#muse: maven | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ironwoman359 · 11 months ago

Text

A Thief's Gamble - Ch.9

Every Cloud...

Prev: Ch.8 Caught Red Handed || Next: Ch.10...Has a Silver Lining Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: The Guild is forced to lay low after being exposed by a failed heist, but then Brynjolf receives a cryptic message that sends him on an unexpected job.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 3,887

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — —

Gissur’s failure ended up having a far greater impact on the Guild than Brynjolf had expected. Any hope that the heat would die down quickly was dashed as the jarl ordered extra patrols across the entire city. Afraid to run afoul of the guard, most of the Guildmembers were forced to hunker down in the ratway and wait things out. At first the air was charged with tension and whispered conversations, but after days of nothing to do, the heavy weight of boredom began to settle over the Guild.

Brynjolf kept up appearances in the marketplace, hawking his elixir and gathering information, but even he was beginning to grow antsy. The guards who he normally worked with were avoiding him, and a quick inspection of the hidden caches around the city revealed that most hadn’t even collected their recent payments and orders. What info he was able to gather from his other sources, he couldn’t act on, and he found himself in the Ragged Flagon at the end of each day, as frustrated and bored as his Guildmates.

“Any change out there?” Delvin asked him one night as he trudged in, and Brynjolf let out a sigh, dropping into a chair across from the old thief.

“None,” he said. “You’d think they’d grow tired of this constant vigilance after two weeks, but they’ve not budged an inch.”

Delvin whistled.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised that old Laila is still at it. Surely all the extra wages are gettin’ expensive for her tastes?”

“Mjoll’s been taking advantage of the situation,” Brynjolf explained as Vekel passed by and handed him a tankard. “She’s using the incident to put pressure on the jarl, and has been riling up the citizens to do the same. Anuriel’s doing her best to counter the movement, but there’s only so much she can do without jeopardizing her position. The way things are headed now, we may have to ask Maven to get involved directly.”

“Which usually means a hefty donation to the city’s coffers, which Maven is not going to like,” Delvin mused. “And we’re barely back on her good side as it is.”

Brynjolf sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

“At least we have a few contacts reaching out in other holds now. Did we manage to send anyone out to that silversmith in Markarth? We may have to write him a letter explaining that our services will be slightly delayed–”

“Didn’t you know?” Delvin interrupted. “Ariene took that job.”

Brynjolf blinked.

“Ariene took it?” he repeated. “When?”

Delvin winced.

“The same day Mercer sent her off to Solitude.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” Brynjolf demanded, and Delvin held up his hands.

“I’m sorry mate, I thought you knew. I saw the two of you together that night; I just assumed she’d told you.”

Brynjolf just shook his head. He’d had no idea; Ariene hadn’t shown any sign that she was leaving until Mercer had ordered her to. He stared down at the contents of his tankard, watching the foam slowly dissolve into the body of the ale.

Ariene had been gone for two weeks now, which should have been more than enough time for her to complete her task in Solitude and return home. Assuming, of course, that the weather had been good, that there was no trouble on the road, and that Gulum-Ei had cooperated fully.

Brynjolf snorted.

Vex would take Delvin up on his advances before the stars aligned so perfectly on a single job. Even Ariene hadn’t been able to completely shake the string of bad luck that followed the Guild like a shadow. She always managed to narrowly escape disaster, but her jobs so far had been far from simple.

Still, Brynjolf had secretly been hoping she’d arrive back any day now, even though it was entirely possible that she hadn’t left Solitude yet. Now it turned out that even if she had finished her task in the capital, she wouldn’t be back on the road to Riften until she’d dealt with whatever business there was in Markarth. The silversmith had been vague in his communication, so there was no telling how long she’d be delayed.

Sighing, Brynjolf downed half his tankard in one gulp, then pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

“Where’re you goin’?” Delvin asked.

“Training room,” Brynjolf grunted, rolling his shoulders. “Where else is there to go?”

The training room was blessedly empty, and Brynjolf pulled his daggers out of their sheaths. Already the thoughts he’d been pushing down all day were bubbling up to the forefront of his mind.

What if the jarl made the new guard rotations permanent? What if the Guild’s recent string of good fortune was just a fluke? What if Maven decided to withdraw her support, leaving them at the mercy of Riften’s bureaucracy?

Why didn’t Ariene tell him where she was going?

Brynjolf took a deep breath, flipping his daggers in his hands and letting all the worries swirl through his head, unhindered.

Then, he swung.

— — —

For two days, nothing changed. Guards patrolled the streets at all hours, members of the Guild stayed cooped up underground, and Brynjolf spent all day in the marketplace, selling very little elixir and gleaning very little intel.

A few people came to spar with him in the evenings, which at first he welcomed. It alleviated some of his boredom, but it also reminded him of the last time he sparred with an opponent, and he had to fight to keep a blush from his cheeks every time he thought of Ariene standing inches from him, her hand warm in his and a question as sharp as their blades hovering unanswered between them.

Thinking those types of thoughts made him lose his bouts, so he did his best to ignore them.

Then, on the third day, a courier approached him.

“You’re Brynjolf?” the man asked, walking up to Brynjolf’s stall in the market, and Brynjolf nodded. “I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver; your hands only.”

The man passed him a folded piece of paper sealed shut with wax, then nodded and turned, heading into the Bee & Barb without another word.

Brynjolf looked at the letter curiously, then cast a glance around the market. He normally didn’t like to read mail out in the open, but no one was paying him any attention, and he hadn’t had a letter come by courier in some time. His usual contacts had other methods of getting their information to him, so a courier meant something interesting. Maybe a new client, or a hot tip about a mark.

After making sure no one was watching, he broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter, eyes widening when he realized who it was from.

Brynjolf read the letter, a frown forming on his face. The message was vague, likely on purpose, but he couldn’t see what the point of sending it had been. Was it to let him know that Gulum-Ei had been dealt with and that she was on her way to Markarth? But it said she was heading home now; there was no mention of the other city. Besides, there was hardly a point to sending a message to precede her when she’d take just as long to get to Riften as the letter would.

He glanced at the date, intending to gauge how long ago she’d sent it, and his frown deepened.

First of Frostfall.

It was still the last week of Hearthfire. The first of Frostfall was four days away.

Brynjolf read the letter again, slowly, and the more he read, the less clear it became. As far as he knew, Ariene didn’t have any experience in property at all, and her reference to some kind of deal didn’t make sense, even as a euphemism for the shakedown she’d been sent to perform. Also curious was her use of Gulum-Ei’s alias, even though they both knew his real name and had no reason to hide it. And why would she date it the first of a month that hadn’t even arrived yet–

Realization struck him, and he scanned the letter again, his blood running cold as he did so. He grabbed the few bottles of elixir he had on display and shoved them beneath the counter, pausing just long enough to lock the stall before he hurried out of the market and towards the graveyard.

Bursting into the cistern, Brynjolf made a beeline for Mercer’s desk, barely stopping to apologize for startling Cynric into spilling his soup.

“I’m going to Falkreath,” he announced, and Mercer looked up from his ledgers, surprised.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to Falkreath,” Brynjolf repeated. “We just received a message from Ariene.”

“And why exactly does that mean you need to go to Falkreath? She’s supposed to be in Solitude.”

“She was,” Brynjolf said, passing him the letter. “But now she’s in Falkreath, and needs our help.”

Mercer scanned the letter, frowning.

“This doesn’t say anything about Falkreath, Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf took the letter again, grabbed Mercer’s quill, and circled the first word on each line before handing it back.

“Please send help,” Mercer read aloud. “Too many bandits, meet me at dead man’s drink.” He looked up at Brynjolf. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Brynjolf insisted. “Dead Man’s Drink is the name of the inn in Falkreath. I don’t know what she’s doing there, but I know that she’s on a job for Endon, a silversmith in Markarth. Whatever that is must involve bandits somehow, and I told her she wouldn’t have to fight an army single handedly. If she’s asking for backup, I’m not going to ignore her.”

Mercer raised an eyebrow at him.

“Guild first, remember Brynjolf?”

“She’s part of the Guild,” Brynjolf snapped. “Besides, look at the first meaning of the letter. She got Gulum-Ei to tell her something, and if we leave her to deal with this problem by herself, who knows how long it will be before she gets back here? How many more days are you willing to wait to get the intel? Or perhaps you’d like to send another agent to Solitude? I’m sure Gulum-Ei wouldn’t mind rehashing the story for yet another Guildmember asking nosy questions.”

“You’ve made your point,” Mercer growled. “I suppose there’s not much to do here in the meantime anyway. But I want you both back as soon as possible. No detours, you understand?”

Brynojlf nodded, already turning away from the Guildmaster.

It took him less than half an hour to change into traveling gear and pack his Guild armor, extra knives, and a handful of potions and foodstuffs into an old knapsack. He made his way to the stables, and after a few minutes of haggling, secured a horse for the journey.

He decided to take the more remote southern road that led past Haemar’s Shame and into Helgen. The northern road around the mountains into Whiterun was safer, but it was already early afternoon. If he took the longer route then he wouldn’t reach Falkreath until tomorrow at the earliest, whereas if he rode his horse hard and was very lucky with the wildlife, he’d be able to take the southern pass through the mountains and reach the hold before dark.

The late afternoon sun provided little reprieve from the chill of the autumn air, but Brynjolf was used to the harshness of the land. He didn’t particularly care for any of that “Sons of Skyrim” talk that was popular among the Stormcloaks and their sympathizers, but he was still a nord, and this was still his homeland. Riding through the forests that he’d played in as a boy while the wind made golden leaves dance above his head, it was easy to ignore the cold.

If he’d been on any other job, he might have taken his time to enjoy the scenery, but Ariene’s message was burned into his brain, and he urged his horse faster, cutting through glades and across clearings in places where he was sure of his way. He made good time until the pass through the mountains, where a recent snowfall forced the horse’s pace to slow, but he thankfully had the road to himself until he reached Helgen…or rather, where Helgen had once stood.

“Shor’s bones,” he whispered, pulling his horse to a halt.

The small mountain village had been completely decimated. Most of the wall on the east side was still standing, but from his vantage point on the slope, he could see over it to the destruction beyond.

There wasn’t a single building that had escaped annihilation. Nearly every house had been leveled, leaving behind nothing but a few splintered support beams and lopsided fireplaces sticking out of piles of ash. The stone keep, once one of Skyrim’s southernmost imperial outposts, had been reduced to a few crumbling towers streaked with scorch marks and surrounded by mounds of rubble.

The worst thing though, was the smell.

Once, when Brynjolf had been young and foolish and eager to prove himself, he and another footpad had tried to rob a wizard who was known to practice his craft out of a cave north of Shor’s Stone. Heads full of visions of priceless gems and ancient artifacts, they’d tried to sneak into the cave late at night, certain the old man would be sleeping and that it would be an easy heist.

Brynjolf could still hear the lad’s screams, could still recall the thick, acrid smell of his flesh burning away as he was engulfed in a fireball.

It was that same scent, still detectable on the breeze despite the time that had passed, that revealed the true carnage of the scene before him.

Nothing but a dragon could have done this, Brynjolf realized with growing horror.

It was one thing to learn of the attacks, to hear stories of chaos and dragon fire second hand. It was quite another to see the aftermath for himself.

Even with Ariene’s word that she’d seen a dragon, even fought one in Whiterun, a part of him had still been unable to accept that the creatures of myth were really responsible for the attacks. The beasts belonged in children’s tales and legends, not in the real world. Yet here was the proof, plain as day and chilling as the wind: dragons had returned.

Brynjolf caught sight of movement along the old wall, and tried to push thoughts of legend and doom from his mind. He had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment: namely that a company of bandits seemed to be squatting in the village ruins.

He almost had to admire their ingenuity; Helgen’s destruction meant that Jarl Siddgeir would have pulled most of the guards from the area, and the remains of the walls and keep gave the bandits a stronger defense than they’d be likely to get in one of the mountain caves nearby.

Unfortunately, their greatest advantage was now Brynjolf’s biggest problem: the main roads from both the south and the east ran directly through the village, allowing them to pick off any travelers with ease. Brynjolf was a competent fighter, but with no clear idea of how many bandits were camping out behind the wall, he didn’t want to chance an all out fight if he could avoid it.

Too bad no one else is here to appreciate the irony, he thought grimly as he weighed his options.

If it were any other day, he would have camped out on the side of the road and waited until nightfall to try and pass the bandits by, but today was the one time that he couldn’t afford to be patient. He glanced up at the sun, which was dipping lower and lower in the evening sky. He’d have to think of something quickly, if he still wanted to reach Falkreath before dark.

Realistically, he only had two options.

One, dismount and leave his horse behind. If he were on foot, he was confident enough in his ability to sneak past without any of the thugs noticing him. Of course, that meant that he definitely wouldn’t reach Falkreath before the sun went down. But that left him with option two: ride around the village in a full gallop and hope that the sentries posted along the wall wouldn’t shoot him as he came by.

Brynjolf grimaced. Neither option was particularly attractive, and the longer he sat here deliberating, the later he’d be getting to Dead Man’s Drink. There had to be another way, some hidden solution that would let him keep his speed without risking an arrow in the back.

“If you have a choice between two locked doors, then start looking for a window.”

Gallus’s words, his way of teaching footpads to approach problems from unexpected angles. The ability to think outside the box was what separated everyday thieves from the truly skilled…and Brynjolf was nothing if not skilled.

He thought for a moment more, then quickly dismounted and opened his knapsack, which he’d tied to the back of the horse’s saddle. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out a small bottle filled with a bright red liquid: a health potion.

He poured a small amount of it out into his cupped hand, then tilted his head back and dripped the potion down his face. He bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt from the path, smearing a line of it across his cheek so it mixed with the liquid into a dark red mud. He took off his cloak, rolling it up and stuffing it in his pack, then reached up and tore one of his sleeves so it hung loosely from his arm. Just for good measure, he slathered more of the dirt onto his arms and neck, adding to his disheveled appearance.

Satisfied, he mounted his horse and nudged it forward again. The ruse wouldn’t hold up under close inspection, but getting closer to the bandits was what he was hoping to avoid. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and squeezed his knees into the horse’s side, urging it into a gallop.

“HELP!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he sped towards the gates. “HELP ME! IT’S COMING!”

He saw the bandits stir, saw confusion and alarm on their faces as they watched what hopefully looked like a half crazed man covered in blood barrelling towards them. A few were already drawing their weapons, and he sent a silent prayer to whatever divine cared to listen that these men had heard the same news out of Falkreath that he had.

“HELP! IT’S RIGHT BEHIND ME! WEREWOLF!” he screamed.

That word changed everything.

Other panicked shouts joined his own, and the men turned their attention to the path behind him, reading their blades and aiming their bows down the road, which was exactly what Brynjolf wanted. He urged the horse forward, not taking the time to look over his shoulder. He wanted to be long gone before the men realized that there was no creature pursuing him and that they’d let a victim slip through their fingers.

He kept the horse at a gallop for as long as it could muster, then finally let the beast begin to slow when he was certain there’d been no attempt to follow him.

Brynjolf chuckled as he wiped the remains of the potion and mud from his face. Even after all this time, there was nothing quite like the feeling of pulling off an impossible plan. It’d been awhile since he’d felt that rush, being cooped up in the cistern doing paperwork most days. The last time he’d really gotten to see a plan come together was when he and Ariene had pulled the frame job on Brand-Shei. He could still recall the look of triumph on the lass’s face when she’d risen from behind the crates and flashed him a thumbs up.

Looking back, that was the moment that he’d first felt an attraction to her. He’d tried to ignore the feeling, to insist to both himself and his Guildmates that his attention was a purely professional one, but even then he’d known that he was kidding himself. There was something special about Ariene, and she had sparked his interest from the start.

Brynjolf rode into Falkreath just as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon. There was no stable in the sleepy little city, so he tied his horse to a post outside Dead Man’s Drink. He stepped into the inn, eyes already scanning the room for Ariene, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.

She was standing in a corner, arms folded defensively as an enormous man in the heavy steel armor of an Imperial Legate bore down on her.

“–told you, you’re making a mistake,” she was saying, and the man snorted.

“And I told you that you can’t fool a true nord in his own homeland. Do you think I’m stupid, girl? I know you’re trying to get back across the border. Didn’t expect the legion to have such a strong presence up here in Skyrim did you, you filthy deserter?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ariene snapped. “I’m here from Riften on business, that’s all. No one in my family has served in the legion for at least three generations. You have the wrong person.”

“If you really are innocent, then you wouldn’t mind going with a small guard up to Solitude to confirm with the General that you’re not the woman we’re looking for, now would you?”

“And miss out on who knows how many weeks of wages until you’re satisfied that I am who I say I am? I’m not a member of your legion, I’m under no obligation to follow your orders.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the man said.

He leaned closer to her, and Ariene took a step backward, stopping abruptly when her back hit the wall.

“I’m in charge of the city guard here, which means that you can either go with my brigade to meet the general in Solitude, or you can wait for him to come here from the comfort of the Falkreath jail. Your choice.”

Brynjolf strode forward, grabbing the man by the shoulder and yanking him back, the first lie he could think of spilling from his lips.

“Is this kinsman bothering you, sister?”

--- --- ---

Prev: Ch.8 Caught Red Handed || Next: Ch.10...Has a Silver Lining

10 notes · View notes

imjulia-andilikecats · 9 months ago

Text

The dude got that pretty privilege. Even some members of the fandom blame other characters like Mare for not returning his feelings or Julian (who is not even blood-related to Maven) for not helping him. Choosing to overlook the horrific deeds he and his mother did to them and more characters throughout the series.

Maven is a well-written, complex character with a tragic backstory, that makes him sympathetic. However, it does not absolve him from the terrible things he has done.

Controversial take here but: the horrible and horrific things Maven had done wouldn’t have been overlooked or forgiven by the fandom if Maven wasn’t attractive.

#maven calore #red queen #tiberias vii calore #mare barrow #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #elara merandus #julian jacos #i like maven #he is my meme muse #but some fans baby him too much #they blame everyone but maven #you can enjoy characters like maven #just don't act surprised that he is still an antagonist

108 notes · View notes

moonsmourning · 1 month ago

Text

@st4rsinclined: STORM: receiver wraps a blanket around sender during a rainy night *tangerine & maven

it's the sound of his own footsteps echoing through the cabin that makes him recall the last half a day. he and maven had been following some leads for a mission they took on together, but it had gone tits up at every given chance. they'd chased their so-called 'lead' to some half-deserted forest, where they'd found their lead, but with many more leads. it was an ambush, tangerine thinks. but during their brawl he and maven had taken out almost all of them, aside from two people. the two most important people. maven had gotten hurt, and a storm had been coming over head, so tangerine had to improvise. he decided maven was more important and whisked her away from the scene. he'd found a little cabin in the woods which looked like it did have an owner, but one who hadn't been around in a while, so he broke in and tended to the woman's injuries.

now they were waiting out the storm.

he finds maven sitting by a cracked open window, no doubt listening to the howling of the winds and the heavy downpour of rain. his presence beside her wasn't even enough to pull her from her thoughts. blue eyes flicker down to the white wrappings around her arm, regarding his work with a soft huff. he doesn't like it when she gets hurt; he'd rather take all the stabbings, punches, and hits if he could. lifting his hands, he drapes a blanket he found around her shoulders and sits down in front of her, fixing it over her body with a smiling. ❝ there, all snug as a bug in a rug, ❞ tangerine muses, allowing his arm to lean against the windowsill and his other one to drop onto the woman's knee, giving it a soft rub. suddenly, his smile drops, and he grows serious. ❝ listen to me darlin', yeah? the second this bullshit storm lets up i'm gonna' go out there and find the bastard that did this, ❞ hand lifts from her knee, his finger gesturing to her stitched up arm, ❝ and i'm gonna gut him, armpit to arsehole, you hear me? no one gets away with hurtin' my girl. ❞ shifting, he leans back, gaze fixated solely on her, ❝ and i'll take great pleasure in killing the rest of those pricks. ❞

#TANGERINE. / answered #TANGERINE. / v. bullet train #st4rsinclined #st4rsinclined: maven monroe

3 notes · View notes

neveraftcr-archive · 1 year ago

Text

i've added too many muses and need to get some threads going for them so give this a like for a starter! feel free to request muse/s or i'll choose at random.

carina alves. 27-30. she/her. bisexual. journalist. faceclaim: camila mendes.

hadley finch. 22 - 26. she/her. bisexial. veterinary nurse. faceclaim: olivia scott welch.

haeun kim. 24 - 27. she/her. bisexual. self defence instructor. faceclaim: kim sejeong.

iris wolfe. 25 - 28. she/her. bisexual. private chef. faceclaim: victoria pedretti.

maven solace. 26 - 30. she/her. bisexual. model. faceclaim: halston sage.

sehun jung. 27 - 30. she/her. bisexual. bodyguard. faceclaim: seo kangjoon.

serin demir. 25 - 28. she/her. bisexual. personal assistant. faceclaim: aslihan malbora.

sofie beltran. 22 - 25. she/her. bisexual. primary school teacher. faceclaim: fiona palomo.

summer thorne. 21 - 23. she/her. bisexual. zoology student. faceclaim: alisha newton.

#indie rp #indie bi rp #indie smut rp

12 notes · View notes

professor-simp-amore · 1 year ago

Text

Oh hey, I actually reblogged to this blog for once. About dang time! Prepare for more activity... that comes whenever I feel like it. :3

#mavens musings

0 notes

thewinter-eden · 2 months ago

Text

almost summer | kim seungmin (14)

14 : SPENDING YOUR TIME WITH THEM

Pairings: KIM SEUNGMIN x OC | YANG JEONGIN x OC

Rating: mature

cross posted on AO3 under the_winter_eden and wattpad under alone-at-last.

Warnings: none. One of my favorite chapters - we finally meet Jeongin

almost summer masterlist Comment a request to be tagged!

< last chapter | next chapter >

The other day, lying in bed, I felt my heart beating for the first time in a long while. I realized how little I live in my body, how much in my mind. -Rodger Kamenetz

Maven spent a good part of her next day catching up on correspondence. She called her mother to let her know that working with Seungmin had not sent her spiraling into a depression; she called her friends at their various postings to let them know that she hadn’t killed Seungmin in his sleep yet. Without being able to talk about their current assignment she found it difficult explaining to them why, while her ex-fiancé certainly still presented as the bane of her existence, her focus had shifted enormously from her issues with him.

She didn’t want to tell them about the Nokken laboratory anyway. It was hard enough for her to sleep at night, there was no reason for her to share the nightmare with the people she cared about.

After spending the morning and afternoon on the phone, Maven made her way to the kitchen and began brewing a pot of coffee before browsing the pantry shelves. She planned on going for a run and a workout later, so she wanted something more substantial to eat than the platter of dry-looking muffins on the counter.

Seungmin sauntered into the room while she was in the middle of crafting a cheese plate.

He beamed at her like they’d become best friends over dinner the night before, and in return she simply threw the handful of freshly sliced salami into her lunchbox and returned to the pantry for a sleeve of crackers.

In no universe did she have any desire to sit and have lunch with her ex. Dinner had been agonizing enough.

“I was thinking about going for a run later,” He mused, yanking a carton of milk out of the fridge.

Maven sidled around him to pour coffee into her thermos.

“You wanna come with me?”

“No.” She grabbed her cup and her lunchbox and briskly left the kitchen.

The garage seemed safe.

Once downstairs she found it full of mechanics, working amid the sounds of loud automotive equipment and booming music. Scooting quietly out of the way of the agents working, Maven headed to the quiet corner in the back where their jeep was parked.

Once she got close enough to see around the wooden creates that separated the jeep from the rest of the massive garage, Maven slowed to a stop.

The officer from a couple days before in the kitchen was there, perched on one of the boxes. She had a cup in one hand, both arms crossed over her chest, staring down at a pair of legs that stuck out from under the vehicle.

Before Maven could turn and go back upstairs, the woman turned to her and smiled, slowly letting her arms fall to her sides. “Spanaway, right?”

Maven froze. “Yes. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to interrupt.”

The officer shook her head. “No interruption; I’m just bothering Yang on my lunch break.” She gestured to the pair of legs. “Join us?”

Hesitating, Maven considered her options. She didn’t know either of the agents before her, but she was also under observation from Captain Lee. If they were supposed to be keeping an eye on her, she couldn’t just exhibit anti-social behaviors and run away.

The officer noticed her uncertainty. “Really, you can come over here. I’m guessing you don’t know many people at the station yet.”

Maven took a seat on one of the crates a few feet from the officer. “No, not beyond my team and Agent Hwang.”

The female officer stuck out her free hand. “Jung. Nice to meet you.”

Maven shook her hand awkwardly. “Officer?” The plain clothes gave no indication as to her rank.

Jung smiled patiently. “Not at all. I’m a specialist, like yourself. Just visiting post-op.” She pointed to the legs that still hadn’t moved from under the jeep. “Visiting my brother.” She gave one of the brown leather work boots a kick. “Got company, Hot Rod.”

The legs shuffled for purchase and then began scooting out from beneath the car.

The man who got to his feet was tall, broad, and covered head-to-toe in lean muscle and engine grease. He swiped a grimy hand on his coveralls and extended it for her to shake and then quickly drew it back. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were eating.” He glanced down at her lunch box and then grabbed a rag off of one of the crates, furiously scrubbing at his hands.

The grease didn’t have any intention of coming free.

“This is Yang Jeongin. Probably VALOR’s best mechanic.” Agent Jung sipped at her cup and then shot a glance at Maven. “We’ve been read in on Almost Summer.”

Maven’s eyebrows sank low enough to touch her eyelashes. “Why?”

“We’re your redundancy.” Yang explained, leaning against the wall. “Just in case something happens to you or Agent Kim, or you need backup, we’re your understudies.”

“Aren’t you a mechanic?”

“Special agent mechanic. You can double major, you know.” Yang tossed her a wry smile and draped the rag over his shoulder. His hands perched on his hips.

You couldn’t actually “double major”, but you could be trained and qualified as a special agent and also hold a specialty, like mechanic or medic. Maven could see Seungmin seeking a specialty qualification as a medic or something.

“So, what do you think?” Maven wondered, turning her attention back to Jung.

“Majorly screwed up.” Agent Jung responded simply. “If you don’t tear down that lab, I will.”

A L M O S T S U M M E R

Maven spent the next few days getting to know agents Jung and Yang, trading insights on Almost Summer as well as just killing time with meaningless conversation. Having connections at University Station outside of Lieutenant Seo and Kim Seungmin set her mind at ease.

Rather than waking up every morning and rushing through getting ready and making breakfast in order to avoid encounters with her partner, speeding through her workouts and seeking out private places to read in peace before finally heading to bed, gauging the success of each day solely on whether or not she’d had to talk to Seungmin, she could instead mosey through her routine regardless of whether or not he would interrupt it, and then spend her socially gratifying hours with Agents Jung and Yang.

Their welcoming presence in her day to day experience had officially turned Seungmin into an afterthought.

It started out strictly professional.

Agent Jung (Ahyeon, as she was known casually) wanted to hear mission details from someone’s first hand experience to supplement her understanding of the written reports. She’d invited Maven into their trust as an invaluable perspective on the job that she would have to know like the back of her hand should anything go wrong.

Agent Yang had proven to be considerably less intense, occasionally asking questions about the lab, but for the most part allowing Agent Jung to spearhead the interviews.

Maven used the discussions as a chance to run mental simulations of Almost Summer. She usually found herself sitting cross-legged on a wooden crate, leaning back against the wall answering questions while Agent Jung dissected the mission and Agent Yang kept his hands busy by tinkering with the jeep.

After the majority of the mission details and conjecture of future plans were laid out, Agent Jung backed off of the interrogation approach and began engaging Maven in more casual conversation.

By the end of the three days that Maven and Seungmin had off, Yang and Jung would find her in the garage or one of the breakrooms and stick around simply to chew the fat.

Meanwhile, Seungmin managed to find her every time she went for a run or a workout. He either ran alongside her or did his sets nearby, saying little in the silence but being persistent in his tenacity.

She never said a word.

For the sake of the cameras that recorded their every movement and every facial expression, Maven allowed him to work next to her without complaint or argument. She considered it kissing up to her superiors, while he considered it passive encouragement to keep trying to be friends.

Much to her genuine (and poorly concealed) dismay, Seungmin brought her dinner every night, whether he found her in the breakroom or in her own bedroom, and insisted that they eat together as a way to solidify their partnership in the field.

Wary of being demerited, Maven never posed any significant objection.

She never gave into his constant attempts at conversation, but she didn’t kill him on sight, either, so as far as she was concerned, she was offering a fair compromise.

A L M O S T S U M M E R

“Morning,” The word was accompanied by the tired shuffle of blue jeans and the scraping of a kitchen chair. Agent Yang fell like a discarded jacket into his seat and instantly tipped his head back like he couldn’t hold it up anymore.

The great sigh that followed decompressed his entire frame.

Maven watched him run a grease-stained hand through his wavy hair. “Burning the midnight oil, are you?”

Yang Jeongin huffed a weary laugh and propped his elbows up on the table. After taking a second to rub his cheek against the shoulder of his black t-shirt, he gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Midnight would be an early night for me, actually.”

She remembered many college nights when she shared much the same sentiment. Her shoulders seemed to automatically curl into the same tense position that they had grown accustomed to from studying hunched over a shoddy wooden desk. “And why does my understudy need to stay up so late working?”

Jeongin's eyes landed on the full coffee pot sitting, freshly brewed, on the counter and he pushed his chair back with an abrupt squeal. He scanned the table before her, gaze glancing over the half-read novel and the selection of pastel highlighters. “I’m not your understudy. Want some coffee?”

Before she could answer he was across the kitchen pulling two uniform gray mugs from the cabinet.

“You’re Seungmin's understudy?” Maven slid the old thrift store receipt that she was using as a bookmark between the pages of her novel and closed it. “Sorry, I just assumed Agent Jung was your team lead.”

Richly dark coffee sloshed into the cups. Jeongin replaced the pot on its warmer and swiped his hands on his jeans. “She is. She has the seniority and the attitude for it.” Gripping the cups with his thumbs and forefingers, he performed a smooth little spin that brought Maven’s attention to the fact that he was wearing socks but no shoes.

He set a mug down before her and tapped one finger companionably against her shoulder. “I would slide into Agent Kim's shoes simply because I have the technical wherewithal to be able to observe details from his engineering perspective.”

Maven cradled the hot mug in her hands and watched redness seep into her skin as it warmed. “So, do you also find the experimental surgeries ‘utterly fascinating’?” Her mockery of Seungmin's words sounded comically low-throated and dense.

Jeongin's features screwed up in disgust as he folded himself back into his chair.

Despite the grease stains on his hands, the back of his neck, and behind his ears, he smelled freshly washed, like Old Spice deodorant and Dove shampoo. There was a simple, gritty masculinity to it that presented a stark contrast to the sweet-smelling Swerve cologne that Seungmin always wore.

“I find the experimental surgeries utterly criminal, which I feel should probably be the bottom line despite anybody’s interest in biomechanics.” Jeongin slurped a careful sip of his hot coffee. “This is good, did you brew this? Wait, are you telling me Agent Kim is actually interested in the creepy alien lab?”

Maven leaned over the table, resting her cheek against her fist. “Yeah, it’s three scoops of the pecan roast and one scoop of the hazelnut. And yeah, Seungmin thinks the stuff we found is fascinating.”

Jeongin raised his eyebrows at her, appearing genuinely impressed, and then stared into the depths of his black coffee. “I keep trying to blend the stuff they have in here. I can’t get the pecan one to taste right with the thanksgiving one.”

Maven blinked, surprised that the direction of their conversation had gone towards coffee and not the grotesque mission details. “The pecan is a medium roast and the thanksgiving is a light roast. You get more complimentary blends when you mix like roasts.”

“Oh,” Jeongin drew out the word like she’d just explained an elusive math problem to him. “I guess that makes sense. Definitely have to believe you, this flavor is flawless.”

She glowed at the praise, just a little bit. “I’m glad you think so. Have to do something with all the pecan coffee in this stupid state.”

His eyes slid awkwardly to her at the resentment in her tone. “You’re not from here, then?”

She scoffed and sipped at her mug. “I'm from Washington.”

“Ah, that explains the expert coffee wisdom.”

“Are you from here?”

Jeongin shrugged. “I’m an adopted spy, I’m whatever I’m needed to be.”

Pursing her lips at the potential can of worms they were hovering over, Maven tentatively steered the discussion another direction. “Got a lot to do today?”

The mechanic lifted a broad shoulder in a shrug. “Did all my studying last night, so I figure today I’ll fix the alignment on your Jeep.”

“Have a vested interest in that Jeep, do you?”

That time he shrugged with both shoulders. “I’m not too interested in working this case, particularly since I’ll have to spend all of my energy trying to keep Ahy from blowing the entire camp up with everyone inside, which means everything has to go perfectly for you guys. If anything goes wrong, it won’t be the Jeep, I’ve got that covered.”

Jeongin pushed his chair back again, smiling as she laughed at his logic. “I’m headed down there to get started; you can join if you like.”

Seungmin chose that exact moment to bob into the room, whistling cheerfully.

Maven didn’t need another reason. She scooped up her book and highlighters and grabbed her coffee. “Yep, love to.”

As she shoved back her chair to stand, Seungmin stopped in his tracks and beheld them both, eyes darting back and forth between their faces. “Hey,” He greeted her. Turning to Jeongin, he held out a hand. “I’m Seungmin, Maven’s partner.”

Without missing a beat, Jeongin gripped his proffered palm briefly and let it go. “Yang. Your replacement.”

While Seungmin's chin hit the floor in befuddlement, Jeongin inclined his head toward the door, full attention returning to Maven. “Shall we?”

She followed him out of the kitchen without so much as a glance towards the stunned specialist behind them.

Once they were far enough down the hall, Jeongin shot her a lopsided grin that was only partially obscured by the thick mustache that reminded her of her father’s. “Lots of tension between you guys, huh?”

Maven reflexively bristled. “Unfortunately, this is not my first experience with Agent Kim.”

A group of officers walking towards them made no effort to move aside to make room in the hallway, so Jeongin put a hand to Maven’s back to guide her to walk in front of him as they passed.

His large hand warmed the entire small of her back through her t-shirt.

“Had a bad working experience with him before? He seems competent.” Jeongin caught up with her once there was space to walk side by side again and took another long drink of his coffee. “This really is the best coffee.”

“That’s not your impression of him or else you wouldn’t have played mind games with him the first time you met him.” Maven argued. “And I’m glad you like it.”

He shrugged again and pushed open the stairwell door, standing aside to let her go through first. “I got a massive insecurity vibe from him, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Insecure?” Maven had to put all of her focus into not spilling her coffee while going down the stairs and therefore was reduced to single-word questions.

“Yeah, he looked at you like you were his sandwich and he looked at me like I had stolen it. Bit controlling.” Jeongin skipped a few steps at the bottom and pushed open the sub level door for her.

Maven ginned at the accurate assessment of the worst man she’d ever known. “That tracks. And yes, I’ve worked with him, but I was also engaged to him, and I can confirm the sandwich analysis.”

Jeongin stopped by a set of lockers and spun his combination quickly into a padlock. Before he opened the door, he turned to Maven. “Do you mind?” He carefully extended his coffee cup.

Shuffling her own belongings hastily, she pinched her book and highlighters under one arm and took the mug from him. “Of course.”

He retrieved his coveralls and a pair of brown leather work boots from the locker. “So, you and Agent Kim? Was it the arrogance that turned you off?” The mechanic pulled the coveralls up over his jeans and let the top half hang off his hips while he bent down to put his boots on.

Maven went to take a sip and realized she was headed for the wrong cup. Quickly abandoning her quest for coffee, she moved her weight from one foot to the other. “I turned him off, actually.”

Jeongin paused to glance up at her curiously. “He seems quite possessive of you for being the one to have left.”

Possessive of her?

He was cruel and clueless and self-centered, and he didn’t care for her one bit.

“He’s not possessive of me, he’s just full of himself. He decided he was done one day and off he went.” Maven watched him lace his boots at twice the speed that she was capable of. It was impressive enough just watching the way his forearms flexed with the movement.

Black t-shirts looked good on him.

“He proposed to you and then changed his mind?” Jeongin tucked his shoelaces under the tongues of his boots and straightened, staring down at her with his brows lowered in confusion.

“Actually, he proposed to me and led me on for a year and then he changed his mind a month before the wedding that I planned to his exact specifications.” Maven tried to ignore the pinch of anger in her heart and instead focused on sharing the solidarity of her miserable experience with the handsome mechanic.

He frowned at her as he shoved his hands through the arms of the coveralls. “A month? His exact specifications?”

She shrugged, sucking in a calming breath. “I hated everything about it, but it was important to him. Anyway, that was a year ago, and this assignment is the first I’ve heard of him since he disappeared. And here we are, practically living together.”

Jeongin zipped up the coveralls. “I’m sorry, Maven, that sounds like it was hard on you.”

She swallowed hard and tried not to show him how much it hurt. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Carefully taking his cup back from her clenched grasp, Jeongin used his free hand to clasp her shoulder comfortingly. “I’m here all day, happy to be distracted from alien torture science if you need to talk about it.”

#skz #stray kids #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #kim seungmin x oc #seungmin x oc #jeongin x oc #yang jeongin x oc #jeongin fluff #seungmin angst

4 notes · View notes

shutupanthropologie · 6 months ago

Text

Empowering women to be their own muses, 4SI3NNA crafts chic pieces that encourage complete butthole freedom and individuality for the gassy style maven.

4SI3NNA V-Neck Sleeveless Midi Dress, $158.00

#fartbutt #windy #dress

2 notes · View notes

imjulia-andilikecats · 2 years ago

Text

Maraven Idea: Maven (Hunter) x Mare (Forest Nymph)

Warning: Mentions of Blood, death animals and Maven with a gun.

Maven Calore might not be the heir of the Calore Manor or his father's favorite. However, there is no denying that Lady Merandus' son was a skilled hunter.

With his lean build and graceful movements, he could effortless stalk his prey without making any sound.

Maven loved hunting. The smell of crunching leaves, the warmth of the rifle resting on the palm of his hand and the satisfaction of bringing home a prize for his family, especially his father, to see.

He hunted wild rabbits that borrow deep in the ground, grinning foxes that laugh maniacilly everytime they outwit your traps and even birds that fly high in the sky, with feathers that help them blend with the trees.

As much as Maven enjoys bringing home his trophies. He never mounted them. Opting on returning them to where all living beings came from. The ground and worms.

One day, Maven decided that it was a perfect time for hunting. Quickly preparing himself for that day. Wearing his forest green hunting cloak, paired with his dark green hat. Making him blend with the surroundings.

As he enters the forest. He immediately headed toward his favorite spot.

The north east of the forest, where the grass grow tall and wild. A sizeable stream with its noise muffling his steps, the mounts of soil and heavy boulders srrounding the steam and the occasional forest creature needing to quench its thirst.

Maven hid behind a wide , flat rock. Resting his arms and setting his rifle on it. As he makes sure its pointed across the stream. His knees sinking into the soft moss. Not caring of the mud seeping through his clothes.

Maven started to court. Timing it with his breath, as he slowly counted down. This process making his movements minimal and as still as a statue.

Not long after, he hears rustling from the distance. Slowly pointing his rifle towards the sound. As his strain his neck to hear it better.

He could hear the snapping sounds of dried twigs and light thuds. A rabbit couldn't make that noise.

Each thud takes a few long seconds for another one to follow, each time getting closer. A fox couldn't make such long strides.

Maven's heartbeat quickened, as he felt a sudden rush of excitment.

"Could it be?" He thought.

Before he could picture the forest animal that he so wanted to bring home.

A flash of light brown fur and long, thin, limbs caught his eyes.

Maven almost bolted in his spot.

Fast. As his finger found its way to the trigger. His eyes, never leaving its spotted fur.

He only grinned. But not fast enough.

Bang.

Maven saw it stumble in the plush shrubs, hearing it grunt in pain, its limbs kicking the plants and earth.

He stood for a moment. Never lowering his guard, rifke still aimed at the shribs, if it dares to run away from him.

When the cries of agony and rustling, started to dwindle down to near quiet, that's when Maven started to walk towards his quarry.

Taking long strides, the grin never leaving his face. He could picture his father's distraught face when he brings home this deer and bury it with the others.

His musing stops, when noises started to change. The nasally huffs, replaced with human-like groans. Higher pitched, almost feminine.

Maven's brows knitted together, as he stood inches towards the "animal" that he shot.

The deer was nowhere to be found.

In its place, was a young woman in a white nightgown.

Her long brown hair, covered most of her face, but Maven knew she was in great pain, as he watched her lay on her side, curling in pain. Her blood-drenched hand grip her thigh, trying to keep anymore blood from flowing out.

As a son of a noblemen, Maven would usually run towards the lady, tend her wounds and carry her to safety.

But as a hunter, Maven knew better.

This woman is no lady. As he studied her closely. Her dress, arms, legs, even her hair were covered in thin, coiling vines. Small white and purple flowers, decorating her wavy brown hair.

Her ears were slightly pointed, jutting out of her hair. The feature keeping her from being called human.

And most of all, her glowing skin.

A soft, golden light radiating around her, making the freckles on her skin appear to shine like molten gold.

Beautiful...and not human at all.

Her groans turned to heavy breathes.

She must have realized that she won't die from her wound. Her head tilting towards him. Her pain turning into anger.

Maven simply pointed his rifle at her. "What are you?" Still marveling at the odd sight.

She replied in kind, flashing her sharp, white teeth towards him. Her dark, brown eyes shining like black gems illuminated by flames.

"Your death, human." She hissed through gritted teeth. Her words sent chills down his spine.

He could only hold on to his rifle, using it as an achor and a shield from this feral thing.

He felt danger. Fear.

But all he could think of were the stories his boring, old uncle would tell them, whenever his lessons become too tiresome to sit through. He only listened with equal boredom, while glancing at his perfect older brother who's eyes were glued to their uncle with a delighted smile.

Stories about the nymphs of the forest. Sworn protectors, who would go to great lengths to keep it safe. Maven grimaced at the nymph's mischievous and outright, vindictive methods in keeping humans away.

Which is why, he should kill her. End this potential threat before it spreads.

That's cowardous side of him kept his finger on the trigger.

His ambitions, however, kept his finger from pressing again.

Maven wanted to know about them. If there is more and where they might be. Glancing at her rage filled face. She will be his guide.

He couldn't wait to take her home. His most prized possession.

"Death?" Maven smiled fully, displaying his pearly white teeth, crouching down to her level.

It only made her angrier. "What a lovely gift." He purred.

#red queen #mare barrow #glass sword #war storm #king's cage #cal calore #maven calore #old meme #random #tiberias vii calore #mareven #mare is a deer #maven is a hunter #match made in hell #match made in heaven

24 notes · View notes