#just to be RIPPED OUT BY THR STEM

[youcouldbewonderful]

did hozier know that writing first time meant he was directly responsible for what that did to my mental health

[comfortless]

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled  the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

[hpalways]

Yaksha’s Destiny || Xiao

DARKNESS was the biggest fear held by fellow Yakshas. This power bestowed upon you and many alike gave an opening to the pitting shadows that raged within your chambers. Some days, it wasn't as bad -- other days... it felt like you were getting ripped apart into shreds, taking in all your willpower to battle against it. It was tempting, to give in and call it quits. Life for a Yaksha wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. There were always too many demons and not enough heroes. Especially for a weaker one like you, anger and frustration would stem from these battles, only to eat at you later on.��

Today was one of those days. The sky was a stormy sea of clouds, with the Gods crying from the heaven above. Droplets prickled down your bare skin, cold to the touch. While in the mountainside, you had stumbled upon demonic energy, so there was no choice but to finish them off. 

Dodging the monster that lunged at you, you took out your polearm. The hydro vision on your hip gleamed brightly in the setting. Taking a turn, you could feel power surge to your arms. As you were about to jab your weapon into the demon's abdomen, they had ducked in time. Shit. You had underestimated this one.

Its body rammed into you, knocking you off your feet. Air left your system, causing you to groan in pain. Just as it was about to sink its teeth into your arm, you rolled over on one side and jumped back to your feet. Fingers clenching tightly around the metal stick, you pushed your hind legs and tried to stab at it another time. Your speed and reaction time was too slow. Too damn slow. Too damn weak. Gritting your teeth, you began to use up more of Yaksha's power, drinking the exhilarating taste of freedom. It was so addicting... often times, you'd wished it'd never stop. 

A burst of water shrouded from the weapon, circling the demon until it was surrounded. With one, clean fell swoop, you sliced the demon and the energy faded away. The deed was done. 

Falling to your knees, your entire body was shaking. Face contorted and in pain, nails dug into the earth to feel wet mud. Your body would not move -- it could not. Stilling there as if you had just been paralyzed, hungering thoughts plagued your mind... Thoughts you wished weren't yours. Letting out a disgusting whimper, similar to that of a wounded animal, you bit down on your lip, hard. Blood dribbled down your chin, painting the grass in crimson. Tugging at your mask, you stared at it for a moment. A sigh let out. 

That was a close one. Crashing to the ground, your chest heaved up and down in exhaustion. 

A figure suddenly entered your peripheral vision. Climbing up to the ridge of the mountain was Xiao, his dark teal locks blowing along with the harsh winds. Donned in his usual robes, he was as attractive as ever. The first time you stumbled upon him -- one of the famous five -- you nearly forgot to breathe. You had referred to him as Alatus then, starstrucked by such a powerful being. 

You would never not awed by him. The way he held himself would always come to remind you of the big gap in strength between the two of you. Maybe you did establish a relationship with this all-mighty Yaksha, but this inferiority complex was tugging your strings more than you'd like to admit. 

At the same time, he provided you the distraction needed. He kept you grounded, which prevented you from going mad. He was the only one who made you feel human, if that was even possible. 

Golden amber hues landed on you, withholding an unreadable expression. He walked up to your beaten up form and sat down, unbothered by the rain. Struggling to get yourself into a sitting position, you looked out at the view in front. 

"You used up too much of your power again," he murmured. 

"Do you think I don't know that? I had no choice," you sighed. 

His sharp eyes narrowed further. "You were being careless."

"It happened. There's nothing I can do to change it." His anger barely dwindled and the scowl only deepened. "Come on, Xiao. I don't want to talk about my mistakes when I'm with you. Busy as we are, I barely get to see you as of late. Can't we just enjoy our brief time together?"

That got him. His eyes softened at your words and he reluctantly nodded in agreement. Seizing the victory, you laid your head on his shoulder, feeling warmth even upon this cold weather. The rain was starting to let down too -- perhaps Xiao was the lucky charm.

"What have you been up to?" you inquired. 

"Demons. Monsters. The usual," he responded. His cheeks tinged with a soft pink all of a sudden. "I... I also got you something."

Your ears perked up at the sound of this. Lifting your head, you watched him in curiosity. He took something out from his robe pockets and slowly opened his palm. Laying there was a blue, glowing object. Shaped as a butterfly, it was gorgeous. You had never seen this kind of butterfly around these parts. He must have traveled far to have found it. 

"It's a crystalfly," he mumbled, averting his eyes in embarrassment. Your heart raced at his actions. He was too cute. Before meeting him, you could have never imagined the Vigilant Yaksha to possess such qualities. "I saw it and... thought it would look good in your hair."

"Oh, I love it. Thank you," you whispered breathlessly, touched beyond words. This was exactly what you meant with how Xiao could easily brush your problems away with a smile.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed his lips. They were soft as petal leaves. He returned the gesture immediately, arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. Digging your fingers into his hair, you kissed with a ferocity that was never present in your fights. This was to release the pain you dealt with today. As long Xiao was here, you were going to be okay. As long as he was by your side, you were going to be okay. This era of demons and gods will end someday, leaving you a happy future with him. 

You tasted him. His lips. His mouth. His entire self. He tasted of mint. He tasted of life. He tasted of iron. The kind of metal tang found in blood. Sighs were exchanged upon each kiss, breathless but the two of you would not let the other go. Your lips trailed down to his jaw, peppering his baby-soft skin with a few nibbles here and there. He let out a gasp. 

Finally you pulled away, giggling at his flustered state for your bold moves. 

The end was nearing. He picked up the crystal fly and reached up to your [h/c] hair. While he gently pinned it down, you could only focus on his swollen lips. He was beautiful... and you loved him so. 

"[Y/N]," he said, interrupting the honey silence of the mountains. "If you are ever in trouble, just call my name and I will come to you. In any circumstance, avoid overusing your power."

This bliss that left you giddy disappeared as quick as it came. All that remained was the harsh, cruel reality. Brows knitted together in offense and you quickly shook your head. "Why would I do that? I'm a Yaksha. What kind of Yaksha seeks help from another? This wounds my pride, Xiao. Is your faith in my skill and strength that low?"

"No. That's not it," he argued, features twisted in desperation. "Why won't you let me protect you?"

"Unbelievable," you merely scoffed, staggering up to stand. "I have to go. I'm sure you do too."

Ignoring his blubbering protests, you jumped down upon ledges until you reached ground level safely. He didn't understand what you had to go through. He never had to face judgement from those who didn't believe in you. Strong enough to battle the demons both externally and internally, Xiao was different from you. But even so... even if his words meant that he only cared for you, it hurt like you had been just stabbed. 

You were willing to prove to him that you could stand on your own feet. He was going to eat his own words. So would the other Yakshas who looked down on you your entire life. If you trained hard enough, surely improvement could be gained. Right? It wasn't as if destiny could determine what you could accomplish already. 

Approaching the forest that was said to contain many strong demons and monsters, you surged ahead, with eyes filled of challenge. 

There, sitting in a nook was a cave, Sensing a suffocating presence, you knew you had hit a jackpot. Sneaking across the grassy lands, you stayed silent. The tall, towering trees were beginning to look a lot more ominous. Tiptoeing to the edge of the cave, you peered in to find the energy unbearably strong. One staggering breath later and you went forward. A roar let out, signaling that it knew of its intruder. Shoulders tensed up and sweat beaded your forehead, but you couldn't stop now. No matter what, you were going to go through with it. 

It was a beast. Fangs gleamed in the darkness, nearly the size of your weapon. Having woken from its slumber, its terrifying eyes landed on you. Claws swiped the air, which you barely avoided in time. Fear had seized you with a hand, choking you until you could barely move. This was a terrible, foolish move. There was no way you could beat such a demon. 

Calling in more power, it filled you up at the core. To waste no time, you delved right into battle, slashing at the monster. It had little to none effect on it. With a lazy swipe of its arm, it slammed you right into the cave's walls, causing you to spit out blood. Pushing yourself up, you tried again, putting in more power to your weapon. Adding hydro to the mix, the weapon hit its arms. It caused the monster to roar in pain, but that only made it more angry. Barreling straight to you, similar but much more frightening than the last demon, it pounced on you, pinning you down to the ground. 

Drool left its mouth, splattering all over on your face. Its claws dug into your side and you let out a piercing scream. You were so fucking sick of this shit. Why was it destined that you had to stay weak? It was so unfair you wished to cry your heart out. 

The last of the powers was used. Pushing the demon's hold on you, you stumbled up and felt thrill run through. It was delicious, but your mind was also beginning to grow hazy. "X-Xiao..." you uttered out. 

The Conqueror of Demons arrived as soon as you called, anxious to apologize for his insensitivity. What he didn't expect to see was a battlefield. A large and strong demon was torn apart to pieces, the iron smell of it so strong, it was gagworthy. Sitting on the pile of bones was you, dark, gruesome scratches decorating your arms and legs. A deep gash was bleeding from your torso and your [e/c] eyes were dimmed; at the same time, they held a crazed look in them. 

His face paled and his body grew cold at the sight. You did the thing he last wanted to happen. Already too far in and consumed by the darkness surrounding your whole life, you were looking at him not with love, but with bloodlust. "I'll kill you, Xiao!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. 

Climbing down, you tried to run to him. But your footsteps halted and you crashed to the ground. Spazzing out as if you had just been electrocuted by lightning, the Vigilant Yaksha slowly approached you, tears streaming down the side of his face. He kneeled down, cradling your head in his lap. "Don't leave me..." He hit the ground in fury. "Dammit! Why didn't you listen to me!?"

Consciousness returned but you were on the brink of death. The wound was deep, but so were the demons. It was raining again, so you forced a small smile out. "I'm weak. It's my fate," you whispered. "At least I won't have to suffer through this darkness any longer. It's over. I quit. You won, my demons. I am yours to keep."

"Shut your mouth," he snarled. The rain had turned into a storm, adding fury into the mix. "Please. You can make it through this. Don't leave me yet. It was going to get better. An era with no more demons to haunt us. You said so yourself." 

"That was just a stupid dream."

"Don't fucking say that," he growled, flinching as if he'd just been slapped. You were supposed to be the optimist here. It meant that this death was real... and that you would accept it with open arms. "It's going to happen. So hold on. Let me find someone to save you."

Your head shook and you winced. "We all learned this since young. We'll die if we let our power consume us. It's impossible and you know it."

"Stop," he choked out, lowering his head until his hair covered his broken expression. "Then don't talk. Save your breath."

You ignored his words. "Thank you... for the crystalfly. Does it look pretty on me?" you murmured.

He heaved out a sob and slowly nodded. "I've never seen anyone more beautiful."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"And I'm sorry."

"I am too."

"Protect... the people... like you always do, my sweet, Vigilant Yaksha." Your voice grew more raspy by the second, for the pain was getting unbearable. 

You fluttered your eyes shut and the pain faded. On the other hand, Xiao's pain grew, the scars and trauma there to haunt him, for a life and infinity.

[heroquills-a]

@crimsonxblur: (x)

      As soon as things had begun quieting down, he’d made his way back to work without much thought. As inclined as he was to indulge in the unexpectedly warm welcome he’d gotten from people - or most of them, anyway - he still had a lot to deal with in terms of making up for his absence. Notably, after being effectively chewed out by the commander, he’d been sentenced to ten hours of surveillance duty for ever single call he’d missed, that he had to serve during night shifts when things were especially calm and boring, and during which any contact with his team was forbidden.

     Not the brightest of perspectives, but Shadow knew he couldn’t expect his little disappearing stunt to be without consequences. If anything, he hoped to get this particular obligation out of the way as soon as possible, hence his prompt return to headquarters. Or so he gave as an excuse for his somewhat early arrival; in truth, his last encounter of the night had left him too stunned to think of anything else he could do with himself - not to say too hurt.

     As it turned out, doing nothing but staring at a bunch of screens depicting various locations where nothing is happening for hours on end wasn’t ideal when he wanted to avoid torturing himself with wondering what the hell it was that even happened back there. And with every few people who came into the room to share the duty for some time shooting him disapproving glances, the answer came as rather obvious: he’d done something wrong.

     A shame that he had to go and mess this up, really; he’d been in a good mood, what with having a good talk with Zero, a heartwarming reunion with Silver, and hearing from Omega for the first time in weeks. When seeing Sonic on the scene, he’d had nothing in mind but the hero’s letter and the fact that he was legitimately happy to see him - enough to forget why he’d even left in the first place.

     That had been his mistake, clearly. That blinding, momentary joy that had led him to bare his heart even after getting advice that had rubbed him the wrong way; Sonic hadn’t hesitated even one second to stab and twist the knife before running away.

     You had it coming, he told himself repeatedly that night, flicking some black pen up the slightly inclined desk and watching it roll back down only to be sent up again. He couldn’t just ask that Sonic be honest with him, that he fully express himself around him no matter how harsh his thoughts might get, without expecting the speedster to strike at Shadow’s own faults eventually. He should have been prepared for this.

     He hadn’t been, because all this time he’d slowly let himself believe that maybe - with everything that had transpired between them recently - just maybe there was more than spite and resentment and rivalry between them. But apparently, that had been part of the hero’s act, and Shadow had actually fallen for it.

     He caught the tormented pen when his phone buzzed, and a second later gave off a light that caught both his and his current coworker’s attention. He frowned seeing the name that showed up on the screen, gritting his teeth as he flipped the device over to hide it without checking the received message. Except the vibration kept going, three more times in fact, and a bad feeling sank in.

     When the man next to him stood up and excused himself out of the room - failing at being subtle that he was going to see his superior to probably report that Shadow was communicating with his team - the remaining agent gave in and bypassed his phone’s lock screen to see just what it was Sonic had to say to him this late at night after their earlier exchange. Surely it couldn’t make him any more miserable than he already was, right ?

     Reading the texts left Shadow more numb than he’d managed to be for a long time now. It was like they emptied him of any emotion or care he might have had left for this whole situation after picking it apart for hours. Apparently, someone had just put his mask back on and regretted having taken it off. Fuck off, he wanted to text back. But even that didn’t sound very satisfying. Not any more than ignoring it like he had everything else. Or accepting the apology like it was no big deal.

     With a sigh, he got up and headed for the door, which opened just as he was reaching for the handle to reveal his earlier coworker returning. Perfect timing. “I’m going out,” he announced without much ceremony, and slipped past the other agent before he could voice any protest or question or complaint.

     Shadow made a detour his team’s little locker room to grab a jacket before exiting out the back door from where he could easily climb up on the roof of the building. From there it was a long walk to get to the front of it, even more so when trying to ignore his phone and those messages burning a hole in his pocket. Only upon arriving at his targeted vantage point did he aim to grab it again, except he reached for something else instead - something he’d forgotten he’d left in this specific jacket.

     Oh. Might as well, he thought, pulling out the package of cigarettes. Nicotine wasn’t nearly strong enough to affect his system in any way (and it was a damn shame - he could use its intended effect in situations like these), but something about smoking could still calm his nerves at times, even if it was very minor. And so he lit one up without further thinking, letting the sight of the exhaled clouds of smoke soothe what little they could.

     A thought occurred to him then, one that had echoed in his mind just the same a few days ago. Everything goes away. He’d gotten what he wanted. Whatever it was that had been nurturing between him and Sonic recently, he’d effectively killed it now. By not allowing it to grow for long enough, he’d pretty much ripped it out root and stem, it seemed. Why ? Why was this what he wanted ? It certainly didn’t feel good.

     Because it was the right thing to do, he’d convinced himself. It felt wrong, but what was right never felt right to him. He wasn’t hardwired to do the right thing, it didn’t come naturally to him - at least not anymore, if it ever had. He had to believe it was right, even if his instincts and emotions and impressions screamed the opposite.

     He sat down on the edge of the roof, inhaling another puff and looking out the quiet but lit up city before he picked up his phone with his free hand to look at those messages again. How dishonest and fake those few words sounded after what Sonic had said to his face earlier. Did I ruin what we had ? Or did it never exist ?

     If anything, it bugged him that the hero would even bother sending him this. What was he hoping to accomplish ? He knew Shadow didn’t care for his act. He never had, and he did even less now that he’d gotten a glimpse of what Sonic really thought of him. Why was he pretending to care again ? Something felt off, and not just the fact that the speedster had sent him this even closer to dawn than his usual late-night texts.

     Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the kind of gut feeling Shadow could just shake off by reminding himself his morals were questionable and that he couldn’t trust himself with his own impressions. Eyes rose to scan over the scenery again, as if he might discern some tangible reason for distress or worry if he looked hard enough. Flickering lights, an alarm going off, or just the brief flash of a blue blur - anything that could justify this undeniably growing concern of his.

     But the city stayed still, and he was forced down the path to another conclusion. To the fact that he’d made a promise, regardless of how involved he was. To the realization that he cared, even if it hurt.

     Shadow dropped the unfinished cig, crushing it with an open palm, and with both hands now free, he texted back three simple words.

     ‘are you okay ?’

He was drifting in between awareness and unconscious. A state where Sonic felt he were on the edge of a steep cliff, that floating feeling you get when you’re very high up and everything on the ground feels hundreds of miles away.

He’d finally ran himself empty, all his energy finally depleted enough to not even have the will to let his thoughts chase him anymore. Sonic wasn’t even quite sure where he was right now. He knew he ran and ran and pushed himself at full speed till he could feel the first ripple of exhaustion hit him, lungs aching from the strain. Instinct told him to find somewhere sheltered, so he took to the first building in his sights- he assumed it was a barn, and snuck on in. He found a place high up in the rafters, and while it wasn’t exactly an ideal place to crash, he felt perfectly hidden. Nobody would see him now. He could drown in his exhaustion and complications in peace without judgement.

The muffled sounds of barn animals shuffling and sighing in their own nests down below somehow brought on a sense of serenity to the hedgehog’s state of being. He didn’t care much for the smell, but at this point Sonic couldn’t even bring himself to care. He was tired.

Cold moonlight shown through the windows around him, somewhat illuminating the dust particles that floated through the air with a soft glow and casting long shadows behind the long planks of wood stretching across the ceiling. The hero made sure to tuck himself into the darkest corner he could find, and before he knew it he felt too exhausted to even climb back down. Curled up on his side, he hazily watched the floating specs of animal dandruff float through the air, almost dreamlike. Eventually he’d let his eyes finally close while Sonic said goodbye to the waking world, and had been on the edge of completely blacking out.

That was, until a buzzing noise rattled loudly next to him, volume amplified by the wide plank of wood he nested on, rudely jolted him back into awareness. Sonic sits up with a start, head pounding but not nearly as hard as his heart was. It hurt, admittedly. Sonic lets out a pained hiss and pushes the palms of his hands against his eyes in a vain attempt to sooth the throbbing that assaulted his skull, teeth gritting with intense annoyance at whatever just ruined his blissful state. 

Sighing shakily when the ache finally dulled down, hands shuffle against the plank and the underside of his jacket, searching for the source of the disturbance. When he found it, the speedster rolls onto his back with a groan and squints at the offending light source that shines from his phone screen. He was planning to simply just turn the thing off completely, but when the name on the lockscreen came into focus, that plan was quickly forgotten. 

He didn’t think he’d get an answer.

Nor did he think he’d get the one he did.

Sonic has to re-read the words written across the several times before he can finally process the question, and has to think for several minutes before he can actually begin to form an answer.

Are you okay?

It was a simple question. Just three words, but not any three words he’d expect from the person on the other side of the screen. Especially not after the last exchange they had. It hardly felt like any concern he deserved from his rival, so it left Sonic in a state of confused disbelief. Why would Shadow be wondering if he was okay?

Icy tears of exhaustion leak from the corners of his eyes and down the sides of his cheek while he scanned the message again- perhaps searching for some kind of explanation for this written in the text. But none came, and his eyes burned and blurred, forcing the hedgehog to blink several times and rub them with the back of his hand.

Another wave of pain racked against the inside of his head, not as intense this time, but enough to make the hero wince. He didn’t think he even had it in him to try and question how Shadow knew something wasn’t right. He was too tired. Too tired to force any optimism or put on any front. His answer came surprisingly easy to him when he finally focused his vision enough to tap his thumbs against the screen. The honesty in his response almost didn’t feel real to him, further establishing the feeling of being trapped inside a dreamlike trance- as if he were a spirit hovering over his body. Completely out of it, and no will to lie anymore.

[Text]: Youre asking me that?

[Text]: No not really

[Text]: Are you?

[wearewatchman]

Flashback

Nora's face was pale, but she retained the practiced stoic expression of an Officer of the Watch. Officer Gleeson, who had been on the Watch about half as many years as her, wasn't looking nearly as well. "If your going t'be sick, Gleeson, do it outside, and make it snappy. Don't you dare make a mess've my crime scene." Gleeson nodded weakly, and trotted out the door. Nora didn't particularly blame the poor fellow--the room before her was gruesome.A young woman, looked about nineteen, wearing a once blue dress, lay on the floor. The poor man who lived in this house discovered her when he came home that morning, after working a very late night. Nora had a feeling she'd be in for a late night, too. Dark red viscera soaked the fabric, stemming from her chest, which had been carved open. The girl's eyes hadn't yet lost their color, and neither had the blood, although there was an awful smell. She had died recently, then? But no--other evidence contradicted that notion. The blood was all over her dress, but there was hardly a drop on the floor around her. This woman didn't die here, she'd been moved.Nora moved closer, her analytical mind taking over, barely regarding the corpse as a former person--just a piece of the grisly puzzle. Her heart was missing; not ripped out, but expertly removed, for despite the fact that no effort was made to contain the blood, and a good deal of her torso had been torn up, the heart was the one organ which had apparently been taken intact. That wasn't all... a telltale dark brown stain on the victim's lips told a very different story from a frenzied stabbing. Poison--some form of corrosive, which, unfortunately, would explain the stench.Gleeson came back into the room."Sorry about that, Murph. I guess we should get started, huh?""Actually," she said, facing the young man, "We're just about done 'ere. This woman was killed by poisoning, and then moved t'this spot, before 'er heart was removed with surgical skill." Nora explained. "So, our suspect has magic t'preserve a corpse, knowledge of human anatomy, an' of poisons. And for reasons we don't know just yet, they need a human heart." Nora stopped to consider another point, then added, "And they're strong enough to lift the body off the ground. No trail of blood means she wasn't dragged." Gleeson blinked three times, then asked with a perplexed expression, "Could--could it be a witch?""Could be, but I doubt it. Think, Gleeson. With such extensive knowledge of the human body, y'might expect our perp to know that making cuts like these'r easier when your cadaver's not fully dressed. But they've hacked half her body up like a jack-o-lantern. Why d'ya think that is?" Gleeson was lost for a minute, but a look from Nora made it click. "You mean to say that the murderer--didn't want to see her indecent??""Didn't like th' thought of it, anyhow. So, we've a magic user, who also has a physician's skills, but doesn't want t'see the lass without 'er dress. I think it sounds like a cleric with a bad streak to 'em. Send out a message, start rounding up priests with no alibis for last night.""Right!... wait, aren't you going to do that?" Gleeson asked.Nora shook her head. "Gotta finish up here, make sure I've missed nothin'. I'll catch up."Gleeson hurried out the door, leaving Nora alone with thr body. Now that her work with the young lady was complete, Nora regarded her as a human once again, letting the hard-nosed detective fade away. "We're gonna get th'bastard that did this t'ya," she said softly as she covered the body with a sheet, hoping that if the girl's spirit was near, it could hear. Then, a twitch of the face, a wipe of the eyes and nose--Nora let Officer Murphy take point once again, and went to go do her job.

[avalindin]

Precious Cargo

Ronan/GotG fic

Chapter 8: Knowhere (wo)man

____

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

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 Four months later…

The smell of concentrated brain stem no longer made her dizzy. She tightened the scarf to her head as more boxes came by. One hand secretly held her stomach from feeling sick as she touched each of the containers that stopped for her. Each day things got easier and she adapted to looking profession to the one that found her and saved her from the frigid space. With the wave of her hand, each was pushed along for the Collector to smile upon. The strange man stood tall, waiting behind the woman as she continued with her work.

“Impressive as always, my dear.”

“Don’t make me rip out your tongue, sir.”

Taneleer chuckled as he kept his hand to himself but his thoughts run wild about her. At least it gave him a distraction from all last of the repairs made to the stronger ceilings of the Arena since the explosion from the last Infinity Stone that was in possession. The only thing keeping him back from her was the accord around her finger that would present itself whenever he got close enough. Her hand stopped as she looked over her shoulder.

“Since when do you traffic unshackled refugees?”

“Since these are hard times that we live by. I do have a heart somewhere, you know.”

“There’s no more room here on this shit rock.”

“I do have enterprises elsewhere. Just say the word.”

“The word. All shipping containers are cleared.”

“Wonderful,” he beamed as he clapped his hands together.

The Collector followed his pale worker through the maze of his collection, seeing her exhausted by her powers. He proudly held out his arm to her for her to grab, smiling as her weakened hand clutched his suit jacket. She was taken but he enjoyed the moments with her when he could as she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes upon.

“Have you rethought my offer, young Harding?”

“I don’t want to be in one of your damn cages, sir.”

“I have no Kree or a grandfathered Inhuman for that matter.”

“I’m not sure I qualify for both, sir. I’m still human.”

“Nonsense. All the more reason to think over my offer. You would be paid handsomely.”

“Too bad for you, I could give a shit about money.”

“Give a shit,” he pondered, “not my taste but refreshing none the less. Have some tea before you go. I would hate to have you pass out from exhaustion in the sea of miners.”

Katja was too tired to try and fight with the man as she sat at the offered seat at his desk. He waved his hand as one of the greener skinned servant girls hurried off to please her master. Katja was lucky to only be a show dog to him.

“Ten more units per box. You are well over 5000 units, my dear. Shall I keep them for you? You have more than enough to occupy one of my spaces rather than that disheveled hostel on the ground level.”

“I have nothing worth stealing.”

“Only because they fear you.”

“Good,” she huffed as she accepted the sweetened tea, “I don’t enjoy being messed with.”

“Then why work as a barmaid? I would pay more should you want to be a hostess to my collection. The studies would be strenuous but the knowledge would be more that rewarding.”

Katja smiled and began to consider. She finished her tea in peace and departed with a few of her units as she made her way from the upper levels of the Arena. She moved through the walls and made her way past the waves of bodies that drank and bet with one another. She covered her face to not get the attention of the patrons.

She turned corners and alleys to avoid the children asking for spares, not that she didn’t like the children but to hide herself as she stumbled into the nearest wall and got sick. She missed her boots and wiped the spit from the back of her mouth as she tasted the sweet bitterness of her rejected tea. Her body was having a reaction to the skin vapers of Knowhere as her immune system was adapting to alien germs. All still so new for her to remember.

Katja pushed herself upright and continued her way back to the guarded housing used for the Collector’s more important workers. His personal servants roomed in the upper floors of the arena but Katja needed grit and something surreal to keep her moving forward.

She stopped at the forward gates and showed her face as the guards waved her forward. With each step, Katja could hear the slums behind her slowly start to quiet. She climbed the mountain of spiral stairs to the top level, the only thing she really wanted. She turned the knob of her rooms and used her weight to open the heavy wood. Katja hit the door a bit hard, scaring the other woman on the other side of the door.

“You scared me! Must you enter like a savage?”

“What’s the matter, babe? I thought my brute force was something you liked. Don’t know why you’re complaining now.”

The little woman’s angry face melted into a smile as she curled up on her seat, looking to Katja’s weak body trying to close the door.

“I do like it but I wish you were like a male.”

“Scratching and sniffing at myself like I’m a dog?”

Katja kicked the door closed and tossed her things into the second room. She grabbed the nearest bottle of recycled mist and rinsed out her mouth, leaving it clean.

“I think you’d just need to pick me up and throw me over your shoulder. I think about it a lot, not you but a man, claiming me and only me as his own. The growing need to draw blood almost to the surface.”

“It’s overated, Arda, believe me…”

Katja flopped down on her bed, feeling the artificial gravity hold her to the soft mattress. She wasn’t fast enough as the little A’askavariian jumped on her and straddled her lap with a chuckle.

“Then maybe you should show me what it feels like to be taken. Your husband…”

Katja was quick to reach up and yank Arda’s head back by her hair. She could feel her mate’s fingers thicken to small tentacles as she tried to counter the pain. Katja smiled and tilted the woman’s head enough to made her try and fight.

“Baby, don’t try and tease me like that. If I wanted, I could bounce you like a ball. It has been a while, you know…”

She tugged a little harder, making Arda’s fangs appear from her gums. Katja spun herself, landing on top of Arda to make her squirm. She let go, seeing the A’askavariian’s hand clutch the bed. She drew her teeth back in and forced her panting breaths to calm. Katja could sense the pulse beating from her companion’s neck. She was able to calm her with a kiss to her skin.

“Mercy,” huffed Arda as Katja smiled in victory.

“Fine, quitter. Where you off to now?”

“There’s a few miners from the other side of the being is treating me to Narros.”

“Be safe, trollop.”

“Always, my Katja.”

Katja stayed in bed, listening to the shuffle of feet on the floors below her. She missed the freight ship that she had lived on for the few months that she was in space. At once, she thought of Korath and Nebula and…

She stopped and turned to the wall as the fading overtunnel lights began to dim for the evening. She closed her eyes and saw Ronan looking to her plain as day. It broke her heart as his hand caressed the side of her face, touching her the way he would if he was still there. Her stomach turned, not in a sick way. Something was coming.

“Katja…”

She moaned, feeling his hands. They had to be his. They wrapped around her waist with one sneaking down to the front of her trousers. They were fitting, surprising her as his hand brushed against her skin. She lifted her leg to invite him in as he smiled from the huff of his breath.

“Wait for me.”

Katja woke, drenched with sweat as she raced to pry the clothes from her body. She gasped for breath, rolling from the weak mattress as her body hit the floor. Through her breaths, she sobbed into her hands. She pressed herself into the nearest wall and curled up into a ball to not feel the cold room around her. Katja missed Ronan and it didn’t matter if he did too, she knew she would never see him again.

-

Katja cleaned herself the best she could and hurried to the door so she could be the first out the front gate before the dirty wave of night dwellers came rushing back to ready themselves for the day. She kept her eye out for Arda as her paler friend came racing past the night crew. Katja waved to her friend, seeing a bit of a terrified look to her face. She wanted to stop but dodged the dingy swinging flesh reaching to stretch themselves out.

Katja continued on to the Arena and to the collection as she started her morning tasks of wiping and shining the many cages to keep herself busy. She stopped and wiped the sweat from her head as she realized half the day had gone by and Tanaleer hadn’t bothered her.

“He is dealing with another matter of site,” squeaked one of the female workers.

“Did he leave a note?”

“No, Miss. Not if someone destroyed one of his shipping routes. Lives were lost and priceless bits were as well. He was not happy.”

Katja had heard of the temper that laid below the eccentrics of her employer but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been in a fight with someone with unstable emotions. Katja wrote a note for him, deciding to put herself to use elsewhere. There were always units to be made on Knowhere but she didn’t know how to operate heavy machinery and she wasn’t ready to open her legs to the miners.

Katja used the shaft ride down the Arena to change her clothes. She pulled off her scarf and jacket showing off the tunic she shredded into a halter to her benefit. She ran her fingers through her hair and twisted the mixed strands into the beautiful mess it was finally able to become. She tucked her clothes underneath her arm and sighed for her stomach to stop hurting her.

“Let’s get this night over with…”

The doors opened as most eyes went to her. They went for her wildly colored hair and the stern look that were never meant for them. There was also the many ink markings and the body that laid underneath that she never let anyone but Arda touch, sending gossip and jealousy to every single male that inhabited Knowhere.

She pushed her way through the drunken ones that tried to stop in front of her and they would always do what they could to make her scrap. Something to make the Collector’s favorite pet snap her jaws to them.

Katja made her way to one of the more free vibed taverns near the hostels so that she could leave whenever she wished now that she was on her own. She felt like she was spitting on her Nana’s grave by resorting to a waitress again but Katja swallowed her pride instead of alien dick. Better working on her feet than on her knees, she would tell herself. She rescued herself but not before the Collector did.

She was told that he was picking through ship debris that would normally get caught in the gravitation polarities on one of his other lesser sites. She had collapsed on the freezing floor, shaking as bits of the pod had iced over. She didn’t know any of the controls on the console but she also didn’t want to touch anything. Not out to not knowing but… she was done. Her heart was beating and the only thing she wanted in the world was for it to stop.

She saw Ronan’s eyes as the pod flew forward, leaving the ship behind. Time had gotten away from her as her fists pounded into the walls, denting them for what they were worth. She gave up after some time, wanting nothing but death. No sleep, no wishful thinking that Ronan would come for her. He had put her there in the first place. She willed the world to stop as she closed her eyes and let her thoughts comfort her from the growing cold.

She didn’t remember the lights disabling as the freighter pulled her pod into its bay. The warm air made her open her eyes. Katja didn’t move when shadows from outside the pod were cast over her and were gone in a second as a taller, bolder shadow looked in on her. He turned his head, possibly to her visible breath.

“She’s alive. Open the doors.”

The hiss of the pod doors stung her ears as the shadow stepped over her and laid on the floor next to her. Her eyes moved to his lips as they formed words but she couldn’t not hear him, all she could do was follow the black line down the middle of his bottom lip. He reached forward and touched her cheeks, spotted red from the days of crying. He tested her, touching her hand as the accord appeared.

A smile spread across his face as he pulled the shawl from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. The man lifted her from the cold floor and into the waiting ship as he refused to let her out of his sight.

“Sir, there is nothing else in the ship.”

Katja felt his eyes glued to her as he ignored his workers.

“No supplies? Someone wished death upon you, my dear.”

He set her down on an impossibly soft couch as he placed her head on his richly covered thigh. She looked to her hand and the back of the light couch as her accord began to glow. The glow spread down her arm, showing off the black ink to them. The man ran his fingers through her hair.

“The Kree seem to be losing their morals as well as their women. Such tragic beauty.”

It was unexpected. She heard voices in the back of her head, her natural instinct made her voice return.

“Sir, there’s something you should see. It’s of grave importance.”

“What is, my child?”

“We need you, sir. Please this way. Your occupation for useless trinkets to be vacant, pale ash.”

The man sighed in relief and kissed Katja’s fevered forehead as her skin began to turn blue.

“Thank you, child. I have never witnessed a Kree accusation before.”

She could feel the pulse in his arm steady as he reached for the weapon hidden in the shawl she was wrapped in. He hid it in time as one of the workers ran into the door alone. It was rather quiet.

“Sir! There’s something you should see. It’s of grave importance!”

“What is it? Where is everyone else?”

Katja could hear nothing but three heartbeats. The man felt no fear as he comforted her.

“We need you, sir. Please this w…”

The man turned his wrist up and shot the man’s neck as he cried out in pain. She heard a loud clang of a machete before the worker’s body hit the floor. There was no emotion from him but relief. The man remained on the couch with Katja’s head to his thigh as he continued to stroke her hair and acted as if nothing happened.

“Rest now. We’ll be moving along shortly…”

“Katja!”

She rolled her eyes and ate her fruit as fast as she could, turning from the alley where she would be alone.

“Is it one of Tanaleer’s,” she forced with a full mouth.

“Nope. Someone is asking for you.”

“They always ask. They can wait.”

She started at the main bar to serve however winked in her direction and tipped her too much. The catcalling was humiliating but there were times when she could fight back. They loved it. She moved to the empty tables spread out through the tavern, wiping what she could as she felt eyes on her. She smiled by accident but pushed it back. If they weren’t staring at her tattoos, they were staring at her bottom as she bent over the table to wipe it, storing the memory for a later time.

A slap on her ass made her stand straight as laughter surrounded her. She flung her towel on her shoulder and looked to two of the three tables in the far corner behind her. The two nearest were full of regulars just waiting to see what their little monkey would do. The third was hooded, showing no parts of his skin as his gloved hand balled into a fist and Katja knew, she knew she would not have to worry about him.

“Okay. Who was the lucky gentleman,” she asked as she placed her hands on her bun of hair, distracting the growling men as the bartender turned and rolled his eyes, “You’re only getting one chance. I’ll try and be good.”

Her eyes turned to the nearest man on her right as he shot to his feet with the biggest smile to his face.

“I heard you were marri…”

He was taking but surprise as Katja grabbed his arm and slammed the rather large man face first into his glass. His friend got to his foot as Katja kicked her foot up and knocked him back into his seat. A few of the men backed away from the table as the rest made a reach for her. Katja broke a bottle on the side of the wooden table and swung her arm to defend herself. One was cut on his arm as the last one held Katja by the throat. The hooded man pulled the man away, leaving the first man that touched her to reach for her. She reached for his arm again, forcing him down as she pushed his arm further, snapping it as he howled in pain.

Katja pushed him to the floor, ignoring the applause. She was instantly filled with anger and hurt as she felt a strong hand at her naked shoulder. She reached over her shoulder and hurled the hooded man to his back with a loud thud as she swung the nearest chair up and smashed it to pieces across his chest.

The crowd got their money’s worth as they ordered more and booed the other men from the floor. The owner came from behind the counter and pointed his weapon to the man, ready to call guards.

“What about this one, peach?”

Katja took a breath in and shook her head.

“Don’t bother with this one.”

“Really,” he asked, holstering his weapon, “What makes this one special?”

She pulled the glove from his left hand and showed off both of their glowing accords.

“It’s my fucking husband. Get the sutures, Hoss.”

The smiles turned to wonder as they looked to the man that ran his thumb over her knuckles. Katja nodded towards the other side of the tavern for a bit of privacy as he followed. She took the bandages and a bottle of something strong. She took a seat on the edge of the table and waited as he sat with his back to the wandering eyes.

Ronan pulled the hood from his face, showing the bleeding cuts and pale skin so similar to hers.

“Fuck, you’re hideous!”

It was a lie. His dark hair had gotten longer on top as it drifted to one side. The sides had been shaved and his eyes with beautiful and full of hope that he had found her. More than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let him go. Still, the hurt that she felt kept her safe from her impulsiveness.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I patch you up. You don’t touch me. Then, you’ll have 100 words or less to explain yourself. When I reject your answer, you undo our marriage and you are fucking gone. You forget my face, you forget coming inside of me and you take your fucked up band of merry men and go. Deal?”

Ronan was quiet as he opened a sack at his feet. She wanted to cry as he pulled her bag out and dropped it next to her.

“The only thing keeping me from throwing you over my shoulder and reclaiming you for everyone to see is the same explanation.”

He snatched the bottle from Katja’s hand and took several gulps. He placed the bottle on the other side of her.

“Go on.”

Katja patched up Ronan as best she could and left with her bag without speaking a word to him. She knew all she was going to do was cry. The further she tried to walk away, the faster Ronan tried to catch up with her. She made the gates of the hostels, pointing to her face so they’d let her by. She could hear from the shuffle of boots as she stopped and met Ronan’s eyes.

“Katja!”

“Ma’am, do you know him?”

“Yeah, can’t you tell by the silent treatment?”

“Should we let him through?”

“How many bullets do you guys have?”

“Katja, you cannot be serious,” roared Ronan.

“You know, you’re the one that put in that pod and sent me off. Why are you are?”

“You are my wife…”

“Wrong answer.”

“You wanted me to talk and I’m ready but it’s not safe.”

“I thought I wanted to hear what you had to say but now I could honestly giv…”

She turned and vomited unexpectedly into the gutter next to her feet. Her sides ached as she sank to her knees and coughed harshly. She felt Ronan dive next to her despite the guards and rubbed at her back. Katja had wanted to push him away but him touching her eased her sickness. Ronan pushed her arms down and lifted her from her feet.

“Where is her quarters?”

The guards led the way for him as he kept his head down with Katja in his arms. Katja stayed silent and turned her head into Ronan’s chest, not knowing how much she missed him. Ronan stopped, looking around the dull dwelling as he met Arda’s eyes.

“Out,” he commanded her.

“You’re him. The husband.”

The guards looked to which would move first.

“What did you do to her? I’ll kill you…”

“Do not make me tell you again!”

Katja pushed herself out of Ronan’s arms before more got involved with their affairs. She waved the guards off, ensuring them that she could handle herself. Arda rushed to Katja feeling her head before Ronan could make a move.

“Are you sick again? Did you take something this time?”

“Get away from her.”

“Make me, Kree. I do not fear you.”

“I am her husband. Who are you to her?”

“Guys, chill the fuck out. Arda, this is my husband or he who will not be named. Bastard, this is my girlfriend.”

“You sought out companionship?!”

“Motherfucker! The moment you put me in that ship and hit eject, you lost all husbandly ordering privileges. Don’t snap at her!”

“Rigor has space for me. I’ll leave you, snip, only so that I don’t have to witness his death by your hands. I prayed that this would not happen so that I could have you.”

Katja was sad to see her friend’s lip tremble. She kissed her forehead and let her friend gather her things for the night. Ronan stood his ground and keeping his eyes to the shifty little A’askavariian that had touched his woman while he was gone. The young creature kept her tongue at bay as Katja disappeared into one of the smaller rooms of the dwelling.

He took a steady breath as the door slammed behind him, leaving him alone with Katja. The sound of water got his attention as he tried to follow her. Katja walked across the doorway to the sliding window as she spit out the mist and the left over vomit that had lingered in her mouth. She craned her neck, still seeing one of Tanaleer’s ships was gone.

“You can drop your stealth act now, Ronan. No one’s looking for you here.”

“There are those in these parts that do not favor Kree.”

“Shame, they favor me.”

“They have seen your skin?”

“Yeah.”

She turned, seeing Ronan waiting for her.

“What?”

“You have been here the whole time?”

“I was found in the later stages of hypothermia. It’s human talk for freezing to death. The Collector found me and he gave me employment. I’m his pretty little guard dog that sniffs out that bad things he may not have procured. You should be lucky that Arda got to me first or else I would have started fucking him.”

“Good for you. May I explain myself to you now?”

Katja sank to the edge of her metal cot and began to pry her boots off.

“Go on.”

Ronan took a seat across from her, to keep a safe distance.

“It started with those that held us captive. When I was an Accuser, I had slaughtered her wedded. You need to understand that my people had ways to live by.”

“Move it along.”

“You killed her but her soul remained on the ship. It is from powers that are possessed by someone I thought to be an ally. I betrayed him and now he is out for my blood. She possessed me and put you in the pod. I am truly sorry for what happened, Katja. I would never let any harm come to you.”

“What’s his name? Tanaleer will protect me. I don’t know about you.”

“Thanos. He is a titan and your collector will not be able to keep you safe. He has seen your face and knows that you are mine. He will make you wish for death.”

“So you fucked me over by letting me live and be your bitch?”

“My wife,” he corrected.

“Whatever,” she huffed.

Katja fell back to the bed as Ronan inched forward to her. Her eyes began to close from what he could feel was her exhaustion. Her body was growing weary from using her powers and not resting with him. It was a common mistake of the Kree to be without their married ones. He had searched, sleeping very little as he tried to search in the direction the pod had traveled. It was only when his scouting ship had gotten caught in a pocket of gravity that he saw bit of the pod floating yards from him.

He broke free of the pull and followed the trail to the Collector’s favorite haven, Knowhere. The heart in his chest thundered as he made port to the planet, knowing that his woman was within his reach. He stopped and turned to the bit of white that had rewrapped her scarf to her head to hide the brown and purple bits of hair.

He concealed himself, tuning everything out until he felt her in danger in the tavern. He was surprised when she flung him through the air and subdued him.

“Since when do you know how to combat?”

Katja lifted her head and rolled her eyes.

“The foster system and five years waitressing.”

“You should be fine with some rest.”

“Is it a married thing?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Sleep on the floor and don’t fucking touch me.”

“Am I to assume that you have not rejected my intentions?”

Katja sat up and hurled a spare blanket into Ronan’s face.

“Don’t make me call the fucking guards, Ronan. Go to sleep.”

He watched her push off her pants and bury herself under the many covers. Ronan stripped himself and moved as close as he could to the cot. If he couldn’t touch her, he would respect her wishes. He heard Katja, give in to her exhaustion as her heartbeat began to steady. He laid on his back and held up his arm. He willed himself back to his natural form, witnessing the paleness vanish as the lights from the window dimmed. He watched the softening rays settle on Katja’s back as he closed his eyes.

He was there but she couldn’t feel him. She tried to move

Katja jumped at the cold feeling at her back. She turned on her bed, feeling it had grown with Ronan sleeping on the floor. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked down to him. She made her hand hover over his blue face, seeing his head turn in whatever direction she moved her hand. She was used to the hurt but what hurt her was the truth. The lies were always so constant that she welcomed them instead of the real thing and it turned to her as she tried to moved back to the bed. Her instincts needed to feel him again, any and every part, no matter how.

He had a past and he was trying to make it up to her. She could understand that. Katja poked Ronan’s arm with her finger as she tried to wake him. She nudged him harder and harder until her hand slapped at his chest, doing nothing to him as he slept soundly. Katja reached for her boot and dropped it on Ronan’s neck as he jumped from his skin and pulled the knife hidden in his clothes.

He turned meeting Katja’s eyes.

“Sorry. I tried to wake you. I don’t remember you sleeping so soundly.”

“I have not been able to rest properly without you with me.”

She tried to smile as she cupped the side of his face, making him turn his head into her touch. He inhaled her skin, trying to remain calm as he stayed to the floor.

“Come on. We both need to sleep.”

Ronan left his things on the floor and moved into the bed with Katja. He wanted so much, his thoughts were of nothing but her. Every bit of him ached for her and he could feel the same for her. If he hadn’t needed to her so much, he would have pinned her to the nearest wall and claimed her until she screamed his name.

He felt his weakened body crushed by Katja’s arms as she wrapped them around his neck. Her whole body trembled as she was overtaken with emotion.

“Please, don’t cry,” he whispered.

Katja ignored him and squeezed him tighter, easing her stomach as she buried her nose into his hair. Ronan was silent and held his woman, trying to sift through his thoughts to how he would be able to keep her safe with Thanos still alive and out for his blood.

-

Her arms ached. One of them had to be asleep from reaching behind her to grab Ronan. His arms were safely wrapped around to ensure her that she wasn’t going to let go. She turned in his arms, facing him as she knew he was just waking. His hand rested at her side as she felt him smile.

“Good morning, Mrya.”

“You too, Msra.”

He chuckled, turning slowly to his back as Katja followed.

“You indulge in my tongue now?”

“Not as much as I wish for you to.”

Katja swung her leg over Ronan’s lap and sat in his stomach as she looked down to him. His skin was smooth under her finger tips. She leaned down to him, kissing him before he had time to think as his hands held her close. He could feel the heart thunder in his chest and the ink resurface in his skin as it tingled in his arm.

Katja couldn’t stop as her lips stayed pressed to his. It had been so long that it hurt every bit of her and she needed more. She was slow, kissing at the long column of his neck to his chest as he tried to grab ahold of her.

“How much did you miss me, Ronan,” she whispered into his navel.

“I was nearly blind to the life surround me without your touch.”

“Were you telling the truth about being pure?”

“You feel guilt for taking another?”

“Well, she’s a chick so I’m not sure it really matters but if it makes you feel you better I didn’t fuck any of the guys.”

A smile speed across his face, showing off his spotless, dark teeth to her. He was mesmerized by her as her fingers hooked in the loops of his trousers and pulled down the fabric.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll feel,” she smiled as she yanked to trousers to around his knees.

His erection sprang towards her waiting hand as he hissed through his teeth. Her grip was stronger than she remembered as she twisted her wrist, looking to the ripples in his chest as he drew in breath after breath. She arched herself down and dart out her tongue, tracing the base of his cock to the tip as she tasted him for the first time. Ronan tensed underneath her, feeling the foreign tingle in his cock as he felt her tongue.

Katja moaned, wrapping her lips around his cock and sucking as her husband’s moans filled her ears. Ronan used every bit of strength to keep himself in place as he watched his terrian suck on his cock with growing vigor. He eased himself back on the bed as his hips moved on their own. The feel of her mouth was too much for words. He laced his fingers into her colored hair and guided her deeper and deeper on his cock as she bobbed her head freely.

His eyes sealed shut as he drew nearer to his release. The thought of her swallowing his seed made him smile but he wished for it to be in her womb as she screamed his name. He pulled her off his cock, leaving him wet as he was about to throw her to the bed if it wasn’t for the sick look on her face.

Katja turned and ran for the washroom with Ronan close behind her as he pushed himself back into his trousers. She braced herself on the sink as her weak arms gave in underneath her. Ronan caught her before she could fall and held her close to his chest. He felt her forehead, feeling it warm again as he reached for the shower. Under his hand, Ronan could feel her stomach rippling, perhaps in pain as Katja moaned.

“Shh,” he whispered as he turned on the ceiling spouts in the corner.

Katja tried to speak but stopped as she covered her mouth. Ronan turned her in his arms and set them on the cold, clean floor as the water fell in hot streams. He settled Katja on his lap and helped spread the water on her skin. He cradled her, whispering in her ear as he willed her to heal herself. He didn’t know how long they stayed under the nearly scolding water as Katja finally lifted her head to Ronan and brushed the wet dark locks from his face.

“I guess I have to take you back with me.”

“I can’t just leave. I’m in debt to the Collector.”

“Then I will stay with you for as long as it takes. I will not draw attention to violence.”

She turned her head into his neck for his scent as the water remained trickling down her clothes. She still needed him. Katja had no idea what would happen now that she was in Ronan’s arms.

“Where is everyone? Nebula and Korath? Where’s the ship?”

“Safe as you are now.”

She could feel him harder in his trousers. She wanted to ease him and herself. There was something carnal lingering in her bones or it could have been him but it didn’t matter as long as she did something about it.

“Ronan, what’s happening to me?”

She turned on his lap, him feeling the heat from between her legs as it drew him in. He licked his lips and tried not to sound so pleased as he opened his mouth.

“You could be going into fervor. You are new to my kind and with months apart, it could be wreaking havoc on your body.”

“Is that the change that you were talking about?”

“Indeed. Your mind and your body are asking for contact. Procreate. To mate but I will do my best to try and leave you in a few pieces.”

“Where’s the fun in that,” she grinned as she reached for the hem of her drenched halter.

Ronan was faster as he peeled the fabric from her skin and kissed at her chest. A simple flick of his tongue to her nipple sent a chill to her spine as her sides cramped in a non-painful way. Ronan took notice as his hands formed to her skin.

“You feel everything, you will and I will be here should you lose control. I could wrap my lips to your peaks and send you into a catatonic state if it’d please me but you need more as it seems.”

He reached under Katja to free himself and helped her down his cock with the cloth from her undergarments pushing to the side. Katja’s eyes shut as she sank slowly on Ronan’s cock, making him moan from the tightness he was so fond of. He braced both feet on the wet floor, holding his woman as he guided her, wanting her to take control of her truer Kree instincts.

He pulled Katja forward, holding her close as she dug her nails into his back. He held her close with one hand and lifted them from the wet floor. He never measured the value of his strength as he pressed her to the bed and ripped away whatever clothes was left to their bodies. The room was darker than Ronan remembered as Katja’s eyes glowed up to him. Ronan could tell how thin the wall around her were and would make himself proud to the moans that poured from his woman’s mouth.

Katja’s writhed underneath him as he did everything in his power to mark her. His tongue, his panting breath, his teeth that would be there in the morning. He could never leave her, no matter what was coming but that was what scared him…

___

Tagged: @808-anon, @angelus80 @angryschnauzer @antyc67 @atinyfangirl @audasia25 @cerys1212 @clairelovexo @damageditem​ @echantedbytwh​ @eve1978​ @hallotom​ @inkededucatednnerdy​ @itsjustelen​ @jennphoenix​ @justahopeless-dreamer​ @lizandbooks​ @lokilockedcougar​ @lostsoul1011​ @lovehiddles4everme​ @marvelousmissfit​ @mazda098​ @megaflowerfangirl​ @missdibley​ @mrshiddelston​ @mypreciousmind1​ @nicole-stewart-loves-cookies​ @osb1anon​ @ourladybinxthings​ @peskipixi​ @prplprincez​ @ririsutty​ @roamingbadger​ @sarabeth72​ @servent-alearika​ @sevanya​ @shamvictoria11​ @siyoteodiara​ @sketchbookthingz​ @starrynight35​ @startingtoenjoylife​ @the-lady-mischief​ @tinaferraldo​ @tomkurbikston​ @vdcster​ @wolfsmom1​

[i-am-very-very-tired]

If you follow any annoying millennial socialites or the offspring of famous people on Instagram, you may have noticed Dolce & Gabbana had a fashion show stacked with many not-quite somebodies (like Dylan Bronson, Presley Gerber, Brandon Lee, Roberto Rossellini and the Stallone sisters). Doing my regular research for Smutty Social Media, I noticed a brewing drama between Miley Cyrus, her brother Braison, and Dolce & Gabbana but I ignored it because I wanted to have a think on what it meant beyond the emojis and exclamation marks. Here is the exchange. Miley instagrammed a picture of her brother with the following message: "Congrats @braisonccyrus on walking in your 1st runway show.... It's never been my little brothers dream to be a model as HE is one of the most talented musicians my ears have ever been given the gift of hearing.... BUT it is a Cyrus family trait to try everything once (within reason HA) and to embrace opportunities that encourage you to step out of your comfort zone! We believe in trying something new everyday! I love you Prince Suga Bear and seriously congratulations on your experience! I am so proud of you always.... From Nashville to Italy! 👑❤️👑❤️👑❤️ PS D&G, I STRONGLY disagree with your politics.... but I do support your company's effort to celebrate young artists & give them the platform to shine their light for all to see!" Stefano responded: "Repost @mileycyrus Noi siamo italiani e della politica non ci interessiamo di quella Americana ancora meno !!! Noi facciamo abiti e se tu pensi di fare politica con un post sei semplicemente un'ignorante. Non abbiamo bisogno dei tuoi post e dei tuoi commenti. La prossima volta ignoraci x favore!! #boycottdolcegabbana 😂😂😂😂❤️ We are Italian and we don't care about politics and mostly neither about the American one! We make dresses and if you think about doing politics with a post it's simply ignorant. We don't need your posts or comments so next time please ignore us!! #boycottdolcegabbana 😂😂😂😂❤" Stefano also left a few comments on a couple of Miley’s post that included “Ignorant!!!” and per THR, “For your stupid comment never more work with him" and the thumbs down emojis with "#boycottdolcegabbana.” While it’s easy to assume the politics Miley is referring to is D&G’s dressing of Melania Trump, it could also go all the way back to their remarks on IVF, “synthetic” babies and same-sex parents. Either way, Stefano Gabbana was not in the mood. They both look bratty here, but in different ways. Miley’s post comes off as entitled. She’s trying to make it clear that she supports her brother (but not the brand) but the way she positions his experience is eye-roll inducing – well he’s actually a musician, he’s just modeling for fun. The show clearly considered surnames in its casting and he’s capitalizing off an opportunity that his last name afforded him. That is all fine and good. So why didn’t she just let him do that? If all this is about her brother, why did she feel the need to insert her thoughts on D&G’s politics in a lukewarm way? She then proceeded to post a lot of his coverage, which… why? If he’s a musician who just models for kicks, what’s with the fist pumping. This was supposed to be his introduction to the world. Hey, look at me, I’m the Cyrus brother without the face tattoos! Miley is incredibly seasoned and would know that her comment could get some attention. Why did she do it? Was it really politically motivated, or was this ultimately a way to get Braison more press? I’ll leave that on the gossip buffet. On the other side, Stefano Gabbana is loving the publicity his brand gets from dressing the First Lady. Many houses have dressed Melania (and Ivanka) since the US election, including Ralph Lauren, Oscar de la Renta, Reem Acra and Carolina Herrera. D&G is seeing by far the most traction for this “controversy” (which Miley has played right into). His response to Miley is not personal inasmuch as it is ultra-sensitive and opportunistic. He loves attention and hates bad press. Business of Fashion, a very well respected trade, just caught his wrath for writing about D&G’s stunt casting and lack of innovation in recent years. He is so salty about it. Stefano wrote about the article on their stunt casting at D&G: "This article is sooooo stupid!!! It's incredible how some can't understand that the young generation is the future!!! I think @bof needs to change some of the writers ❤️❤️❤️❤️" Fashion people being c-nts? My favourite. But there is something simmering underneath it. In his response to Miley, Stefano posted that politicizing fashion is wrong… and that Italians don’t care about politics, particularly American politics. Being first generation Italian (with a huge family in Italy), I would definitely disagree with that. Italy has a tumultuous political system, a financial structure on the brink of a collapse, and it grapples with massive economic disparity, blatant racism and deep anti-immigrant sentiment. (See more here, here, and here.) I think it’s hard for North Americans to marry Italy’s deep problems (like domestic violence at epidemic proportions) with the romantic, culturally rich image we have of the country. Italians are supposed to be uncomplicated, joyful, passionate, pasta-eating bon vivants and with that there’s very little acknowledgement of the machismo, economically stifled social system that has to eek out progress for women and minorities with little support. Keeping the status quo is essential to maintaining tradition, which Italian society guards obsessively. When the traditions keep silent women in pretty dresses alongside the men in power well, what’s not for Stefano to like? To broach the subject of what it means to dress Melania draws rebuke from Domenic and Stefano. They have said dressing Melania is not about her husband, because for them, there can be that disconnect. Their lives will not be affected by American policy or even the constantly changing pendulum of Italian government. Domenic and Stefano have said politics do not belong in fashion. If so, why market an ironic Boycott Dolce & Gabbana t-shirt, which mocks the very idea of political activism? Simply put, it’s because Domenic and Stefano do not give a f-ck. They don’t care about change at home or abroad because the system has absolutely worked for them and their most valued customers. At a time when other brands (like Dior) are making feminist T-shirts (which can also be viewed as cynically co-opting a movement, a whole other discussion), D&G is riding the populism wave against PC culture. And they are doing it by tapping into millennials (probably the most PC generation of all), who are expected to take their $240 t-shirt and show it off on Instagram. With that, there’s another angle to #boycottdolceandgabbana from someone who was asked to model in the show: Atlanta musician Raury. He arrived in Milan knowing very little about the show, was showered in free clothes, and had a huge opportunity before him. Still he chose to educate himself on what was going on. He knows the value of a boycott because he has to. Which is why he ripped off his clothes at the end of the show. The risk he took could have some real life ramifications (unlike Miley, who risked and gained nothing). Stefano might be annoyed by Miley, by it will be the millennials like Raury who are going to effect the change that will make the old guard – D&G included – irrelevant. And no t-shirt can stem that tide.