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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Like Mother, Like Daughter

Warnings: noncon/rape, mentions of prostitution, bullying/humiliation, coercion.

This is dark!Lee Bodecker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You bail your mother out but you still owe the sheriff.

Based on these drabble requests:

Lee Bodecker + “I could crush your throat right now.” + Humiliation/bullying + y/n is the daughter of the town's hooker, but she is nothing like her mother, everyone is mean to her just because her mom's work . Lee have fun with her just bc for him she is the same trash as her mother. requested by anonymous.

You could still smell the alcohol on your mother. Her hair and clothes stank of it and the stale piss of the county jail cell. It made your eyes water, just like the glares of the townsfolk as you left the precinct.

They all knew, it was a small place, how could they not? They saw you almost every week bringing your ma out those doors, another twenty dollars to the station to set her free so she could do it all again. The same spite and disgust in their stares, the same judgment bearing down on you like a coyote on a barn cat.

“What happened to the grocery store?” you asked your ma quietly, “you said you wouldn’t do this no more. You don’t need to, ma. We got food, a roof--”

“Johnny Hatton gave me a whole bottle of whiskey,” she said, her voice still thick from the alcohol, “and for what, five minutes with my hand.”

“I don’t need to hear that,” you scowled and kept your head down as Gerry, the butcher, spat at your feet as you passed, “you want some drink, I can buy you drink, ma, but you shouldn’t be gettin’ so drunk, neither.”

“Gail fired me,” she grumbled and you kept her up before she could tumble, “found the bottle in my bag. Now I was gon’ pay for it before I left--”

You sighed and came to a stop at the corner as a car drove in front of you. You waited and watched the tail light. You took a step off the curb and nearly hit the side of the cruiser as it pulled up. The sheriff bent to meet your eye from the other end of the seat and you clung to your mother.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“She just got out, sheriff, we’re just on our way home,” you said quietly. It was often Sheriff Bodecker who signed over your ma to you but that morning had been a cadet.

“Easier with some wheels under ya,” he said.

You sniffed and looked around. He was never overly friendly, the stern officer and his wide-brimmed hat put fear into most around, even when they hadn’t committed an offense. And like many in the town, he laughed at your ma and you, even asked you once or twice if you took after her.

“It’s not far,” you said, “but I appreciate the offer.”

“Nonsense,” his door swung open and he closed it heavily, “lemme help ya.” He came around and opened the back door, “you put her in here and take the front. She’s barely on her feet,” he took your mother’s other arm and angled her under the roof of the car, “whew, she smell like a sill.”

You held your tongue as your mother slumped across the leather and he shut the door. You stared at the side of the car and he touched your arm, “go on and get in, missy.”

You drew away from him and he pulled open the door. You ducked your head down and sat on the passengers side. He got in beside you and drove back out onto the street, easing into the sleepy small town traffic.

You were quiet; nervous. You didn’t know the sheriff to be a generous man, no one would ever say that of him. Your ma had sown a lot of discord in the town and you were no stranger to the bitterness that you inherited. Of all the people, Sheriff Bodecker should be most offended by her back alley antics.

“What’s a matter, missy?” he asked as he steered.

You shook your head and stared out the window. He stopped and tutted.

“Ya know, a lawman ask you a question and you should answer,” he warned, “now why you so quiet?”

“I don’t talk much, sir,” you shrugged.

“But you got a tongue,” he said, “and you fidgeting something awful over there.”

“I… just don’t know why you offer a ride,” you muttered, “ain’t no one round let my ma in their backseat, no even for a dime.”

“You looked like you needed help. I’m the sheriff, my job is to help,” he drove on and turned down your street.

“I suppose,” you said, “thank you.”

“See, now was that so hard?” he asked, “a thank you’s all I wanted.”

He pulled up in front of the ramshackle house you and your ma lived in. You got out without thinking and opened the back door. The other side opened and he grabbed your ma and dragged her out with his arms under hers. You tried to catch her ankle but he had her on her feet quickly, though she was swaying and half-unconscious.

“You show me where to put her,” he said as he kicked the door shut.

“I can take her,” you came around to him, “thank you, sheriff.”

“Nah, you go on and get the door, I can handle her a lot better than you, missy,” he said, “got a bit more brute in me.”

You held in a sigh and went around him. He turned and followed you up the slanted steps and you unlocked the front door. He lifted her feet and carried her over the threshold. You didn’t want him coming too far in so you backed up and watched him enter the front room.

“Just there on the sofa,” you pointed to the sagging cushions, “that’s fine.”

“Alright,” he crossed the room and put her down, he dusted off his hands on his pants as he stood straight.

He looked around and removed his hat, his fingertips tapping on his pudgy stomach as he mused at the pale interior. He clicked his tongue and turned to you again.

“Well, I know your ma ain’t much of a housekeeper but it only polite to offer a guest something to drink,” he said, “something for my trouble.”

You put your purse on the chest of drawers by the door and crossed your arms. You teetered on the balls of your feet.

“I got milk or tea, sheriff,” you said, “tap water?”

“Tea,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind something to warm me up.”

You nodded and slipped past him. You went to the kitchen and moved the kettle onto the burner. You turned on the gas and heard his boots on the floor as he appeared in the doorframe. You looked up at him and carried on, searching for some leaves in the cupboard.

You sensed him getting closer and he came up behind you. His arms snaked under yours as you reached up and moved aside the cans and boxes. He cupped your tits and pushed you against the counter. You dropped your hands to his and tried to tear them away from your chest.

“What’re you doin’?” you gasped as you wrestled with him.

“I’d say you owe me,” he rocked you against the counter, “wouldn’t you?”

“Please, let go of me,” you begged, “I’m makin’ you tea--”

“I don’t want tea,” his hand crawled down and he yanked at your skirt, “like mother like daughter, huh? You know how to pay a man.”

“Stop,” you slapped his hand and he ignored you.

He spun your around and your head swam from the suddenness of it. He scooped you up easily and sat you on the counter as he pushed between your knees. He shoved your skirt up as you fought to keep the hem down. You kicked out around him as he reached for your knickers.

“Sheriff!” you cried out.

“You wan’ wake your ma?” he growled, “let her know she taught you well? If she can even be woke.”

He snickered and tore your underwear down your legs, moving back only to get them past your ankles. He slid quickly between your legs again and pulled your closer. He grabbed your jaw and squeezed as his other hand fumbled with his belt. You whined and writhed against him.

“Now, you stay still,” his hand went to his holster, “don’t make me do anything rash, missy. I could crush your throat right now.”

“Please, sheriff,” you grabbed his wrist as he held your chin.

“You already beggin’ me, missy,” he pushed his zipper down and stepped closer as he pulled himself out above his underwear, “now let’s not get too loud or you’ll be disturbin’ the neighbours.”

He poked against your cunt as he slid you closer and reached between you to line himself up. He pushed into you with a sharp thrust and you exclaimed. His grip tightened on your jaw as your lips parted and he covered your mouth with his.

He tilted his hips painfully against you, lifting you slightly off the counter as he did. He nibbled your lip as his hand wandered down to grope your chest again. His breath hitched as he fucked you and you were surrounded by his heat. You quivered as each crash of his pelvis hurt worse than the last.

“That’s it, missy,” he purred and bent your leg around him, “just like that. Move them hips, girl.”

#dark lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #the devil all the time #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #dark drabble #drabble #request #dark!drabble

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pitviperofdoom · 4 years ago

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TMA Fantasy Week, Day 2

Prompt: Fae

Summary: A faerie imprisoned by hunters receives a strange visitor. (Pre JonGerry)

Warnings: Imprisonment, forced obedience.

Part of a larger story I’m working on. I’ll be posting it on AO3 when I’m finished.

***

He smelled the she-wolf before he saw her.

When the door to his little chamber opened, he kept his eyes shut, as always. Why bother opening them? The hounds had become tiresome to look at of his own accord. If they needed him, then they could bark his Name and be done with it.

And so he smelled her first—fresh blood and grave dirt clinging to her fur—and heard her claws click on the cold stone floor, until the sound softened as heavy paws became lighter feet.

It was a shoe that nudged him, none too gently, before she spoke in a voice laced with a low growl. “Get up, Keay.”

He rose because he could not do otherwise, even with only a fragment of his Name in her teeth. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the she-wolf standing before him, windblown and bloodstained from a recent and successful chase.

That was odd. The hounds rarely hunted without consulting him first, wringing answers from his unwilling lips until they were satisfied that they knew their prey. But here she was, eyes bright and hunger sated, without his help.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and his jaw clicked obediently shut. Satisfied, Julia looked over her shoulder and called out. “Bring ‘em in, Trev.”

The other hound entered, though he stayed back by the door. And then, a moment later, a third figure crept cautiously through the doorway, skirting Trevor before coming to a halt at a respectful distance from Julia. In an instant, their eyes were on him.

They were small, though anyone would look small while standing near the hounds. They were nearly plain as well, but for a few flashes of beauty. Dark brown eyes, deep and sharp with curiosity. Dark hair that brushed their shoulders, shot through with silver. Slender hands on delicate wrists, that would have been graceful if they weren’t trembling so. It only took a glance to know why—their skin was darker than his, but he could still see the familiar bruises that marked their wrists. The wolves had been rough with them—another prisoner to share his cage?

No—they would never bother keeping a human. What good was a human to them, when they had him instead?

Only… someone must have aided in their hunt.

“Here you are, then,” said Julia, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You want a story? He’s got plenty.” The human’s eyes narrowed at this—not angry, merely thoughtful. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ve heard what you do with stories.”

(His ears pricked at that—a human with sharp and curious eyes, aiding hunters and asking for stories in return. That could mean nothing, or it could mean everything.)

“Count yourself lucky we didn’t just rip your throat out too,” Julia growled. “Save everyone else the trouble.”

The human carefully shifted their shaking hands behind their back. “That won’t be necessary,” was their polite reply.

“Good.” Julia nodded shortly. “That’s our end of the deal, then.” She shouldered roughly past them, knocking them neatly out of her way as she rejoined Trevor. From some hidden pocket within her coat, she drew out a familiar slip of old, weathered sheepskin between her fingers and showed it off with a careless wave. “Give us a shout if he gets mouthy, and we’ll set him right.”

“You’re not staying?” the human asked.

“Trevor hates being around him too long,” Julia replied.

“Gives me the creeps.” Trevor’s lip curled past the tips of his teeth. “Looks human but ain’t. If it wasn’t so useful, we’d have killed it ages ago.”

“Door’s unlocked, so come out when you’re done,” said Julia. “Don’t worry about him escaping—he knows better.”

As the wolves left the dark chamber and closed the door behind them, not once did he take his eyes from the scrap in Julia’s hand.

The moment they were gone, he sat down again, and with a rustle of fabric his visitor joined him at a distance. Their eyes never left his face, even as he refused to meet them.

“You want a story,” he said. It was not a question.

“I don’t know if ‘want’ is the right word,” the human replied.

“You’re the Archivist.” The words slip easily off his tongue—the truth, then. “Why are you here?”

The Archivist was silent for a moment. “I led prey to them,” they replied. “I helped them hunt. I asked for a story in return, but they didn’t want to give one, so they brought me to you instead.”

He smiled at that, wide and angry in the dark, clenching his teeth until he could imagine the taste of blood. “Did they, now.”

“Will you tell me one?” the Archivist asked.

It was a question, not a command, and even if it were otherwise, without his Name in their hand it would have no teeth. “No,” he replied, savoring the taste of the word like fine wine.

It was not freedom that he felt in refusing, but if he closed his eyes and imagined, it felt close. It was his favorite word, if only because he so rarely got to say it. Sometimes it felt as if gold would fall from his lips when he did.

It was worth the pain that always followed.

The Archivist looked confused, but not quite surprised. “No…?”

“Their debt is not mine to pay.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” The Archivist regarded him thoughtfully, curiously. Their lips pressed together firmly, as if holding back a deluge of questions.

He waited for his visitor to rise back up, call for their hosts and demand they make good on their deal by forcing a story from him. There wasn’t much he could do to defy the wolves that held his Name, but defiance still tasted sweet in the moment.

But the Archivist remained where they were. Either they thought they could cajole or force him themself, or they simply hadn’t thought of it yet. If that was the case, then he wasn’t about to remind them.

“Then we’re at an impasse, I suppose,” they said after a moment. “Unless there’s something I can offer you?”

He bared his teeth in a smile. “Your name, if you don’t mind?”

“I do mind,” the Archivist replied without batting an eye. “You may not have my Name. But if you like, you may call me Jon.”

He spread his hands wide. “Then we are at an impasse,” he replied. “Jon.” A simple name, but it sat nicely on the tongue.

“I suppose we are,” said Jon. They glanced at the door, but made no move to approach it.

Perhaps they were simply stupid. Rather unfortunate, for someone so significant to the Court of the Eye. Then again, it didn’t take much in the way of cleverness to collect stories.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

Jon shrugged. “It hasn’t been enough time for a story yet,” he said. “If I leave now, they might wonder why.”

That was not the answer that he was expecting. “And?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want them to rip one out of you against your will?”

He stiffened. “No,” he admitted, almost petulantly. Not stupid after all, then. “Don’t you?”

He didn’t like the way Jon looked at him after that, measuring him with a glance. “Not particularly,” they replied. “They’re the ones indebted to me, so they should be the ones to pay, not you.”

“Oh.”

From the other side of the room, the Archivist’s eyes remained fixed on him. “They have more than just your name,” they said, and though their voice didn’t rise at the end of it, he knew it for the question it was. “You’re a full faerie, or as near as you can be.”

He nodded. “Only half of one, by blood,” he replied. “But these things don’t really care much about blood.”

“Except vampires.”

“Obviously except vampires,” he snapped. The Archivist cringed at his tone, drawing in their shoulders to make themself even smaller. “What matters is power. And, for the Court of the Eye, knowledge. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, a little hoarsely.

“Knowledge matters here, as well,” he went on. “That’s why they keep me.”

“They showed me that scrap she had,” said Jon. “They said it had your Name written on it. I thought it was awfully risky, showing me something like that when they want to keep you.” Their eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll bet, if I called it right now without that slip in my hand, it wouldn’t work for me.”

It was not a question. In fact, the Archivist sounded like they were trying very hard to keep it from being one.

“What of it.”

Jon studied him for a moment longer. “Just curious,” he said. “In the meantime, is there something I can call you?”

The question puzzled him, though he didn’t show it. “You know my Name already.”

Their face spoke volumes—a tightening around the lips, to hold back something more telling. “I don’t think I’d like it if people used my Name, even if it was useless to them,” they said. “Is there something that you’d like to be called?”

The question tugged a “Yes” from him, though no more than that. He could have kept silent, and in spite of everything he knew about the world, he suspected that Jon would even let him. In the end, he replied, “Gerry.”

They smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “It’s a pleasure, Gerry.”

“No it isn’t,” he said, and the smile slipped from their face.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I don’t suppose… is there anything I can do?”

“Steal my Name back from the wolves, and deliver it to me,” he replied. “You’d get a story from me then.”

He’d meant it as a joke, an impossible task posed to flaunt what little power he had. And yet the Archivist looked thoughtful, as if they were genuinely considering it.

“They’d rip you to shreds before you got close,” he said.

“Yes,” Jon mused. “I suppose they would. Considering how they’re trying to repay my favor, they don’t strike me as particularly fair.”

“Yeah, they’re big on foisting debts on others.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Jon replied, and barely flinched when he showed his teeth. “From what I’ve seen, I doubt they won your name fairly in the first place.”

He ground his teeth. “I think it’s been enough time, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Jon sighed, but got up anyway. At the door, he paused and looked back. “One more question, if you want to answer.”

“What now?”

“Do you know if someone’s looking for you?” they asked. “Anyone you’d like to send word to? Anyone wondering where you are?”

“There’s no one.” Nothing was pulling the truth out of him this time, but it still poured hot and foul from his throat. “No one but the one who gave out my Name in the first place. My mother is gone, and my father died so long ago that I never even learned his name.”

Something sparked in the Archivist’s eyes. Not just emotion, but power—the very power revered in the Court of the Eye. He hadn’t expected that, and he couldn’t help wonder what his honesty had wrought.

The moment passed, and without warning, the Archivist smiled again. “Thank you, Gerry.”

They said it precisely and clearly, with obvious intention. It made him balk; the Courts worked in deals and trades and favors, and words of gratitude came with the risk of accepting a debt. He had to wonder once more if the Archivist was stupid.

But he wasn’t going to get an answer. Jon knocked on the door, and moments later Julia opened it.

“All done?” she asked gruffly.

He sat back, tired and vaguely curious. The Archivist was odd, odd enough to reawaken his own curiosity, long since buried after the wolves took his Name. It was a shame to see him leave so soon.

“Not quite,” Jon replied, startling him. “I have business with the Court and I have to leave, and I was only able to hear a piece of his story. I’ll be back later for the rest.”

What?

Irritation flashed in Julia’s eyes, but she stood to the side with an impatient huff. “Fine then. Guess the quarry you found us was worth a lot.”

The Archivist glanced over their shoulder before they left, briefly meeting his eyes. That strange light still shone in Jon’s gaze, steady and curious and otherwise unreadable. They were gone before he could properly decipher it.

Julia barely spared him a second glance before shutting the door on him and leaving him in the dark. He sat back with a sigh, thoughts running through his head with frantic energy. Had he caught the attention of the Eye? Had Jon caused it, or was he merely a symptom of that attention? Perhaps he would find out, the next time the Archivist came to visit him.

It was an odd feeling, to have something to look forward to again.

#TMAFantasyWeek #the magnus archives #jongerry #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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nekojitachan · 4 years ago

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Hmm, slowly working on Casts a Shadow ch8 while trying not to be distracted by the MDZS fic (so many ideas!). Trying to decide to post the next CAS chapter or upload the Raven!Andrew soulmate fic this weekend.

Either way, here’s a sneak peek at ch2 of CAS. Warning for the Nest, and dealing with sexual harassment in a... removing parts way.

*******

“You are such a speedy little demon; we should put a bell on you so we can at least keep track of you on the court,” Kari complained while she tousled Nathaniel’s hair. He grimaced at the affectionate gesture but allowed it since the offensive dealer was one of Natalie’s friends.

“You’re gonna give your mark fits once you’re an official Raven.” Octavia frowned as she handed over her apple. “We need to bulk you up some more by then.”

“He just burns it off,” Natalie said as she gave Nathaniel a slight nudge in the side. “This one seems built for running. Maybe he should be a striker or a dealer.”

“I like running,” Nathaniel mumbled after he swallowed a bite of apple; it was crisp and tart, just how he liked them. “And I do fine as a backliner.” He certainly had no problem blocking Riko and Kevin.

The three young women agreed and commented that lack of size didn’t equate to lack of toughness; Octavia and Kari were two of the newer Ravens, both sophomores, and among the few women on the team.

The Ravens – or at least some of them – had stopped being so standoffish with Nathaniel and Natalie in the last few weeks. Part of it had been them noticing the split (such as it was) between the two of them and Riko and Kevin (the ‘heirs’ of Exy), and part of it had been when John, an asshole freshman striker, had heard about Natalie’s sixteenth birthday and thought it a great idea to ask her if she was now ‘ready for some fun’.

Natalie had immediately pulled a knife on him and asked if he was ‘ready to live life as a eunuch’, while Nathaniel told her to leave him his balls and go for his dick instead.

For some reason, that had endeared the handful of women Ravens to them, and earned them the respect of some of the men. It also meant that Nathaniel had to put up with people messing with his hair and teasing him about his height (more the lack of it), about them being ‘asked’ to fetch drinks, snacks or other items during their downtime… but no one tried to hurt them.

(Other than Tetsuji when they messed up drills or practice, or Riko with his tricks out on court, but that didn’t count.)

Nathaniel supposed he could put up with becoming the Ravens’ ‘unofficial’ mascot when it made Natalie smile and got him extra fruit.

After lunch, everyone returned to their rooms or one of the common areas to study during the short time before the final practice of the day; Nathaniel and Natalie usually went to her room to do their homework together. They passed Riko and Kevin in the hallway since their rooms were nearby, and of course Riko couldn’t resist getting a taunt in while passing.

“Ooh, what class is it today? Reading for dummies?” He laughed at the pathetic joke while Kevin gave them an apologetic look; long used to the asshole’s antagonistic behavior, Nathaniel and his sister simply ignored him (which they knew would affect him the most).

For once, Riko left the insults at that, which was a surprise; he enjoyed taunting Natalie over the fact that, despite her being sixteen, she wasn’t that far past Riko and Kevin in academics since she’d dropped out of school after joining the Bloodhounds. She’d done an incredible job catching up while living in Baltimore, but Tetsuji’s intense training regime didn’t leave her much opportunity to study ahead so there was talk of holding her back at least a year, probably two, which would grant her more time to work on her Exy skills.

(Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Nathaniel wouldn’t complain about having Natalie around the Nest longer.)

They didn’t say anything until they were in Natalie’s room. “He’s been a bit odd lately,” she said as she fetched her laptop.

(There was no question about who ‘he’ was.)

“He’s an asshole,” Nathaniel muttered as he dug through his bag for his own laptop. “What’s odd about that?”

“It’s just….” Her brows drew together as she stared at the device’s blank screen then shook her head as she powered it on. “He was so angry when he found out about us swearing to Ichirou, but the last few days he’s been less antagonistic.” At Nathaniel’s dubious look, she rolled her eyes. “For an asshole.”

“Maybe he’s plotting something,” Nathaniel suggested as he logged on to his online classes. “Maybe he thinks he’s figured out something so much better than messing with our beds in that little asshole snake brain of his.”

Natalie smiled as she bumped into his left shoulder. “Tell me how you really feel about him.”

Like he needed an excuse. “He’s an asshole snake of a bastard who-“

His sister cut him off by smacking him lightly over the head with a pillow. “I think I get it!” When he batted the pillow aside and glared, Natalie grinned and pointed at his laptop. “Show some of that creativity for the essay you have to write for English.”

“School sucks almost as much as Riko,” he grumbled as he clicked on the mentioned assignment. “Hey, I’ll do your math if you-“

“No,” Natalie said, smile gone as she focused on her own lesson plan. “You need to learn more than math, Ram.”

“Why, when we’ll be playing Exy and doing stuff for Ichirou.” He narrowed his eyes when he spotted his latest reading assignment. “We gonna debate Pride and Prejudice while slitting some guy’s throat?”

“Perhaps,” she mused while she typed something. “You never know what triggers some people. Might be the thought of figuring out a calculus problem or they’ll lose a finger, or hearing the breakdown of War and Peace’s plot.”

Nathaniel gave his sister an intent look for several seconds. “You’re terrifying, you know.”

Natalie’s special smile returned, the one which she mostly reserved for him, the one that brought out the dimple in her right cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He resumed lying down next to her and forced himself to start on the detested essay. “Hey, why do people hate math so much?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Hmm, not sure, maybe because it doesn’t come to them as easily as it does you. Just like how you pick up languages.” She flashed the special smile again. “But not essay writing.”

“That’s for you to do.”

She hummed in pleasure and stroked a hand over his hair in agreement.

They studied for the rest of the hour (Natalie corrected his essay once he had it written, and he checked her math – they still covered each other like that), then they got ready for the last practice of the day.

There had been some uncomfortable stares from the Ravens when Nathaniel had first changed with them, as they took in the knife and burn scars on his chest and back, but now they no longer paid attention to them. Instead, they teased each other about who would score the most points or rack up the most blocks, then took turns rubbing Nathaniel’s head on the way out to court.

“Why?” he demanded to know as he fended off Gerry’s hand.

“For good luck of course!” the older backliner declared with a laugh, while his partner, Liam, nodded in agreement.

“Your fault for being a redhead, Nat,” Omar called out while he tugged on his gloves. “And so adorable. You should-oof.” He stumbled as Riko ‘accidentally’ swung his helmet at the junior striker while he stormed out of the locker room, a quiet Kevin ever his shadow.

“Spoiled little brat,” Omar muttered as he rubbed his ribs, a sentiment that was echoed by a few other Ravens; Nathaniel wisely kept his opinion to himself (even if it was much the same). He might badmouth Riko to his sister all the time, but they were still Moriyama property even if they now answered to Ichirou and not Tetsuji.

Tetsuji had Nathaniel, Natalie, Kevin and Riko work on drills while the official Ravens warmed up, then scrimmage together for a while. Nathaniel enjoyed the matches because even if Riko was an asshole who always used excessive force against him (which Tetsuji ignored), he was a talented asshole, along with Kevin (who wasn’t as much an asshole as Riko’s toady).

When it was time for them to stop and join in with the Ravens, Tetsuji ordered Nathaniel and Natalie to go back to working on drills; Riko smirked at them as he and Kevin left to join the older players. Nathaniel opened his mouth to complain about being deprived of scrimmage time, except Matsumoto offered to call out drills for them.

Tetsuji nodded in approval while Nakamori and Akagi fell in step behind the ‘Master’; normally, Nathaniel was uneasy around older men (especially ones his father’s age), but Matsumoto was in his early sixties, possessed a quiet voice and kept his hands to himself.

He was also very pragmatic and while he might be one of Tetsuji’s assistant coaches, he realized that ‘the Master’ and his grand Castle Evermore only existed with the main branch’s blessing. That meant he often passed along useful bits of information to Nathaniel and his sister.

They spent half an hour going through the eight Ravens drills (which they’d perfected) in the random order Matsumoto called out, knocking down cones again and again. It was while Nathaniel was setting up the cones yet again that he caught Matsumoto leaning toward Natalie and whispering something in her ear.

He had to wait until after dinner to find out what it was; Natalie joined him in his room. “It seems that someone owes a debt to Kengo, and the only way he can pay it back is to offer up his son, who plays Exy very well,” she explained in French.

For a moment, Nathaniel felt an intense wave of anger at the thought of another kid being sold to the Moriyamas, of having a father like his, before he shoved the thoughts aside. He jumped a little when Natalie gave a gentle touch to his left cheek (scrubbed clean for the night of the stupid ‘3’ which Riko insisted he bear). “I think it’s why Riko’s been acting up lately. Matsumoto said that he overheard Tetsuji telling Riko that you’re getting a partner, so he probably knows about the kid’s background.”

Nathaniel huffed as he rubbed his sore ribs, the ones which Riko had smacked with his racquet earlier in the day. “Knowing the asshole snake, he’s probably expecting a new ‘toy’ to play with.” One his big brother wouldn’t snatch away this time.

“Perhaps.” Natalie didn’t appear pleased with the thought, but there wasn’t much they could do about Riko’s personality worsening by the month. “Come, time to practice.”

“Slave driver,” Nathaniel groaned even as he climbed off his bed and slipped free the knife he kept sheathed on his left ankle at all times; he figured the sooner he suffered through their nightly fighting practice, the sooner he could sleep.

More like pass out on his bed, by the time they were done.

Jean Moreau arrived two days later, a young Frenchman around Kevin’s and Riko’s age, with black hair, grey eyes, and a massive attitude problem. He glared down his nose (of course he was taller than Nathaniel) at everyone but the adults while Tetsuji introduced him to the rest of the ‘Perfect Court’ (as Riko had dubbed the four of them). “Nathaniel, Jean will be your partner. He’s a backliner, too.”

“Understood, sir,” Nathaniel said with a slight bow.

“You’ll teach him everything he needs to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll be-“

“I don’t want to be here!” Jean complained in French as he tugged on the front of his new uniform, which bore the number ‘4’. “All of you can go to hell, I refuse to-ow!” His pale grey eyes grew wide as he stumbled forward beneath the force of the blow to his back from Tetsuji’s cane.

“You’ll speak English,” Tetsuji reprimanded while Riko smirked and Kevin stared off into the distance as if he wasn’t participating in the whole ‘here’s a new possession’ thing.

“I’ll speak whatever I wa-ow!” That time, Jean was knocked to his knees, where he was hit several times before Tetsuji relented; Nathaniel was disgusted to notice the gleam of pleasure in Riko’s dark eyes over the abuse.

#aftg #casts a shadow fic #ch2 preview #neil josten #neil as nathaniel #raven!neil #raven!renee #renee walker #renee as natalie #neil and renee as adopted siblings #kevin day #riko moriyama #tetsuji moriyama #jean moreau #yes yes precious jean-bean is here #perfect court five #it gets better for jean i promise

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vcrtigoes-a · 4 years ago

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@pageburnt sent / 🥪 Set a plate/tray/bowl of food down for my muse

it was late. or early, maybe. the ticking of the clock had become some dull background static, a metronome that the dull throbbing at his temples had since become accustomed to. at some point, the words scrawled on the leathery yellow pages before him no longer appeared to be words at all, but a series of foreign shapes and lines.

mike stared somewhere through them, head propped in one hand, as they seemed to shift and bleed, connecting and spiraling across the familiar pale lines carved into his fingers as if some strange extension in ink.

the soft clink of ceramic on the hard varnished tabletop was enough to startle him from the vague haze of thoughts, sitting up abruptly much to the immediate chagrin of his spine. it was ... was that porridge? bleary eyes flickered from the chipped bowl offered to the book sitting before him. its contents had returned to their original form, doubtlessly a simple trick of sleeplessness. he lingered momentarily on two of them, repeated throughout its page, es mentiras and resolved to flip the cover shut with a sudden, sickening surge of disdain.

“ ... if this is a truce offer, gerry, you’re still two leitners short. but it’s a start. ” his voice, though hoarse, was not without its warmth, and he drew the bowl closer to cool. when was the last time he’d eaten something hot, anyway? when was the last time he’d eaten in the first place? ... what time was it? despite the continued ticking, mike could not quite place the clock amid the cluttered shelves of the closed book store, and gave up quickly.

dark was its own answer.

#pageburnt #( 𝒗. ) —— verse one #( 𝒊. ) —— queue.

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arxchnoverturea · 2 years ago

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+ @biitchcakes I Continued from here ( X )

+ Things were TOUGH . That much was clear to Gerry, and had been for a LONG TIME . With the life that he'd been brough into, maybe it was EASIER to deal with than most would have thought. Being the son of a genuine SUPERHERO had its own set of challenges purely to trying to LIVE . Even if Gerry was no different ; he'd always tried to make the BEST of it . Even with the way he was SICK constantly ? His lust for life hadn't diminished even SLIGHTLY .

There was nothing on the face of the EARTH that would have stopped him from sharing the embrace with his mother . Arms wrapping around her tightly, he closed his eyes, hoping he could possibly steal some of that same DETERMINATION and confidence that he knew she was capable of. If he had inherited HALF of that ? There was nothing in front of him in life that would STOP him.

" I mean it . You'll figure this out. You always do. " He offered, still holding onto her all the while. " I've been getting BETTER recently, so I could even try to help out. "

#biitchcakes #( not sure how much of mc2 you've read but if you have questions please ask away ! )#( my gerry is also a bit rusty - forgive me )#muse: gerry drew #verse: tbn

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wxbslingers · 4 months ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁/𝗵𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲/𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗥-𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀. 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 GARRETT 𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿-𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲. 𝗵𝗲/𝗵𝗶𝗺, 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆-𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲+ 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗴𝗲.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢-𝐣𝐨𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐚, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢-𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢-𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢-𝐳𝐞𝐛 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢-𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮 𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧, 𝙚𝙛𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤, 𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙘𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙣 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙩, 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙨, 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚!

MEMES I HEADCANONS I AO3 I MARY JANE

Temporary muse list under the cut

-Mayday Parker -Annie Parker -April Parker -Benjy Parker -Peter Parker (Verses) -Cassandra Webb -Anya Corazon -Jessica Drew -Gerry Drew -Mattie Franklin -Annabelle Adams -Felicity Hardy - Felicia Hardy - Gwen Stacy (USM)

#pinned

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venomblastings · 5 years ago

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A VERY DESCRIPTIVE & DETAILED PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. when you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same !

TAGGED BY : stolen from @wclfcrown

NAME : Jessica Drew AGE : physically ~34-35, chronologically 73 SPECIES : human mutate GENDER : cis female ORIENTATION : bisexual PROFESSION : private investigator, vigilante

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[ PHYSICAL ASPECTS ] BODY TYPE : athletic | muscular HAIR : dyed black, naturally blonde EYES : green SKIN : pale HEIGHT : 5′10″

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[ FAMILY ] SIGNIFICANT OTHERS : N/A SIBLINGS : N/A PARENTS : Jonathan and Merriam Drew CHILDREN : Gerald “Gerry” Drew in mc2 and baby on board verses ANY PETS? : yes [ ] || no [ x ]

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[ LIKES ] COLORS : red and black SMELLS : cut grass, ocean air, dog roses FOOD : anything sweet, anything buttery, anything greasy DRINKS : tea, coffee, iced tea ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? : yes [ x ] || rarely [ ] || no [ ] FAVORITES : beer, whiskey, gin, merlot

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[OTHER DETAILS ] SMOKES ? : yes [ ] || no [ x ] || occasionally [ ] DRUGS ? : yes [ ] || no [ x ] || occasionally [ ] DRIVER LICENSE ? : yes [ x ] || no [ ] EVER BEEN ARRESTED ? yes [ x ] || no [ ] || almost/detained [ x ]

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DONE ! now tag other 15 people to do it !

taggin u for reading this !

#( ▽ out of hell | ooc )#love u dj

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gerrydrewd-blog · 7 years ago

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Gerry Drew-Danvers, an introduction:

^^Gerry actively running away from his problems

Muse inspo: Alex Karev (post him being THE WORST), Jessica Drew tbh, more to add

A B I O:

Gerald “Gerry” Drew is Jessica Drew’s first born, via sperm donor. He was born in space. That’s it. That’s all you need to know.

Anyway, lil Ger was brought into this world with the same power skill set as his mom (venom blasts, above average strength) but would eventually be leant her investigative and combat skills as well

Carol officially adopted him on his 10th birthday. He cried over it bc he was so happy. she has always been around anyway and he was happy that he could officially call himself a Drew-Danvers

Gerry joined the academy ASAWA (as soon as was allowed). He did okay. The academic stuff was a struggle, but he always showed up for the espionage and actual trainings.

Upon graduation Gerry had something of a early-20′s crisis (ME TOO GERRY) and peaced out. He broke up with his longterm girlfriend over letter (I’m sry Adriana), sent a goodbye texts to his palz, and ate a quick dinner with his mommas and siblings, and left?

Where did he go? What did he do? I think Miami tbh nobody would ever find him there. He became a PI. I consider this his solo-comic story. He adopted a dog, saved a few people, solved some mysteries, became bros with the single father down the hall and the old lady next door, etc.

Anyway, SHIELD found him, obvi. He decided to go on a couple of missions. Went back to his PI business but then?? started to miss home??? so when the academy offered him a TA he took it.

So now he’s back!! as of this week!!

F U N F A C T S:

Was a huge fuckboy as a teen/early academy days. Slept around a lot, hardly put effort into anything, etc.

He straightened up over the years..

and then really grew up while he was away. He had to make his own food, go grocery shopping, do everything his moms used to do for him, and run a business

likes to drankkkkkk

speaking of moms:

LOOK Gerry is a HUGE momma’s boy. For Jess and Carol. Gerry is stubborn and doesn’t listen to many people, but he listens to them.

speaking of family:

i imagine Garry as the eldest Drew-Danvers. He’s the big brother. Will fight any of you for his younger siblings.

Def. the older brother who stays up and helps you prepare for your combat exam the next day. Someone else will have to help you with the math quizzes tho

Big into yoga, tennis, any physical activity except American football

VERY HOT HEADED WILL FIGHT YOU IM SORRY HOLD HIM BACK

W A N T E D P L O T S:

The Meredith Grey to his Alex Karev: someone Gerry’s known forever. They knew where Gerry was when he went away and probably visited him. They have been through thick and thin. They don’t always like one another, but they know one another better than most.

The former fling: Gerry was a lil bit of a fuck boy before. He prolly had a fling with this person right before he got together with Adriana. Prolly broke it off with this person to be with Adriana.

Fav students: Gerry has students now??? who let this happen?? prolly this connection are onces that are close to him.

bros in general. I think Gerry is more inclined to female friends bc he was raised by strong-willed women? He just? men are okay but he lives for platonic relationships with women who will call him trash

#hot:intro #hiiiii em again come plot

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ahvie-voidsinger · 4 years ago

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Pioneering Twilight

Ahvie stared at the crumpled letter in her leatherclad hand for a long while, so long in fact that she hadn't quite remembered where she was. She hadn't opened it at all, and its seal of familiar and foreboding noble houses might as well have been a poisonous snake for all the regard she gave for it.

The void elf sighed and tossed the letter onto her small desk in what passed for an equally small office in the Stormwind Keep. Her introduction to Vyk was both unexpected and unsettling, two emotions she was not keen on feeling so soon after something or someone tore a hole in the sky above Icecrown. She shivered despite herself, and her cloak moved of its own accord to wrap and hug around her as though to reassure her in a snug embrace. Ahvie barely noticed, even if she was vaguely aware of how good it felt.

Many years ago, what was probably decades now that she thought of it, a rogue illidari named Illidan Stormrage had stormed Icecrown Citadel with the Eye of Sargeras with the very intention of doing just that -- tearing a hole in the sky at the top of the world. And although the collateral would have been beyond what she or many others would have been agreeable with, Illidan's charisma and mere name attracted loyalists and followers from both factions and every race on Azeroth. The night elf was aiming to land a pre-emptive killing blow on the Lich King before he could attract Arthas to his throne.

"Except the one tearing the whole in the sky is reviled by nearly every mortal on Azeroth, and the ones gathering from all corners of the world are those deigning to put a stop to the madness and destruction left in its wake," she spoke aloud to herself.

A throaty, feminine voice whispered huskily on the shadows around Ahvie, amused but also soothing. Perse, her intelligent voidcloak, had decided to reply as though the void elf had been speaking to her in the first place: "Why does it bother you so, sister? The mission of the organization implies it wishes to do what you tried to do with your fledging pirates and deserters. And it has considerably more influence and resources. Is this what you dreamed of?"

Ahvie didn't even give a start at the other's voice, for the voidfiend siren trapped in her ragged traveling cloak had long since been bonded to her ren'dorei mind, both altered forever by the explosion resulting from tampering with her void blade ... and by the partial influence of ethereals that Akako had narrowly saved her from. She shook her head, disbelieving, and turned to take a few steps back toward the doorway. Looking down it, her glacial blue eyes welled up with nostalgia and loss. It was what she dreamed of, but so was this.

Hundreds of officers, soldiers, agents and diplomats all rushed hurriedly from one place to another within the bustling hive of what now was the expanded Command Center of Stormwind Keep. Deep within the bowels of the fortress, the network of tunnels and carpeting would have been indistinguishable from the royal chambers normally open to the public. Except Anduin wouldn't be accepting visitors today. He was scrambling, as her SI:7 superiors were, to mobilize forces and resources for the unknown in Icecrown.

Ahvie leaned against the doorframe with one arm lounging up toward the stone ceiling. She used to tell herself and others that she didn't like cities, but that had been a lie. She found that during her time working for the Alliance like she once used to, that she delighted in patrolling Stormwind, watching and mingling with its chaotic and diverse population. Very rarely did she have to mind the occasional void elf getting too buddy-buddy with the forces of the Old Gods. Once, that thought and nostalgia would have made her shiver or wince in shame. She was a low-level agent with a wide passport reach to the far corners of the Alliance and influence enough to get access to all but the SI:7 archives.

Her leveraging of her pirate-turned-privateer crew had been invaluable during the Third War for extending SI:7's reach to corners of Zuldazar and beyond that would have otherwise attracted unwanted attention. Her old trade network was hungry for leadership and business, and she tapped that as well. But while she also was tasked with keeping a close watch on unruly ren'dorei who dabbled with the Old Gods, precious few of her associates and friends knew how dangerously she skirted those precepts as well.

Perse claimed to be a handmaiden of Xal'atath, some Old Goddess shunned and betrayed by the Not-Pantheon before the fall of the Black Empire. And despite granting the melded duo unspeakable powers over shadows and stealth, Perse was infuriatingly cryptic when it came to detailing what it was her goals were. A self-proclaimed patron of free will and independence. Indeed! What rubbish. From the onset of the burning of Lor'danel and Teldrassil, to this crossroads that loomed up before her far before she expected it to, she knew in her corrupted heart that there really was no choice at all.

"Ah, there you are, Agent Brightsinger," came a clipping accent from further up the hall.

"Gerry," she mused before she even turned to face her companion in the service.

The human was tall, well-built, muscled and mustachioed, but had wild, sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through all her facades of being a childish delinquent playing dress-up. He drew himself up before her, staring down at her with a hint of contempt. Expectant. She sighed.

"Sergeant Gerry," she added, souring her lips with the need to add title after his promotion. He probably had been secretly looking forward to making her jump at the word. Well she wouldn't let him.

"Shaw, Huwe and M all received your reports on Blackwood and the Fleet, and you are wanted in the Crow's Nest for debriefing." His lip stiffened as his eyes narrowed down at her. She would not let her friend lord his rank over her, worgen or not! Albert had twice the bark of this stuffed shirt, and Alice four times over.

But the void elf cringed openly and tugged at her cloak, pulling it away from her body as though stuck to her curved catsuit like a static towel fresh from the dryers. All three bigwigs, bringing her in for questioning after she thought she had them duped.

Shows what I know, she thought, those old-timers saw far more than they let on. Just like that smug illusionist Vyk. How did he have access to her file? And why did he use names of an Alterac noble house long dead? Was he trying to give himself away as a... a... just to unsettle her?

Gerry took her lack of response for perhaps insubordination, and his voice took on a harder edge. "Now, Brightsinger."

She sharply glared up at him, squinting with the strongest look of petulance she could manage. They were friends once, before the war. Now he had licked M's thighboots until his mouth practically belonged to the wisened warden, and was repaid with a promotion rivalling her one-time status as a freelancer.

"Fine."

A slight tilt of his head, and his eyes twitched. "Fine...?"

She grit her teeth at him and brushed past him, huffing angrily. "Fine, sir."

Ignoring his shout of protest at leaving before she was dismissed, or without a salute, she stormed off with a glower in her face and stride. Many aides and soliders were shocked to see her out of uniform, but as soon as many recognized her, their eyes narrowed in turn and she was smugly satisfied to see the disdain on their faces. Oh yes, she was a rebel who didn't conform to their rules, even from the start. The women's uniform showed off waaaay too much cleavage anyway. Screw those apples, she wasn't about to wear a second set of clothing when her leather catsuit was, in actuality, as much a part of her skin as her cloak was now. Not that any of them needed to know that. At a distance, most agents and officers steered clear of her as her direction made apparent her destination -- the Boss' office.

Eventually she came to an archway of dark wooden double-doors, with the bald egghead himself standing guard with arms clased behind him in what passed for at ease these days. His hard face didn't match his disarmingly softened eyes sharp as a cold morning dew. Huwe, her immediate commanding officer, watched Ahvie approach the moment she turned the corner. If he felt anything remotely fond or smug at her arrival, nothing in his neutral expression conveyed it. For some reason, she found herself stopping a few paces short of him towering stature before saluting as crisply as she found herself giving Magdella or Morgirt.

Instead of appeared pleased or even a smidgeon satisfied, the hairless head nodded without even a hint of approval, and pushed open the door that led to the beating heart of the command center. Gesturing with the same arm, Huwe nodded ever so slightly in the direction, for her to enter first. Unable to repress her grimace, she ducked her head slightly as she passed by his discerning eye, her ears twitching from nervousness.

As she stepped into the room and onto a plush sapphire rug inlaid with gold and silver embroideries, Ahvie heard in her mind's eye what she suspected -- Perse was telling her that although she couldn't hear with her ears that Huwe had moved, he was stepping right behind her and closing the door in their wake, cutting off her exit. The void elf kept her eyes forward, scanning the room well-lit by an array of electric lights and candelabras lining the walls. Bookshelves and tables neatly framed the depression in the floor, a sort of atrium or anti-dais.

And sitting with thighs crossed on the edge of the wide squarish table in the atrium was a night elf woman of lean muscled features, mature but handsome beauty and an otherwise fetching face marred by scars, greying hair and a sneering grin. Gone were any pretense of hiding each others' identities. Ahvie had just about confirmed it herself when she cross-referenced M's absences and attendances with the sporadic and nearly untraceable appearances of the senior warden. She didn't actually think that M would stand for the veteran's name.

Beside the legendary jailer was her trademarked helmet worn but unbroken, and the woman's curvaceous but equally deadly bladed armor clung to the kaldorei's body as perfectly as Ahvie's shadowsuit did. Had the pirate captain not just reunited with her waifu a week ago, she might have been more loose with her eyes. She always wanted to know what it was like to wear the warden armor suits, perfectly tailored plate as they were.

Standing erect and rigid next to M was the mustachioed grandmaster himself, apparently back from his leave in Boralus. Ahvie could appreciate a man who looked for some quality time with the same gender, even if he didn't speak of it. It was not even an open secret, perhaps the best way to protect high-profile scoundrels in peacetime. Not that Shaw couldn't take care of himself, Ahvie reminded herself quietly. The man was lenient with agents who proved themselves resourceful, whatever their shortcomings. Whether this meeting was going to go the way she intended, even his thoughtful expression didn't assuage her.

Ahvie took a step down into the lowered dais and saluted as respectfully as she dared, hoping her rigidity wouldn't come off as mockery -- she rarely showed this level of deference and obedience to the others. The reports coming back from her officers in The Seventy-Third likely reflected much the same: a grudging, if not forgetful, regard for rank and what it stood for. She grinned inwardly for only a moment to remember the no small number of turnover casualties from which insubordination bore fruit within the battalion. M's devilish, condescending grin deepened as though the accursed woman could read Ahvie's mind.

Both thought and visualization made Ahvie shiver visibly, which seemed to be the right thing to let slip. Shaw quirked an eyebrow at the void elf's restraint and salute, but said nothing. A long silence drew out further when Huwe came to stand atop the step behind her, further emphasizing to her displeasure how unfairly tall he was.

"Two years. Twenty blockades ran, twelve pirate raids thwarted, two N'Zothian cults ratted out, one prisoner exchange," M began, eyeing Ahvie with a smile that was not so much mocking or appraising as hungry. "Forty-eight field reports, two citizens' arrests, one assassination and an unconfirmed but -- if Huwe's suspicions are confirmed -- alleged fifty-one abominations slain. And yet you still find time to sneak off without telling us where you've gone to, Brightsinger."

Ahvie was too close to the woman and the others to avoid giving away even the slightest bit of her emotions or reactions. If she shifted her eyes, let her blush show, allowed her ears to twitch or shuffled her feet, would that convey unease in a confessional or defiant way? Ahvie focused for one of the few times in her life to keep her mind as straight as her eyes, instead locking onto the fascinating way M's bladed cloak wrapped around the formfitting plate. Looking The Boss in the eyes at least couldn't push her either way, right?

M chuckled darkly in response to Ahvie's attempt at self-control, and continued. Ahvie really wanted to know if the other men in the room were impressed with her work for the crown. "We know through your interactions with Agent Gerry and Agent Narcoss that you've spent at least three of the past six months drawing the attention of June Blackwood. Why is that?"

Ahvie managed to grimace for only a split-second, for she was cringing all throughout her darkened blood. That's what she got for worrying her friends with the truth. The ren'dorei cleared her throat and spoke firmly, not quite hoarsely while not meeting the night elf's piercing golden eyes. "Beg pardon, Mum, I apologize. Before I had known it, June Blackwood had already ambushed me in Vol'dun not more than five months ago. I treated the battle as a chance to test her capabilities without revealing too many of my own. Seeming to wound her and her pride enough to drive her off the field was little comfort, Mum. Now that she had my scent and, presumably, a hatred of seeing my survival as an affront to her mission, I..."

M cut in dryly, interrupting her as smoothly as though the two had rehearsed it. "Decided that you would protect those you loved and worked with by distancing yourself from them. Us included. Oh, we know, little shadow. The reports of your handiwork kept making their way to us, albeit not on time, during your absence. Had the Seventy-Third's officers not vouched for you during your disappearance, you would have been hunted down as surely as Illidan had once upon a time. We have a deal, after all."

Ahvie suppressed a squeak from her groaning mind. "Yes, Mum."

The kaldorei snorted in derision or dissatisfaction, flexing her legs and armored ankles as though more gracefully performing an air of boredom that Ahvie so often portrayed atop lampposts. She wasn't sure whether to hate her or applaud her. The woman knew exactly what she was doing.

"Agent Narcoss speaks highly of you despite your inadequacies," M continued, a souring grimace of distate accompanying the scars on her wisened but unwrinkled face. "Notable illidari I am reluctant to admit receiving reliable intel from also corroborate this stout reference for your resourcefulness to both the Alliance batallion you serve and the Champions of Azeroth. It seems that despite keeping your distance from your associates, you have found a way to maintain some laudable degree of your contracted duties. Care to explain?"

Ahvie squeezed her eyes shut for a time, unable to keep her embarrassment and reluctance from showing on her likely blushing face. Did all of her friends have to talk her up in what she hoped was a way to make them forget about her? She HAD been staying as busy with her adulting work for SI:7 as not. Perhaps moreso. A war with Sylvanas, a war with N'Zoth, a war with cultists threatening Finryx's attempt at convincing everyone he was dead, a war with those who hunted Ael and his family... all balanced on the tips of several knives while feeding the void fiend growing within her cloak. Within her mind. She wouldn't be able to explain this one away to just mere skill and vagaries. Would Rennadyr have told M and Shaw what she was, despite his promise not to? Would telling them now imply that Rennadyr had lied or been oblivious to the creature that lurked just below the facade of childish trickster?

What she said was, "Yes, Mum. I have been... teaching myself how to improve my connection to the void. Hunting zealots, cultists, N'Zothian abominations and rogue ren'dorei has given me a glimpse into adapting their volatile skills into something safely adoptable."

M narrowed her eyes to slits at that. "Cut the crap, Brightsinger. You're not fooling anyone with that deliberate exposition. At ease."

Ahvie exhaled more with frustration than relief, and the fury in her eyes eventually lifted them to lock paths with the blazing suns in M's glare. "Fine."

"What have you been learning from your prey, Brightsinger? Do not leave anything out, or else we will know. Your batallion officers have sent back reports of considerable inquest."

The void elf balled her gloves into fists at that, trembling with an indignation she didn't know how to convey any better. She absolutely hated how Maiev implied she knew everything about her. And the damnable scariest part of that was how the warden very likely did, and was testing her to see if she'd lie to the people she'd served in protecting the civilians and innocent caught between fronts in the Third War. The night elf didn't outright say it, but previous debriefings usually brought it up at one time or another.

"I can make void rifts to any location I've been before, provided I have had a proper meal beforehand. I need my strength and focus to keep the portal open long enough to pass through, and transporting another takes more endurance than I have even on a good night. I can jump between shadows without being seen in the light forking them. I can blink probably as good as you can now, Mum, although only to the hilts of my daggers, up to a distance of nearly forty yards now. And I can speak Shath'yar fluently."

The silence that followed was so thick that Ahvie could have sliced it with a butter knife, and she risked sparing a glance toward Shaw. He was stroking his mustache thoughtfully, his expression little changed from earlier. Had he always known, but not cared? Ahvie nearly jumped in place as Huwe cleared his own throat, and she nearly rounded on him as she glared over her shoulder. His blank expression was blessedly replaced with what she hoped was confusion and consternation. Her ears drooped at that. She liked Huwe, even if he did act like someone had hit him square in the face with a stopsign.

M, meanwhile, was giving her a squinting gaze of ... Light, she had only heard of Maiev giving people those hateful glares a handful of times when the world was falling apart. Maybe she was becoming used to those now that Azeroth seemed to be on a two-year cycle of almost ending before the factions got their shit together and stopped fighting long enough to put a band-aid on the problem.

"Is that all?" Was what came out of M's thin frown. "Surely that isn't all you've gleaned from the whispers that you've been hearing the past two years. Many of our ren'dorei agents who have shown more loyalty than you have --"

"Excuse YOU, Maiev," Ahvie interrupted her this time, an edge rising in her voice for once. "I have ALWAYS been loyal, ever since the day you gave me and my crew the means and the pride to help combat the madness in the name of a king who cared not for my past or crimes. Even after Wrathion showed up in the keep, he kept me on duty. As did you. I was a part of the Alliance before even you were, so don't you dare fuckin' give me that shit."

The room seemed to still even further, but M only quirked an eyebrow at Ahvie, although her bitter frown seemed to deepen despite it. Ahvie didn't dare let up now. "Yeah, I know I've been an insubordinate little shit the past two years, yet you kept me on. You didn't reprimand much past putting me on guard duty in Stormwind. If you wanna talk disloyalty, maybe we oughtta dredge up that time in Teldrassil you and Neva --"

Shaw cleared his throat right around the time that Ahvie was aware of the bladed talons of M's plated gauntlets were cupping her pale-skinned jaw. The woman's eyes were furious, brilliant and deadly... Ahvie supposed that she would have found the predator attractive in another life. But interrupting their grudge match was the mustachioed one, to whom both women turned. Ahvie, with some discomfort at being held in death's claws, faced the grandmaster as well. Matthias, for his part, was smiling. SMILING! He was amused at the provocation she had responded to.

"Well now, I hadn't quite expected anyone capable of getting under her armor quite so deftly since Illidan took her out for a date in the Cathedral," Shaw said with a chuckle, and M seemed to realize finally what she was doing.

Her icy suaveness had broken at a barb of equal pain. Letting go of Ahvie's neck, the warden huffed loudly and slumped back onto the edge of the table, her taloned gauntlets clenched remarkably easily despite the way Ahvie thought surely would have made it difficult to grip anything small. Ahvie risked a shit-eating grin for The Boss, which had the intended reaction. If she was going to be punished for it, it wouldn't be until after the meeting, the void elf surmised.

Shaw had a tittering giggle of his own, disarming Ahvie as well, before he continued as bemused as ever. "As much as I would enjoy seeing who is the master of blinking in this mythical catfight, I'd rather we not lose two of our best agents to injuries in the process. Think you two girls can keep your tits in your corsets long enough to stay on topic?"

Ahvie couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, but she peeled out a delighted laugh at that, drawing the flat stares of Huwe and M. But Shaw, dearsweet Shaw, let her compose herself before he addressed her properly. "We know you're holding out on us, Brightsinger. You've been interacting with Andraya on a regular basis, despite public records showing her to be little more than a rockstar of moderate repute. She is... not simply that, is she?"

The void elf snorted at that, shrugging nonchalantly. Maybe he knew more than Maiev did, but wasn't letting on. Why WAS he so nice to her by comparison? This time, M spoke tenatively, as though still trying to rein in the edge in her voice.

"Andraya is not our concern, as you have stilled countless ren'dorei defectors in the past months. Your intentions are ... admittedly not in question, Brightsinger. If the vocalist was as dangerous as unconfirmed reports allege, you would have put her down by now. We..." and this was the part that painted the grin on Ahvie's face from ear to ear, for M exchanged deliberate glances with Shaw and Huwe, "We trust your reports, Ahvie, even if you leave out details. Every agent needs secrets of their own to keep."

The warden then suddenly looked quite tired, as though having run a marathon without boots or having conceded her only meal in a year to a rival. Ahvie then felt herself blushing as she tried to wipe her smile of smug satisfaction off her pale expression, the stab of shame rushing i to replace her disappearing mirth unbidden. How quickly this was changing on her.

Huwe's deep and throaty bass of a voice made Ahvie jump again, not used to hearing him break the silence with such punctuation. "Your accolades have built to such a point that we've little choice but to reward you for your... time served, shall we say."

She blinked. Several times more, and felt a cloud of dizziness pass into her fogging mind. Did she hear that right?

Shaw nodded appreciatively. "Thanks to your efforts, both on and off the record, we three acknowledge the benefit of recognizing a promotion long overdue."

And before Ahvie's swimming vision could right itself, M finished the appraisal. "Congratulations, Brightsinger. We would have told you sooner, but your string of absences gave us pause as to your activities. From tonight hereon, you'll be a Double-Oh."

Ahvie was having a hard time thinking straight. Clearly, surely, this was just one big euphoric dream. Maybe Akako had sneaked in some bloodthistle into the brownies the huntress baked for the two of them the other day. One minute the most dangerous stalker in Azeroth short of Valeera herself had been within a thumbs width of making her throat as pockmarked as her cloak, and the next she was being REWARDED for her efforts.

She certainly didn't know what to say to say. "Uh... what?"

M scowled at her, and the night elf woman flicked a small piece of metal at the void elf. Ahvie's reflexes were too instinctual at this point to not react, even in her dazed stupor. A black leatherclad hand picked the projectile out of the air cleanly, and the rush of adrenaline jolted the ren'dorei back to awareness. It was a flat scrap of metal, like a brass hearthstone card etched with words and Alliance symbols. More intricately wrought than the nickel scrap she'd carried around the past two years.

She shivered, trembled, wracked by emotion she didn't want to deal with right now. For so long after the Third War knocked on her adopted home's doorstep and kicked her teeth in, Ahvie had been struggling to find her place in a world that increasingly was closing its doors to her because of the decisions she'd made in the past, despite the fact that those decisions were made to do more good than harm.

Ahvie had captained a pirate vessel by chance and not entirely by choice, at a time when the crew was nearly slaughtered in the aftermath of a bloody battle with Lei-Shen's navy. The crew had once abducted her with the intention of ransoming her... but in the rush of facing an evil that cared not for faction lines, Ahvie felt a mirrored rush of compassion for her dying captors as she had the first day she found she could use the Light to heal others.

Even after the fateful night that nearly saw her drowned amid falling wreckage of the lifeboats, Ahvie felt the first anchor weights of duty to people who swore to loyalty, compassion and causes larger than themselves. She had rallied their defenses, saved many of their crew at the expense of Sunreavers who took potshots at the pirates amid the storm, and had even fought back Mogu with an alarming hybrid mix of light and shadow. To which Ahvie only discovered later was thanks to the adoption of the red hooded cloak that had found her amid the flotsam, in the moment she should have drowned.

Perse, dormant though she had been at the time, elevated Ahvie to a second chance at doing the right thing no matter whose flag she flew. And so it was that the then-blood elf found her calling and delight in uniting criminals, deserters, thieves and souls robbed of hope of redemption beneath a banner of belief. She gave the pirates a moral compass to turn their lives around by helping others do the same.

That... that was exactly was Vyk was claiming to do, wasn't it? Not so different from when she had been cast about in the storm left by the passing of Sylvanas' army in Darkshore. Clinging to vengeance dimly lesser than her desire to save others' families from the same fate that befell her crew and her adopted family among the night elves... Ahvie... Light it was horrible to relive that, but in moments like these, she couldn't help but dwell on it. She rejoined the Alliance and SI:7 to gain enough power and resources to make a difference in the war.

And here, on the crossroads of a new era of conflict beneath a rising whirlwind of a storm originating from Sunwell knows where above Icecrown, Ahvie was being offered two distinctly different positions of import and influence. But that was the rub, wasn't it?

Accepting SI:7's offer of a promotion would have been abhorrent to her before all this clandestine nonsense nestled its way into her instincts. Leash herself? With paperwork and reports and commanding officers? How in the nine hells had she managed to stumble into this mess in the first place? Didn't she HATE having someone else tell her what to do when she could just go ahead on her own and do what needed to be done? Weren't rules and faction lines the very reasons that she had becoming a reluctantly elected pirate captain in the first place?

And yet, this Vyk, this sleazy know-it-all illusionist was throwing around the words and claims that had wrapped Ahvie's heart in chains of silk and seawater. It mattered little what he really thought, for his intentions were difficult to read. She knew what he was as surely as he knew what she was, and... you know what, it doesn't scare me. Zethos was just a blustering dumbass in the end, and Kreyas was an exception to the rule. What did it matter if Vyk was as crazy as he let on or worse? Didn't she speak and sign on with crazy long before she started acting like a spy and erstwhile assassin? He actually approached her with mirth and appreciation for the skills she had nursed since turning her crew into a commissioned privateer team.

Shaking her head, Ahvie hefted and tested the weight of the medal for a time, eyeing it with some sadness. Then she tossed it back onto the table next to a shocked M.

"I can't accept this, Mum. I'm sorry. I... I was planning on telling you rather soon as well, but..." the void elf sucked in a deep breathe and exhaled slowly, trying to relax. She would tell as much as the truth as she dared. She owed them that much at least. They trusted her? "I've recently been approached by a fixer unknown to me and others in the underground. And his job offer is one I'm not sure I can pass up. I intend to resign my post and commission."

There, she said it, and she shuddered despite herself. It was nice, having been one of those storybook spies she'd read or heard about in bard's tales. But it was just a passing --

M and Shaw exchanged glances, uncertain but not ruffled. Huwe rumbled a reply that sounded something like remorse. "You... want to leave? Brightsinger, you've done so much good with the work you've done. Stormwind, no... Azeroth would suffer a great loss at your abandonment of your duties."

Before Ahvie could respond, Shaw and M both spoke at the same time. "Brightsinger, wait." And they exchanged another glance, more assured of each other this time. Matthias gestured his deference to the warden.

"What sort of job has this fixer offered you?"

Ahvie pursed her lips, then grimaced. She was not about to tell a bunch of Stormwind bigwigs that a black dragon using the authority of the Alterac noble houses had tried to recruit her into a faction-neutral vigilante cadre of heroes and spies.

"He's assembling a crew of well-connected individuals, particularly from the scattered remnants of the Phoenix Highguard. Although he did not specify why he targeted us in particular, he did express an intention to use us as protectors of Azeroth unhindered by faction or race."

Shaw grinned at that, apparently, and M snorted with amusement. Matthias exchanged another glance with Huwe, who also rumbled in deep-chested laughter. Ahvie spun on him, jabbing a dark finger up at him, barely to his pecks. "And just what's so funny about that? A girl's allowed to have dreams of growing out of her training wheels, isn't she?"

M then exchanged another glance with Shaw, who nodded back. The silver-haired warden then spoke more smoothly and crisply than she had all evening, self-assuredness thick on her lips. "You do not see it, Brightsinger? This man is luring you in with the very promise and allure that we we had, that we knew would work on you. This is an opportunity we know you would not pass up whatever your suspicions... whatever OUR suspicions."

Matthias was stroking the end of a curly mustache as he continued the thought. "You need to control your ear expressiveness better, Ahvie, lest the effort you put into acting like a petulant child be undone. You don't like his offer any more than ours, even though we both have our benefits to you and your noble goals." Ahvie then blushed and looked down sharply at her feet in precisely the way she was sure a young elf maiden would beneath the critique of an all-knowing parent. Why did Shaw have to be so damned GOOD at his job? It was unfair! He was less than half her age!

M's voice was nearly on the cusp of laughter by the quiver in her clipping accent. "Besides, Brightsinger. Nobody really leaves His Majesty's service. There is no matter of simply turning in your badge like a provincial sheriff without any repercussions. You know too much of the inner workings of command, know many more isolated agent cells and how to recognize our field operatives. No... I do not think we will accept your resignation."

The void elf looked up sharply, taking a cautionary step back right into Huwe, who laid a blocky but gentle hand on her shoulder. She had to make a considerable conscious effort to keep Perse from wrapping around the unexpected limb's touch. Huwe hummed thoughtfully, but Ahvie cut in, indignant despite being surrounded.

"What, you saying you'll kill me if I try to quit? Or stick me in a cell until I sign another contract? You're not like Sylvanas or Garrosh, Maiev, even if you were a sorry excuse for a --" to which the warden cleared her throat all too politely.

Ahvie did not want to give the insufferable near-immortal the satisfaction, but paused.

"Consider your duty to both your homeland and your adopted home, as well as to The Seventy-Third and your fellow crewmates," Maiev said dryly, but held up a finger tipped with a razor-sharp talon to silence Ahvie's protest. "I'm not saying that your service to us excludes you from pursuing your dream of joining this ragtag band of vigilantes. In fact, much the contrary."

That's when the dark elf felt her heart sink, her blood going cold from the devious smile on M's face, the all-knowing tone in her voice when she was about to get her way. But Shaw picked up from there, as though to distract the Double-Oh agent from the near-sinister smirk on his superior's expression, "Your suspicion of this self-proclaimed do-gooder is well-founded, we think, and Anduin would doubtless be as grateful as we to know the motives of this third party."

Ahvie let out a low groan of defeat, which eventually came out in as immature a whine as she could remember using on The Seventy-Third's radio. But it only deepened M's facesplitting grin, all white teeth beneath brilliant golden orbs.

"Your next mission, Brightsinger, is to infiltrate and ingratiate yourself with these recruiters and ringleaders. Earn their trust, gain access to their facilities and resources, and discover what they are up to. Report back what you find, and you might well help His Majesty as much as you had these past two years."

Ahvie brought her hands up to cover her eyes in disbelief and shame -- not that they wouldn't know she had squinted her eyes shut in a distorted grimace. She couldn't get away from them, and they spoke as much sense as she had to them! They WANTED her to go, but also to keep working for them! Was... was she expected to just have her cake and eat it too, all while pretending that the cake wasn't forkroot or some veritas?

But then again, Perse said silently in her mind's eye, laughing with much the same deviousness as the warden in front of her, you would rather enjoy having access to SI:7 and the vigilantes, no? Perfect opportunity to tell the mortals only what they need to know.

What the void siren meant by that, or which mortals, Ahvie wasn't quite sure... but she knew in her core, her trembling, aching, groaning and exhausted innermost shelter of thought, that she had been trapped by two ancient night elves. Again. Oh she certainly was looking much the child now.

The medal flicked through the air with barely a warning, but Ahvie's ever-expressive ears picked up on that through her inward cringing, and the void elf's other hand deftly caught the metal scrap without really being told to. Bringing her other hand away from a face yet righting itself away from her pouty grimace, Ahvie sighed with exasperation and gave M and Shaw another salute. Wanting anything more than everything to be dismissed.

"Understood, Mum. I... humbly accept your promotion with thanks. It will not go to waste."

M snorted at that, and Huwe rumbled a deep chuckle. Ahvie ignored them, sneaking a final, "And, uh, one question, if I may, Mum."

The languid wave of the warden's hand was the best indication she thought she'd get. "If I am to join and infiltrate this new crew, as it were, I won't have much time to report back to Rennadyr, Wildo and --"

"They have ranks, still, Brightsinger."

"-- Lucy. I haven't even told them yet that these... these two offers are on the table."

"You've got your hand on one already, Ahvie," Shaw replied, his colloquial smile and tone disarming her with ease. "And accepting that means accepting your mission. You have two weeks to get everything arranged with The Seventy Third, using whatever truth or narrative you wish. We will not undo the work you've done to establish the rapport and business relationships you've established with them."

She squinted at him, trying not to sound relieved. "They're called friendships, Shaw."

"Are they now?" He quirked an eyebrow in a Narcoss-like manner. Maybe he invented it. "And here I thought you had been a reluctant party to the yoke across your back. My, but you are still new to this, aren't you, Little Shadow?"

That last honorary made Ahvie flinch, for it was the same title Vyk had coined for her. Could Vyk be one of these three but under the guise of their voice and appearance? She really didn't want to start suspecting everyone she met, so she put that thought away with another sigh of defeat.

"Thank you, sir, Mum. I'll set to informing my battalion of my impending transfer within the allotted time period."

She would NOT thank them for keeping the leash on, albeit with a loosening of the slack.

In classical Ahvie fashion, she spun on her heels, wriggled free of Huwe's iron grip on her shoulder with a glamor of barely-noticeable adjusting of the friction of her shadowsuit. Mastery over her body's skin to make it look and feel as though she were properly clothed (she was, she tried to remind herself) often granted her many a slick surface devoid of purchase for grappling opponents. So it was that she ducked around Huwe and made for the door before the cue ball of an officer could spin around.

Maiev's voice chuckled and chortled in the grandmotherly way that kaldorei women infamously were known for mastering. "Two weeks, Brightsinger, and you'd better have news to report on this gathering of vigilantes!"

The void elf pointedly ignored the prospect of offering any salute or grunt of assent, and nudged one of the double-doors open just enough for her to slip through, a whisper in the deepening shadows of Stormwind Keep's underbelly.

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