaking to you, but to your disappointment he simply disappeared into the dark corridor beyond and let the door close behind him.

You stood there a moment, recalling the rapid breathing, the warmth of his body, the closeness of him, the musky smell of leather and something else that was undoubtedly his own scent. The way his black hair had gleamed in its thick plait, and the way his strange hands had twitched in his lap as you’d leaned over him; the tension ratcheting up his spine the closer you’d got… Dismissing his sharpness with a shake of your head, you grabbed your coin purse and headed down to the bar in search of a drink.

Bridget scowled at you when you arrived and plonked down in a seat beside her. The elves were nowhere to be seen, but Ned was drinking quietly beside her. “What happened?” she demanded in a low growl. “Mhorrin just headed out like a horse to pasture, and now you come down wearing a face like that…”

You shrugged and after a passing waitress took your order, you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. “Is Mhorrin always like this?”

“Like what?” Ned asked, resting his massive forearms on the sturdy table.

A shoulder twitch was all you had the energy for until you added, “So… skittish.”

“Skittish?” Bridget blurted. “The guy’s about as steady as a rock. What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean that he’s nervous in a fight,” you amended, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy and you needed a bath, but somehow you hadn’t got the impetus now. “When I was dressing his wound just now, he -” Bridget cut you off with an astonished bark of laughter.

“He let you get near enough to touch him?”

You met her hazel eyes directly, confused. “Yeah? I mean, I had to convince him that I knew what I was doing first, but…”

“Oh, I don’t think that would have worried him,” she went on. “I mean, he’s pretty handy with a needle himself. He knows his way around an injury or two.” She set her glass down and tugged up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a scar you’d seen many times on her stunning bicep. She had a habit of wearing sleeveless tunics after all. “He patched this up when I thought I was gonna lose my whole fucking arm. Left barely a whisper when it was healed.” She thumbed the thin silver line and shook her head disbelievingly.

That piece of information left you reeling. “If he could see to his own wounds, why did he go through all that with me…?” you mused aloud.

“All what?”

You gestured vaguely with your hand and nearly knocked your drink from the server’s hands as it arrived at your table. With a swift apology and a grin that seemed to appease him, you thanked the pretty tiefling and he left your glass on the table with a wink and an overly-friendly squeeze to your shoulder.

Ned growled, “There’s an open invitation if ever I saw one.”

You didn’t feel like taking him up on it, no matter how handsome he was. Your mind was occupied solely with thoughts of Mhorrin and his dappled skin. He’d had freckles on his back. You drew a deep breath and shrugged. Downing half your drink before looking up again, you simply said, “He let me clean and dress it, but he nearly bit my head off for the privilege of it.”

Bridget was quiet for a while, staring into her ale before she said, “You know, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him without that damned stupid cloak on?”

“Really?”

“Mmm. He never takes it off. To let you see more of him than even that… must have been a big deal for him. He trusts you,” she said, shooting you a look. “He partnered with you in that scrap with the spider and the two of you moved like our fucking elves; like you’ve been fighting together all your lives. I’ve never seen him like that…” She traced a fingertip through a glistening ring of beer on the tabletop and added, “Normally he’s our ranged fighter, hanging back on his own. To have someone with him is… new.”

Ned nodded quietly in agreement. “Give him time.”

“I think that’s all he’ll let me give him,” you grumbled, draining your glass and setting it down on the table with a hefty clunk. “I’m going out,” you announced, standing suddenly. “Need to clear my head.”

The two best friends let you go without comment, swiftly falling into their own conversation once you had strode away and left a few coppers at the bar for your drink.

Outside the soft patter of rain greeted you, and you groaned. With your hair damp in minutes, you sighed. You didn’t feel like doubling back for a cloak though, so you set off through the streets towards the temple grounds to stretch your legs and try and wear yourself out completely before going back to your shared room.

To your surprise, you’d gone no further than the bridge over the river which guarded the temple garden when you spotted a very familiar figure, swathed in a ridiculous cloak.

“Mhorrin?” you asked quietly as you stood in the drizzle at the foot of the gently arching bridge.

In the fae-lamps which illuminated the city at night, he looked decidedly peculiar, which was saying something - perhaps somewhere between a gargoyle and a damp dragon with wings folded downwards. He turned slowly and regarded you from behind his eerie mask. You thought he whispered your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“You want me to leave?” you asked.

After taking a moment to mull over your question, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t…” he faltered as you walked towards him, boots scuffing on the cobbles.

Ignoring the water pooling on the rough masonry of the sides of the bridge, you joined him and leaned your forearms on the stonework. A huge sigh heaved itself from your lungs and you stared at the silent water slipping by in an inky black stream beneath you. Rain dribbled miserably down the collar of your jacket and you shivered, sniffing as it dripped off your nose as well.

A rather more significant shudder shimmied down your spine a second later, and Mhorrin snorted a soft laugh behind his wooden mask. The next thing you knew, the heavy leather of his cloak was being draped around your shoulders and he was standing very close to you. “I cleaned the blood off it,” he said, and you smiled a little snort of your own.

The two of you stood like that for a little while, watching the river slide by, but eventually Mhorrin spoke up. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. I had no right.”

You shrugged, not knowing quite what to say and hoping it would be enough.

“Bridget showed me her scar,” you said pointedly after a minute or so.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. The one on her arm. The one you patched up. If you didn’t need me to treat you, why did you let me?”

Mhorrin remained silent for a heartbeat or three before he sighed and said heavily, “Perhaps I wanted someone else to do the looking after for once.”

Something about his tone struck you deeply and you found yourself unable to speak or find a proper reply, so you said nothing. He seemed to understand, even to appreciate the distance your silence gave him, despite your proximity beneath the cloak.

After a while he said, “We should head back.”

When you nodded, he withdrew the shelter of the cloak from you and you straightened. Neither of you said anything as you returned to the inn, but the silence was comfortable. Comforting even.

The bustle of the inn’s bar jangled against your memory of the soft rain outside, but you still shot Bridget a reassuring smile as you passed, and she nodded once before looking away.

Back in your room, you said you were going to get some of your clothes cleaned by the inn staff, and you offered to add Mhorrin’s bloody shirt to the pile. When you returned with empty arms, you pushed open the door and found Mhorrin standing against the windowsill, his arms braced against it, his body bare except for his trousers.

His back was towards you, but it didn’t feel like he was shutting you out. Quite the opposite, in fact; it felt as though he were giving you the opportunity to stare at him openly.

And you took it.

Mhorrin’s back was crooked and gnarled as an oak tree, listing slightly to the right like an old sloop in a force eight. For the first time you realised with a slight pang of… what, excitement?… that he had a long tail like a tiefling’s which, until then, had been carefully concealed beneath the fabric of his trousers. Now it writhed gently behind him like a hypnotised cobra, occasionally twitching. You let your eyes roam over the blue-grey skin of his shoulders, taking in the horn-like studs and the freckles and the various shades of stormy grey as you approached him. His hair hung down his back in its usual thick plait, but you saw with jolt that he didn’t have his mask on.

It sat on the sill beside his hand, empty and hollow as an old temple offering.

“Mhorrin?” you asked, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Everything alright?”

“You wanted to see me,” he said without turning around. “Well… here I am.” He turned just a little as you crossed the last few steps towards him and put your palm on the small of Mhorrin’s back, making him suck in a breath as his spine tensed up.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to relax again as you began to explore his body bit by bit, inch by inch, savouring the touches he was allowing you. Slowly, hesitantly, Mhorrin turned towards you, still in the circle of your arms, and he revealed his face for the first time.

Elongated and almost canine, his muzzle was drawn back in a nervous snarl to reveal huge canines and a black tongue. His almond shaped eyes were massive and completely black with no visible white sclera, but they were covered in a milky film like starlight.

“Mhorrin?” you gasped, taking half a step back from him, eyes fixed on his. “Mhorrin, are you…?” and your fingertips fluttered anxiously beside his muzzle, wanting to touch his cheeks just below his eyes. His gaze sailed straight over your head.

“Blind? Yes,” he said.

“I had no idea you couldn’t see. The way you shoot…?”

Mhorrin shrugged, not shying away from your touch this time as your fingertips connected with his soft skin. “I can see heat, like a snake - always could - which is how I found you on that bridge just now.” With a dry smirk he added, “All I had to do was look for a little block of ice.”

You snorted indelicately through your nose and dropped your hand back to your side. “Can I ask… what you are?”

At long last, his face softened just a little, the muscles of his muzzle relaxing, and he sighed, leaning his wiry body back against the sill behind him with a heavy exhale. “I’m a changeling fae, born on the blood moon and thus cursed to look like… this. My mother didn’t want a monstrous child like me, so she swapped me for a pretty human boy, stole him away, and suckled him on her own blood to turn him fae. He’s… He’s their prince now…”

The brutality of his answer shocked you to your core. “Mhorrin…”

He shrugged again, turning his strange hands palm up and seeming to regard them.

On impulse, you slid your own hands into his and he sucked in another sharp breath.

“I don’t care what you are,” you said, more earnestly than you’d perhaps intended. “You’re a good soul. I’m glad I met you.”

A quiet, rumbling purr began to sound from Mhorrin, which was slightly interrupted by the embarrassed laugh he gave.

“Mhorrin?”

He shook his head, still smiling, and said, “You… You’re not like other humans I’ve met…”

“Oh?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him properly, your hands still in his powerful grip, very aware of how close to him you were standing.

“Mmm.”

“How so?”

He laughed and said, “I… I feel…” but then he shook his head.

Deciding to act rather than to speak, you let go of his hands and took him by the hips, tugging him those final few inches closer, and you nuzzled your cheek against his before kissing him there.

Mhorrin growled softly like a gnoll and surged forwards, his hands searching up your sides, kissing you hard and you felt your cock stirring already, blood rushing south in a dizzying spiral. This was what you’d wanted for all those weeks; for someone to want you with a basic, almost feral instinct.

The changeling’s purring growl echoed in your ribcage as he backed you towards the nearest bed. “Tell me you want this,” he managed to rasp, drool glistening at his lips already. “Please, tell me you want this.”

“Fuck, Mhorrin,” you hissed, already leaning back towards the bed. “Yes. I want you. I don’t care how, but I want you.”

He chuckled at that and nuzzled a few more kisses at your neck one final time before tipping you onto the bed and stripping you rather hurriedly of your clothes. When he sprang your cock free, he moaned. “If you could see you the way I do,” he said.

In answer, you bucked your hips upwards a little and he got the message. Taking your cock in his hand and steadying your hips with the other, he smeared your leaking tip with one of his two thumbs and then slid your hard cock into his mouth and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

You couldn’t have contained the groan that rolled out of you even if you’d wanted to. The heat of his tongue and the ridges on the roof of his mouth were almost too much for your sensitive cock. You did manage to fight the immediate urge to fuck upwards into the heat of his mouth, however, and as his black tongue swirled around the head and then the shaft of your cock, you grunted inarticulately and he gripped your hips even tighter.

“Fuck, Mhorrin…” you wheezed, head lolling to one side, chest heaving. “That’s so good…”

The changeling sucked and dipped, his breath fanning over your lower torso as he worked you astonishingly quickly towards your climax, and as white heat coiled in your belly, you gasped, “Mhorrin, stop… I’m… I’m gonna…” and you lurched forwards and grabbed his thick hair, pulling him by the plait off your cock with a lewd pop that made your head spin.

“Mm?” he asked.

As you glanced down you saw the tent in his trousers and you gestured at his waistband. “You’re overdressed…”

With a shy grin, Mhorrin obliged, sliding out of his remaining clothes to reveal the evidence of his own arousal. Where the skin of his lean torso was a dark, stormy grey, his cock was almost blue, the tip a vibrant red and already weeping pearlescent pre-come down the length of his shaft, twitching in the relative cool of the bedroom.

Before he had the chance to return his attention to your cock, you reached for him and tugged him down to the bed. “My turn,” you said as you wrestled him onto his back with a playful grunt. He was stronger than you by far, and could have overpowered you easily, but he let you.

As you sat astride him, Mhorrin’s long tail snaked around your thigh and made you gasp as he caressed your balls with the soft, blunt tip of it. Your knees buckled and you pitched forwards, landing with one hand on his chest and the other on the bed beside him. His jaw parted and he raked his teeth across the pounding pulse in your neck before drawing back and saying, “Two can play that game, you tricksy little human…”

Your cock throbbed at the sound of his voice, suddenly so confident and self-assured, and it made you want to unravel him in the best way possible.

Sensing this, perhaps, he smiled hesitantly and said, “I… I have no oil that would be suitable, I’m afraid…”

“I do,” you said quietly. “Would you like me to fuck you then?”

He nodded mutely, and you smiled, raking your nails down his chest and making him gasp, his dark nipples hardening almost instantly.

It didn’t take you long to find the small vial you were looking for in the depths of your bag, and when you turned back to face him, you took just a moment to admire him. His long, lean body was stretched out, the pads of his toes spread wide with expectant pleasure, his tail writhing slowly beside him, his thighs tensed, his quads standing out and straining, and his hand was on his weeping cock already.

It didn’t take you long to open him up, but you did delight in watching the way his jaws went slack and drool slid freely from his lips as he tilted his head back and keened with pleasure as you hit that spot inside him that made him jolt and jerk with searing pleasure.

His body began to quake and quiver in minutes, and soon he was writhing and snapping his maw shut, his blind eyes rolling closed as his hands searched for you amid his pleasure. “Please,” he rasped. “Please…”

With a grin you slicked your own achingly hard cock with oil and then lined yourself up with him. Again, his tail snaked between your legs as he lay on his back, and he started to caress your balls as you eased yourself into him. He was still so tight that it took you a while to enter him completely, but when he raised his hips and finished the job for you, the pair of you let out matching moans.

Mhorrin went rigid with the pleasure of it and you felt the heat of his insides clench around you, almost daring you to come then and there.

“Fuck…” you breathed, bending low over him, adjusting to the grip he held on you.

“That’s… the idea…” he grunted. “Isn't it?”

With a hoarse laugh, you started to move, enjoying the slide of your cock inside him, watching him coming undone with each thrust, until he was shaking and whimpering. “Oh by Fate…” he cursed suddenly, “I’m… I’m going… I’m…” he cried and suddenly he was overcome, his body convulsing, his hands gripping your forearms as he curled his spine towards you, his abs clenching, his body rocking and jolting with the force of his release. His cock - untouched - spurted over his abs and chest, and he almost howled as he came.

Three more thrusts and you too were coming, emptying yourself inside him with a breathless gasp as your vision went white. Falling forwards over him, you lay there with him, gasping and still twitching, until he brought his strange hands to your back and traced idle lines up and down your spine.

Eventually you shifted, sticky and spent, and staggered towards the washstand in the corner of the room to fetch a cloth for him and for yourself.

Even cleaning him elicited similar groans of pleasure from him, and before you knew it, he was getting hard again, and despite your exhaustion from the day and from your first round, you felt the same awakening in your own body.

Silently, you moved your hand back to his cock and he jerked and whimpered.

“Yes?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yes… Please, yes…”

—

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#fae #changeling #male fae #exophilia #fae x reader #mlm #male monster x male reader #male fae x male reader

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