#otherwise even cavities don’t effect it

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan: *crunch*

Helix: The fuck was that, that better not be one of your goddamn bones you’re already on a medical bed!

Obi-Wan: ??? *holds up the cup of iced water Cody brought him* Was this?

Wooley: Was what???

Obi-Wan: *puts an ice cube in his mouth and chews* It’s just ice?

Wooley: :0

Cody: :/

Helix: Oh thank god, make sure you finish that I want you hydrated. *leaves*

Wooley: *turns to Cody* We can chew ice???? Ice is chewable?

Cody: *flinching* I mean if you hate yourself, yeah.

Obi-Wan: The only thing that’s ever kept me from chewing ice before was having a cracked tooth from a mission. After I got that fixed I was right back at it.

Cody: Oh my god, not even cavities?

Obi-Wan: *loudly crunching a new cube* Nope.

[1800titz]

ᴠᴀᴍᴘʀʀʏ x ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ

｡◕‿◕｡ (patreon exclusive)

Y/N wonders if he’d always been a sardonically dry person with scathing jade, or whether the effects were a byproduct of being shaped by the palid, callus palm of undeath squeezing. Molding. 

She pats at the florid blotch — it eats the front — like dust she can brush from the knees of denim, and then smooths the collar with a tight smile. “Should come right out.” 

Harry blinks. He’s horrid at playing human. If the unbeating organ nestled behind his ribcage and his whetted incisors don’t already make those with a heartbeat chary of him, his jaded lack of dialogue and cynically ever-wandering eyes certainly don’t help. 

Wordlessly, the dry cleaner nods, and scoops the dress shirt by its untainted shoulders. She clears her throat, and for the first time since hello, speaks in a spiritless tone that bears similarity to the dullness of her beige t-shirt. 

“You can pick it up on Tuesday.” 

“Tuesday is great,” Y/N nods, still smiling as if her face will crumble otherwise. 

Like niceties are the bane of Harry’s imperishable existence, his irises loll to the side. And then, for the first time (beyond a passively dispassionate glance), Harry acknowledges the dry cleaner. 

He teeters over the counter, locks gazes with her, and declares, in a mesmerically somnolent croon, “You do not believe that the blood on this dress shirt is suspicious, and you don’t know that it’s blood…”

It’s borderline unsettling �� this gentle cadence. Like the wispy coo of a children’s bedtime story. The waver of a pendulum swaying. Her pupils swell like a sable abyss, gaping and endlessly grasping. 

“Definitely… not blood…” The dry cleaner murmurs, unblinking. Insatiably accepting of his suggesting aria. 

“Also,” he adds, indignation partly spalling the soporific euphony of his compulsion, “I am not a …chronic nose bleeder…” 

Y/N blinks. 

“And, you will not charge this young lady when she comes on Tuesday to pick this shirt up. You’ll forget this conversation that we’ve had, you and I,” Harry tells her.

“On the house…”

His eye contact is adamantine. Unnerving. He excavates a bit of her, and tucks something back in, something different and twisted. A mangled piece that slots back into the empty cavity. Slowly, he blinks, and steers back up. 

“Have a— a good night,” Y/N says, managing a flimsy wave. 

The dry cleaner bats her lashes, a spasmic flutter, like she’s blinking something out from her sockets. Probably Harry. The door chimes before Y/N’s even turned to follow Harry out. 

The city touches her with a plume of brumal wind. It kisses at her cheeks and billows at her hair. She takes long strides to catch Harry’s own, languid gait, and he casts his gaze over his shoulder wordlessly when she makes it up.

Then, with his face remarkably deadpan, he asks, “Why did you tell her I have chronic nosebleeds?” 

[marieshyperf1xations]

The FIA just (a few days ago actually but I only now got around to making this post) put out a leaflet/information campaign about head injuries and more specifically concussions in motorsport, which I found really interesting and helpful, not just for those in motorsport but life in general

The tl;dr of it is: you don’t necessarily have to have hit your head in order to get a concussion, the warning signs are especially headaches, nausea and dizziness; if in doubt go see a doctor.

Now for the slightly longer/nerdy ramble under the cut:

Concussions are a mild form of traumatic brain injury (also called mTBI), that are most commonly associated with (motor vehicle) accidents, but can happen in a variety of different ways, basically any time sudden deceleration of the head happens.

The brain isn’t “attached” to anything in the skull strictly speaking, it sits in its cavity, protected by layers of skin and a fluid called “cerebrospinal fluid”. I’ve put a diagram below where you can see the layout of the head/skull/meninges. The cerebrospinal fluid isn’t labelled in the image, but it fills the spongey-looking space between the arachnoid and pia mater.

That fluid is meant to protect the brain from mild trauma, but it can only absorb so much force. When you experience rapid deceleration of any kind (so whether you directly hit your head or “just” suddenly stop) your brain can hit the inside of your skull, if it’s too much for the cerebrospinal fluid to buffer.

When the brain hits the inside of the skull in the worst case scenario it can bruise like any other part of the body, but since the cavity of the skull is closed off, there’s no way for the pressure to escape and it can seriously and permanently damage the brain, which is part of the reason why head injuries need to be so carefully watched.

As seen above the most common symptoms are headaches, dizziness, nausea, disorientation, memory issues, changes in character/behaviour and coordination issues, but that list is non-exhaustive. Apart from the risk of a more serious TBI being overlooked, in motorsport there’s also the effects of the symptoms that can lead to accidents. I don’t think I need to go into too much detail how dizziness spells or problems with vision impact racing drivers going wheel-to-wheel with each other at 300+kph, but I want to stress that this also goes for “normal” people in road cars or other every day situations. Cue the motto of the FIA’s campaign “If in doubt, sit out”.

As for first aid, the things you can do are rather limited, but the most important thing is to get somebody with a suspected brain injury to a hospital or medical centre as quickly as possible. Since patients with concussions will oftentimes vomit, it’s good to be prepared for that when taking someone to the hospital and with unconscious patients it’s even more likely and therefore important than usual to limit the risk of them choking on their own sick by putting them into recovery position (image below, but also brush up on your first aid course if you don’t know/remember this) or (if you’re trained and have the materials) otherwise protect their airways.

For some reason tumblr won’t let me link the pdf or the article, so I’ll just put it at the end here.

(Legal stuff:) Disclaimer that while I’m a paramedic and not just talking out of my arse on this, I’m not a medical authority, and this isn’t legal medical advice or anything of that nature, I’m just trying to raise awareness for brain injuries, concussions and the FIAs campaign and you should always contact medical personnel over things like this and call your local emergency number when you witness a medical emergency of any nature (144 in Austria, 112 generally in Europe, 999 in the UK and 911 in the US as far as I’m aware)

Link: https://www.fia.com/news/concussion-awareness-campaign

[smiggles]

I’d chain your wrists and ankles to the same point on the floor behind you, so that you’d be forced to kneel in front of me. Then I’d drug you. Would you be used to the taste of my leather gloves by now, used to the sensation of having pills pushed down your throat? Would you look forward to the taste and feel of them, even as you try to bite and struggle? I bet you’d enjoy feeling that unsteady haze settle over you as the drugs take effect. I want you aware but not able to put up a fight, if you move too much it will be dangerous. I’m going to have to break a few of your ribs, but you can handle that can’t you? I’d do it a bit differently this time. I’d show it to you first; a heavy, sturdy hook that fits nicely in my hand. I’d pierce you with it, sliding it very carefully around one of your ribs. I’d have to be careful, otherwise it would puncture your lung, and I don’t want you bleeding out too early. Once the hook is around your rib I’d start to pull. How would that feel for you, I wonder, the strain from inside as your bones struggle to hold you together? I’d pull until the rib snaps. I want to hear you cry out, I want to enjoy the look on your face when I pull the hook out and you see me move on to the next one. I’d go slowly, breaking them one by one. I’d imagine you’d be huffing and shaking by the time I’m satisfied with my work, blood trailing down your stomach from the holes I left in your chest. Then I’d make a cut between two of your broken ribs. Look me in the eye while I dig my fingers into your wound. I want you to feel your broken bones shift as I move my fingers inside you, pushing and deepening. When I pull those fingers back out, dripping with your blood, would you lick them clean for me? I’d stand up and position myself at your oozing wound, grab you by your hair, and pull your head back so I can watch your face contort as I slowly thrust inside of you. I want to feel your lungs move against me as you suck in a sharp breath, and as I move deeper I want to feel your heartbeat on the head of my cock. It would make me so happy if you let out a pained cry that I could feel all through your chest as I move. Every sound you make, every breath you take, every beat of your heart would bring me pleasure. I want to interrupt your heartbeats with my thrusts, making you so dizzy you can’t think. When I finish and paint your heart with my fluids your rapid heartbeat would quickly mix them in with your blood. I’d take my knife and carve one deep line on your arm, and then I’d start moving again. I want to keep going until you have a row of indelible, bloody, aching tally marks down your arm. You can look at the scars later, long after I’ve sewn you up with my cum still inside your chest cavity. -⛓️🦋

My Valentine's day gift from Butterfly :)

This made me insane. This gave me a filthy disease. This put homes in the grey matter that rattles around in my broken skull.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Make a Wish - Hawks x Reader

Summary: You finally asked Hawks to show how flying felt like; he ended up showing you a lot more.

Warnings: Fluff. Cavity-inducing fluff. Friends to lovers.

Word count: 2.1k

“Don’t drop me.”

“Oh! Thanks for reminding me,” Hawks said teasingly, spreading his arms. “Now, come here.”

Against your better judgment, you decided to ask the number two pro hero to take you on a short flight. Even after years of being friends with Hawks, it still took a leap of faith to trust him with something like this.

You didn’t budge, feet rooting you to the ground. “Promise?”

You knew deep down that he would never allow such thing to happen, but fear gripped your heart and lungs.

He wiggled his gloved fingers in an attempt to snap you out of your frozen state, beaming smile spreading his lips. “Why would I drop you? I love you!”

There it was.

Those three words that he’d often toss around mindlessly, and that you wondered far too many time whether it was just a proclamation of his friendship with you, or if there was something else underneath.

“Why are you frowning?” Hawks’ arms dropped to his sides as he stuck out his bottom lip. “You don’t love me? I’m hurt.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “Shut up. Let’s do this before it gets too late.”

He reached inside his aviator jacket and snatched a pair of headphones. “Put these on. I don’t want your eardrums busted.”

What a comforting thing to say to someone who was about to be swung up in the air in the middle of the night.

“Anyways! Now I’m matching with the famous pro hero Hawks,” you teased, finally getting your feet to move closer to where he stood. “I wonder what your fans would say.”

His big red wings quivered slightly. “Oh, so you think they’d be upset that I’m taking a beautiful girl on a ride?” he feigned concern before winking at you.

“Should we ask?” you grinned in defiance as you positioned the protective headphones over your ears.

He lifted his arms once more as if offering you a welcoming hug. With a deep sigh, you shortened the distance between you two. It was now or never.

You laced your arms around his neck as your chest hit his. Unfortunately for you, this was enough to get your heart to skip a beat.

“Hold up,” Hawks said, raising a brow. “I forgot to bring another eye visor for you. Damn.”

Your palms started getting sweaty from how warm he felt against you, but you had to push that aside for now.

“It’s fine. I’ll just keep my eyes closed.”

He brought his hands up to retrieve his own visor. “And miss the amazing view? Can’t have that,” he beamed while placing it snuggly on you. “Besides, I know these airways like the back of my wings.”

The visor tinted your field of vision with pale yellow, but since it was already dark, it didn’t make much of a difference.

You adjusted it across the bridge of your nose, and offered a smile before looping your arms around him again.

Hawks was staring at you like you were his pride and joy. “There! Seems like we got ourselves another winged hero.”

“Except I have no wings, you dumbass,” you noted, laughing.

“You have mine,” he winked in response. “Now, I need you to wrap your legs around my waist.”

Your smile faded slightly. Very poor choice of words.

“Just hop on me,” Hawks added, seeing the confused look on your face.

You took a deep breath and bent your knees slightly, just to have your legs spring up and circle his body just as requested.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, both arms tightly holding you. “Ready?”

Your heart skipped two beats; one for because how he had just praised you, even if he hadn’t meant to make it sound like that; the other because the question he had shot at you.

You nodded, propping your chin on his shoulder, instinctively closing your eyes as he took a few steps to stand on the edge of the the rooftop of your apartment.

One hand rubbed your back for a bit as if preparing you. “This part is the worst. But it’ll get better soon.”

“Just go!” you half-shouted impatiently.

And before you could even register what was about to happen, you felt your stomach lurch upwards as he took a dive off the building.

Just as you were about to scream, you felt the air change in direction when his two colossal wings suddenly hurled you up into the night sky. Your insides rolled once again as the young man defied gravity. Was he also defying your ability to keep your food down?

The white fur that lined collar of his jacket would occasionally tickle your cheek as the wind fanned the both of you. For a while, all you could hear were the strong flaps of his wings, and even though you had been flying for a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

Hawks’ grip on you never wavered, and neither did yours. Your legs were completely glued around his toned torso just like your arms kept tightening around his neck.

“You okay?” You heard his muffled voice.

You gave him a thumbs up, still keeping your eyes closed.

His hand started patting your lower back. “Open your eyes!”

How did he...

Carefully and slowly, you opened one eye at a time. Hawks had brought you so far up high that all you could see when looking down were faint rivers of city lights spreading as far as the eyes could see.

His wings drifted expertly across the chilling wind, bending into different angles whenever Hawks intended on shifting directions.

Everything was breathtaking. Your fear was replaced with excitement as you felt for the first time ever what it was like to be him.

Soon after, you watched as he started lowering himself towards a very tall building.

Both his wings shot upwards, allowing the wind to flow through them and allowing him to prepare for what came next

He gracefully landed on the rooftop, bending both wings close to his body.

A part of you was relieved, but another was ready for more.

“You know...” he started slowly, still holding you in place with his strong arms. “As much as I like this position—“

“Uh!” you huffed in annoyance as you promptly let your legs slide down his body, bringing your hand to his chest to push him away. “Pervert...”

“Just teasing you!”

His voice was coming out muffled, and you suddenly remembered you still had the headphones on; you pulled them down to rest around your neck much like Hawks would often do. The visor came off next and he took it back with a smile.

“How was it?” he was looking at you expectantly as he placed the visor on top of his head, a few strands of golden hair going astray in the process.

You flapped your hands along your jacket and pants to set everything back in place again. Your body was still coming down from that high, and you could still feel the surges of adrenaline rushing through your veins.

“Very... weird?” you said truthfully, rubbing both hands together from the cold breeze. “But in a good way! You’re approved!” you quickly added when you saw his smile waver.

“You cold? Want my jacket?”

Ever the gentleman. “Just my hands...”

He immediately slid his gloves off and handed them to you.

“No! What about you?” you asked worriedly.

“It’s okay! I’m hot,” he shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows at the not so subtle innuendo.

You stuck out your tongue at him, slipping both hands inside the warm fabric. You then turned on your heels to explore the rooftop and beautiful scenery.

“This makes me feel so...”

“Free?” you heard him suggest from behind you.

You agreed in silence. Up there it seemed like nothing could ever reach you. Then it hit you.

Hawks longed for freedom more than anyone else. It was painfully ironic how he was gifted with a set of wings, but was still caged by his own morals.

Looking up, you saw bright specs of stars sprinkled across the night sky, some of them framing a bright and round moon.

“Do you bring every single girl here?”

He chuckled, slightly taken aback by your change of topic. “Only the ones I want to impress.”

You scoffed. “You don’t need to do that to impress anyone,” the words automatically left your mouth, and you inwardly cursed at yourself for the slip.

“Oh? Is that a compliment?” Hawks took the opportunity to rub salt on the wound as it was so typical of him.

You shifted your eyes to the horizon that was lined by a row of light of a nearby city, feigning sudden interest.

“So... are you?” he drawled from beside you.

“Am I what?”

This time you turned your head to face him, and you had to mentally slap yourself as you were met with his handsome face.

He flashed you a boyish smile. “Impressed.”

“Very. Thank you for bringing me here... this is beautiful.”

You were about to shift your gaze back to admire the amazing view when his hand grasped your arm.

“Hey, you have something on your face.”

“Huh? What?” you panicked.

“Come here.”

Hawks leaned in, his brows furrowed. “Ah!”

“What?!”

He merely smiled as he brought a hand to your face, his thumb grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

Oh.

You saw a thin and slightly curved strand on the tip of his finger. An eyelash.

“Make a wish,” Hawks said excitedly.

“You serious?” you widened your eyes at him, but almost did a mental backflip at the sweetness of it all.

He didn’t reply; instead, he brought his thumb close to your face.

You puckered your lips, but he promptly pressed his index finger on them effectively stopping you.

“Eyes closed,” he whispered, looking far too serious. “You’re gonna jinx it otherwise.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, but did exactly what he asked. Once more, you brought your lips together, allowing a swift breeze of air to flow through them.

Wishing upon lashes... this was so... Hawks. You quickly thought of him. No specific details... just him.

“Keep them closed.”

“Why?” You inquired suspiciously.

His face was close to yours as his hot breath fanned your skin. “You gotta wait fifteen seconds for it to stick.”

“You just made that—“

You were cut off by a pair of lips covering yours. Your eyes shot open in surprise as his mouth slanted firmly against your own, causing a wave of warmth to pool in your stomach and a faint shiver to course down your entire body.

Thinking back, you had wished for this moment for a long time. Well, not this one in particular, but your mind managed to come up with very vivid images of Hawks slamming you against a wall only to finally kiss you; or maybe as you both gazed at the sun setting just like in those romantic movies where everything always worked out in the end.

But this was so much better.

It was far better, because of how unexpected it was. Your heart was beating so fast that you could hear the rhythmic pounding in your ears. Once you got over the initial shock, you let your eyes flutter shut as he deepened the kiss, one hand at the nape of your neck, pulling you into his embrace.

Maybe this was the universe’s way of laughing at you. A moment ago you were laughing at the idea of wishing upon eyelashes. It seemed like a childish thing to do, but here you were. You had wished for him, and he was here.

Hawks’ hand splayed across your lower back as the other slid forward to have his thumb caressing your cheek.

A raw moan tore from your throat as you felt all of him pressed up against you, and Hawks followed soon after, a soft groan rumbling through his chest.

Instinctively, you dragged your hands through his thick locks, completely forgetting about the visor resting on his head. Before you could process it, you heard a loud shatter as the fragile object hit the ground.

Fuck.

You broke the kiss at once. “Oh my god... I’m sorry!”

Hawks was glaring at you through hooded golden eyes, and you swore you had never seen that hungry look on his face before. His trademark markings that framed both eyes on both corners were lightly accentuated, and that alone was enough to make him even more alluring.

“It’s fine!” he hurriedly mumbled.

He was leaning for another kiss, but then you smacked his arm as you realized what had just happened. “You asshole! What took you so long?”

“W-what?” the young pro hero looked genuinely confused. “I could say the same to you!”

You pulled him into a hug.

Hawks relaxed against your touch. “I love you.”

Those words yet again... “Do you mean it this time?”

“Always have.”

-

Masterlist

[piecksz]

pet. | (m)

pairings: yelena x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, non con, oral sex (female recieving), fingering, intoxication, gun play, violence, slight degredation, explicit language

words: 2.3k+

summary: hange sends you to investigate her suspicions about yelena’s loyalty to the military, but unfortunately for you, she’s already ten steps ahead. 

You should have known better.

Maybe if you’d been more wary she wouldn’t have had the advantage, but you weren’t. Instead you’d been unsuspecting, accepting her blithe invitation to talk about military proceedings over a drink when it hadn’t been your original plan because Hange’s directives were simple. Suspicions had been propagating amongst the higher-ups that the anti-Marleyan volunteers were planning an underhanded coup, and at the forefront of the insurrection was their ringleader, Yelena.

Your orders were to meet with her and solicit information that could have given Hange and the rest of the authorities a lead, so you thought nothing unsavory of Yelena suggesting you two meet at a bar. She offered to cover the tab, and you figured it would be easier to seek out details if she had some alcohol in her system, but Yelena was observant, much more than you had been. She knew the basis for the occasion, and so she coaxed you into one glass after another until you’d grown so tipsy that you didn’t realize she never took one sip.

Afterwards, it didn’t take much effort to convince you to come back with her to her place, accommodation she’d been provided as a guest on Paradis. The minute she lured you inside with the promise to take care of you until you were sober, she seized your arm and forced it behind your back into a nearly impossible position. With the weight of her body, she drove you into the wall, effectively cornering you with the threatening barrel of her gun pressed into the underside of your jaw.

She lowered her mouth to your ear. “The military doesn’t trust me, do they?”

You only grunted in pain, pointlessly writhing in Yelena’s hold.

“And here I was thinking we were just starting to become friends.” She sighed. “They’re smart not to.”

You said nothing, already realizing it was futile to try and prove that you had no ulterior motives for meeting with her, she already knew everything you presumed she didn’t.

“At least I weeded out their pet.” She prodded the hollow cavity where your jawbone met your neck with the cold metal. “What do you say to becoming mine instead?” She thumbed over the gun’s cylinder, clicking the plate into place before teasing the trigger.

You sent her a malicious glower over your shoulder, eyes blazing with animosity. “Go fuck yourself.”

Yelena’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your rancorous choice of words, but her expression quickly melted into a duplicitous grin. “Is that a yes?” She nudged her gun against the side of your throat, an understated reminder that she still had the option to censor you with a single bullet.  

You stuck your chin out in resistance yet remained silent. Compliance was your only alternative, but nothing made you sicker than the thought of submission.

“Good girl,” Yelena chuckled. She released your arm and stepped back, continuing to stand with the firearm pointed in your direction. “Shirt and pants. Off.”

Her command was curt, and it had you carefully turning to face her. “Yelena—”

“Pets don’t talk.” She flicked her gun to the side, emphasizing her instruction. “I need to make sure you’re not concealing any weapons.”

You hesitated, but quivering fingers traveled to the buttons of your shirt, undoing each of them one by one. Your movements were slow while you tried to stall as much as possible. If you failed to report back to Hange in time, they would conclude that something in your job had gone awry, then they’d come looking for you.

“Faster.” Yelena’s eyes narrowed. She must have sensed your deliberate pace.

Calculating bitch.

You shrugged your shirt off, tossing it on the floor beside you before working yourself out of your pants and discarding them in the same heap.

“Happy?” You held your arms up, turning around once over so Yelena could see that you didn’t possess any visible weapons.

She flicked her wrist down to your feet. “Shoes too.”

Your irritated look slackened at her awareness, still, you slowly bent down, reaching your fingers into your boot until they closed around the smooth wooden handle of a switchblade. You pulled the weapon out, briefly considering the odds of successfully landing damage if you lunged at her from where you were. You decided against it, knowing that it would take less time for her to activate the trigger than it would for you to attack.

Yelena held her hand out, and you reluctantly pressed the blade into her palm. “It would be a shame if I cut you up with your own knife, wouldn’t it?” She snapped it open, studying its whetted edge with eagerness.

Your eyes widened at the mention of her threat, and you backed further up against the wall, arms wrapped about your body in a miserable attempt to offer yourself some decency.

“Don’t look so scared. I won’t.” She retracted the blade and slid it into her pocket. “I have other plans for you. You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know.”

“Or else?” you combated.

Yelena grinned with amusement. “Or else? Dauntless are we? I admire that.” She took a long stride, closing in on you with her imposing height. “You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know if you don’t want your brains on my wall.” She tapped her gun against your cheek.

“You’re not gonna kill me.”

Yelena raised her eyebrows at the way you underestimated her vice.

“Commander Hange and Captain Levi wouldn’t let you see the light of day.” You chuckled. “And after they’ve been such kind hosts to you, is that any way to repay them?”

She pretended to muse over your reasoning, and then she shrugged. “Should I get my information another way then?”

You tilted your head to the side, now at a loss for words. You drew your brows together and shook your head, unable to discern what she was hinting at.

“It was easy getting you this far.” Yelena’s rich voice was strangely comforting as she spoke into your ear, the melodic rhythm of her voice lulling you into relaxation. “Your heroism is cute Y/N, but you’re not as smart as you think you are.” She coiled a strand of your hair around her lithe fingers before her hands traveled down to your chest.

“You think all your decisions are yours, but they’re not.” Her touch trailed along your breastbone, ghosting over the skin of your stomach until she met the thin fabric of your underwear.

Your mouth ran dry at the feeling of Yelena’s fingers while they lingered along your waistband. You tried to protest, but your words were stilted.  

“Nothing is. Not even those thoughts in your head, someone put them there.” she whispered, dipping her hand into your underwear while pushing her gun’s end into your temple. She delighted in your afflicted expression, eyes welling with hot tears but still soundless. She skimmed over your clit lightly, watching how your body twitched in response, and she hummed at your quiet feedback before circling the sensitive swell of your cunt with her middle finger.

Fearful of grabbing Yelena’s hand to cease her movement, you cupped your unsteady hands over your mouth instead, trying to smother your panicked sobs.

Her fingers slid down to your pussy’s orifice, forcing just the tip of her finger in and growing amused at how your hole tightened desperately with every small ministration. “You’re merely a puppet on a string—easily controlled.” The mention of her last word had her pushing two fingers up into your entrance, eliciting a strident cry from you.

Yelena moved quickly, long and lean digits thrusting in and out of your hole while your body quivered under her commanding strokes. She worked you in steady pulls, curling her middle and ring finger up against the sensitive center of your core. Her movements were effortless and adroit, playing you like an instrument while listening to your airy whimpers of indulgence—the music.

“Not even a minute ago you hated me, but your lack of resistance says otherwise.” She sunk her fingers again until she was knuckle-deep.

Your feeble pleas for Yelena to stop suggested something entirely different from the way your wet and needy walls tightened around her touch while your vocalizations grew louder. You undulated your hips in tight, urgent circles, shameless in your pleasure until you felt your orgasm tickle the bottom of your spine. A sweaty hand slid over the lapels of Yelena’s blazer, gripping the fabric while you fought to keep yourself upright.

“Take my advice.” She brought her face closer to yours, lips hardly brushing over the streaks of tears that painted your cheeks. “Being so naive will only get you killed.”

She slipped her hand out of your underwear, her fingers covered in a gossamer layer of your arousal, and the sudden absence just as you had reached the cusp of your orgasm caused your pelvis to jolt. Through glossy eyes, you looked at her own, your hold on her jacket tightening. “Please—”

Your fingertips slid down to your clothed folds, gingerly skimming over the fabric to imply what you wanted. With a sober mind, you wouldn’t have dared admit that you were surrendering to the enemy, but the residual effects of the alcohol in your system blurred all your coherent thoughts, and all you could focus on was your desperation for a climax.

“Yelena, please—”

Yelena’s hand closed around your wrist, and she forcibly pulled you off of her. “Don’t beg. Have some self-respect.”

She withdrew her gun from your forehead, ungodly eyes never leaving yours. Her pinched expression relaxed back into her classic inscrutable appearance, and she slowly lowered herself onto her knees in front of you until the top of her blonde head just barely peeked over your midriff.

The sight of seeing her shorter than you for once would have been comical if it weren’t for the aching between your thighs that took priority.

Yelena wrapped an arm around the back of your knee, and hoisted your leg over her shoulder. The hand that clutched her gun pushed it into the curve of your hip bone, spawning a small whimper of discomfort from your throat.

She glanced up at you before leaning in and lolling her tongue out, delivering a long wet lick up from your entrance to your clit.

“Oh my god—” Your words were breathless and waned into a decadent purr as Yelena continued to circle the sensitive bud with the authoritative head of her pink tongue.

With a final and potent flick, she lapped your clit into her mouth, methodically oscillating between sucking and kissing your glistening cunt until she discovered the best combination to draw out the loudest moans. The fingers she dug into your thigh migrated to your backside and pressed into the skin of your ass instead. Yelena nudged you closer to her until her nose gently grazed the skin of your pelvis every time she shifted against your center.

You whimpered her name again while your restless hands slid over your chest, tugging at the sheer material of your bra and weighing your own breasts in your palms. “I’m—”

Yelena trailed down to your hole, teasing and prodding while she dragged her touch from behind. She rested her fingers against your clit, massaging it alongside her tongue’s performance to excite you into greater stimulation.

“Yelena—” You swallowed thickly. “I’m—close—”

Half-delirious with lust, the other half—inebriation, your hand settled behind her head and you rolled your lower body against her mouth, allowing the dual sensation of her fingers and tongue to send you over the edge. Your climax surfaced in two waves, first presenting itself as a tiny shiver that painted your skin in goosebumps, but the second had you crying out fervidly while your body descended into uncontrollable spasms.

“Yelena—fuck—”

Yelena continued to urge her tongue deeper, penetrating the depths of your cunt and relishing in the way your walls tightened around her slippery muscle before she withdrew from between your thighs.

The strength of your orgasm had your knees buckling, sending your back sliding down the wall until you collapsed on the floor. Your fingers scratched pathetically against the wood surface while you quivered from the aftershock of your climax, and your heavy breathing didn’t relent. You stirred briefly, drifting in and out of clarity until your eyes flitted open to see Yelena rising to her feet in a squatted position.

She observed you thoughtfully, her warped smile matching, yet at the same time contrasting, her seemingly kind eyes. It appeared she had discarded her previous plan to pry information out of you, and debriefing you wouldn’t have been worth the effort seeing as how you could hardly form an intelligible sentence.

Yelena reached out to grab your chin, forcing your lips to part wider with her thumb, just enough for her to slide the barrel of her gun into your mouth.

The metal was leaden against your tongue and it’s sharp flavor was unpleasant, making you tug your head in the opposite direction, but Yelena’s grip was unyielding. You looked onward at her as a new surge of tears flooded your waterline, and your helpless cries were muzzled by her weapon.

She rested the end of the barrel against the roof of your mouth before clicking the hammer and rotating another bullet into place.

You strung your eyes shut, waiting for the deafening sound of gunfire, quick pain, and then terrifying silence, but when nothing came, you carefully opened your eyes, wondering if you were already dead.

Rather, you were still met with Yelena’s squinting eyes, and she hummed before pulling her gun, now daubed with your saliva, from your lips. Her eyes drifted to the floor, and she stretched a hand out to grab your bundle of clothes from your side. She held them to your chest, and you hesitantly accepted them, hugging the articles to your stark frame, then Yelena rose to her feet, peering down at you with self-approving satisfaction.

“Give the military my best.”

[osakunt]

Hello cutie < 3

I'd like to request dentist!reader x gojo in a modern au. Gojo would wince bcz of cavities he tried to hide but reader-chan noticed it and forced him to follow her. Make it fluffy and suggestive please 🥺

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➬ 𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

➬ The only cutie here is you 😘 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜'𝗺 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗽 𝗹𝗺𝗮𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼

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Gojo winces at the pain that surges off his molar. It had been three days now that this same pain would come and go. Not only would it come and go but when he ate he felt something off. For some reason he had to chew carefully and sometimes even chew on the other side of his mouth.

He went into the bathroom as soon as he felt the pain and took his phone - turning on the flashlight, he flashes his phone into his mouth in front of the bathroom mirror. As soon as the light was on that one specific molar, he noticed a crack but didn’t notice the cavity that was lying there.

After that day he was good at hiding his reactions but one day when he felt a crumb seep into the crack of his molar - he winced so hard that you noticed and asked it he was okay. “Hmm ? Yea I’m fine baby don’t worry” “…huh ? Is that so ….Mk then…. Uh want some of my air head strips” you offer trying to prove something in your head.

Just as you thought, Gojo did get any of your sour strips. All he did was eye them with eagerness but his pulsing tooth told him otherwise. “HMMM ?! You saying no to candy ? Baby somethings wrong, tell me” you pick at the situation waiting for him to come clean about the cavity you were sure he had.

“No it’s just ….. my stomach hurts” he says getting nervous at the way you raise an eyebrow.

Getting up from your rolling chair in the receptionist area you make your way to his lap. “Aw baby your tummy hurts. I’m sorry about that. Now let’s tell the truth, okay ?” You loop your arms around his neck while he wraps his around your waist to settle you in his lap.

“It’s the truth though”

“Toru, I’ve noticed that you’ve been eating on your left side more than on your right. Not only that but you also have been avoiding candy for a week and eat snacks once in a while” you say grabbing the bag of ruffles from his hands.

You peck his lips before getting off of him and calling one of the dental assistants to set up a room for you. “Dr. L/n !!” Another dentist in the building calls you into another room “What’s wrong Megumi !!” “I found Gojo’s X- rays …. From five years ago….it’s time for new x-rays !!!” “Wow yeaaa imma need you to follow me” you say grabbing his hand not listening to him make up excuses.

“This won’t hurt, right ?” Gojo asks as you put sit him down with all supplies that were needed to take an x-ray of his mouth. “No. You’ll be fine” you smile walking out then pushing a button to the machine.

Now sitting on a a chair, reclined back and a light to his face - Gojo can’t help but feel anxious. “Y/n, baby I won’t get hurt, correct ?” “No you’ll be totally fine” you smile down at him. Pulling out the sharp utensils to scrape and the mirror, he freaks out grabbing your hand as a reflex. “SATORU I’M SERIOUS ! Chill out. Look at the cavity right there” you point to the computer screen with his new X-rays.

“I can live with it” “no you can’t” “yes I can” “No. you. can’t.” You push him down on the chair finding a way to get into his mouth. After wrestling with him, Gojo gives up and let’s you do your job. Moving on to the cleaning part he was content with the flavor of the paste you used and kept licking away any his tongue found.

Things took a turn when you left the room for a few minutes and came back with a tray full of things you’d need to treat Gojo’s cavity. The silvery needle with numbing in it , is what took him out. The chair he was in was no longer reclined which gave him the advantage of hopping out of it and dashing to the door but you were quicker to get to the door and block the door way so he wouldn’t leave.

“You never said anything about needles y/n”

“Yes I did !! I literally told you how the procedure would go !!”

“I Thought you were just going to rub something on my gums to numb them !”

Trying not to laugh at him you call yourself down and sigh rubbing the inner part of your eyes with your hand. “Satoru, sweetheart. It’s with a needle”

“Y/n….I’ll come back later”

“No it’s fine. Help me get this one back in the chair and get him numbed up” you give Choso pleading eyes.

To both yours and Choso’s surprise, Gojo was now calm thanks to the gas hall put him in to relax him. “Pass me the needle with the filling in it. We should be done after this” “I just hope the gas laughing gas doesn’t wear off before we finish. It’s tiresome to wrestle a grown ass man” you two laugh finishing up before anything could wear off.

Laughing and cuddling up to you - Gojo slurs his words still under the effects of the gas “Choso looks good in his dentist attire…like dang sir” Gojo whisper pet to you then leaves a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“I guess he does. Let’s get you in the car. You’ll start feeling a bit of pain after the this bitch you’ll be fine” putting an arm over your shoulder and grabbing his waist, you support your boyfriend up.

“Bye guys I’ll see y’all Monday” you wave to the others as they wave back with a small smile wishing you luck with the lanky motherfucker with you.

Walking into your shared apartment you settle Gojo down on the couch and next to him you sit down hearing him giggle. “Still under the influence, I guess” you talk to yourself looking over at him.

“Y/n……y/n….love- I don’t feel pain !” The silence is broken and you look up from your phone seeing Gojo straighten up. It had been a few minutes since you two got home and the laughing gas was now out of Gojo’s system. “You fixed me- wait I wanna see” your boyfriend rushes to the bathroom mirror to once again look at his mouth with the help of his phone’s flashlight.

[rothjuje]

And just like that, dead week is over. Justin went back to work today, and Alyssa goes back to school Thursday.

Dead week is probably my favorite week of the year. It’s sacred to me. Everything is closed, there is nowhere to be. And Justin gets it off every year, even at the new company.

I’m usually excited for Justin to go back to work by the end of dead week but I’m kind of sad. We got a lot of quality time together. We cooked, we baked, watched several movies, finished projects. It was really, really nice. I guess I still like him.

The one thing I asked the universe for this holiday season was healthy kids. Nope. Break started with a nasty cold and ended with a different nasty cold. Whyyyyy. The healthy 3 days between colds sure were nice though.

The twins (born right before the pandemic) went to the dentist for the first time yesterday. All 3 were cavity free. The twins have separate dental issues due to being premature. So interesting to me. There are preemies you would never know are preemies. Spend a few weeks in the NICU but are otherwise completely healthy. Then there are babies like Gen and George that spend a couple months in the NICU and have some lasting effects that will resolve by the time they’re in kindergarten. And then there are babies who get really sick and spend several months in the NICU and have lasting struggles.

There were some scary moments for us (Gen got an internal staph infection and got RSV and almost ended up on a ventilator, George needed two blood transfusions), but for the most part, my 30 weekers were lucky and are (mostly) healthy now. I’ll never stop feeling so thankful for that.

What else? Moving drama was put on pause. Allied (my top choice) has been evading real numbers so I think it’s a dead end. And I refuse to sign with Justin’s 50% deposit company, so another dead end. We would need 8 U-boxes, don’t have the space, another dead end. So stressful. But it was nice not having to fight about it for 10 days. It was truly refreshing. We are gonna hate each other by the end of this move. I will never move again. Hopefully I will love Mass and we can settle there.

Btw, everyone keeps telling me I will hate the east coast. Ummm. I was born there? I’ve been back to visit several times? I am intense and blunt and I think I can handle it. Maybe not though. I think I will love it, and even if I don’t, I can’t wait to be out of the south.

We got rid of all of our foster care stuff. All of it. The beds, the toys, the extra clothes. It was painful for me and therapeutic for Justin. It doesn’t mean we won’t be foster parents again someday, just that we are leaving all of our maybes behind.

We also got rid of a lot of sporting gear. Justin asked me at one point if I felt so relieved to have an item gone. I snapped, “no. An item we never got to use? That we had intended to make memories with? That will never make me feel happy or relieved.”

I get so dark and so emotional so quickly when it comes to this move that it is disorientating to Justin. Although almost all emotions are disorientating to Justin. That guy. Sigh.

But it’s 2022. The year we move and start on a grand adventure. Finally.

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

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A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

[bellafarallones2]

a/n: i just think the “aliens need to breed with humans because reasons” trope is underused in this fandom

The receptionist sent Joseph into a private room to wait for his appointment, so he had plenty of time to look around at the place where an alien would be fucking him. It looked like a combination of a hotel room and a gynecologist’s office, with a neatly-made king-sized bed and a reclining chair with stirrups. Joseph sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

A knock at the door. “Come in!” Joseph called, hating the nervousness in his voice.

The first thing he noticed about the alien who came in was how large he was, eight feet tall at least. The second thing Joseph noticed was that he had wings, and four arms, the lower pair of hands politely clasped, the upper holding a clipboard and pencil. His eyes were round and red and featureless. His mandibles touched for a moment before he spoke, and Joseph found himself staring.

“Hello,” the alien said. “My name is Indrid, and I am here to prepare you for insemination and observe the process.”

“Hello,” said Joseph.

Indrid looked down at his clipboard. “You are Mr. Joseph Stern, correct? Just to make sure I’m in the right room.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Alright. In that case, Mr. Stern, I just have a few questions for you before I begin the physical examination.”

“Ask away.” Joseph couldn’t tell where Indrid was looking, whether up at him or down at the clipboard, and the effect was a little unsettling.

“You have volunteered, of your own free will, under no coercion, to be personally inseminated by an anonymous donor.”

Well, when you put it that way. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll need a yes or no, please.”

“Yes. I did volunteer.”

“Charitable of you,” Indrid murmured as he made a mark on the clipboard.

“The pay isn’t half-bad either,” said Joseph, trying for a joke and not quite landing it.

“You marked down you prefer vaginal penetration. Is that correct?”

Oh, god, Indrid was looking at the form he’d filled out to volunteer? The form where he listed his sexual history (minimal), fantasies and inhibitions? “Yes, that’s correct.”

“What is the capacity of your vaginal cavity?”

“What?”

“Sylph copulatory organs are larger than their human counterparts.”

“Oh, well, I’m a bit of a size queen, so I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” He’d also done his fair share of Googling.

“What does that mean? I’ve never heard that phrase before, size queen.”

“It means. Uh. It means I like big things inside me.”

“Oh. Well, that’s convenient, I suppose, though numbers would be more helpful.”

“The largest dildo I have is… seven inches long?”

Indrid wrote that down. “And in diameter?”

“An inch and a half.”

“Should work out nicely.”

Joseph felt slightly light-headed. “Will… will the person I’ve been assigned look like you?”

“No, of course not, he’s much more human-looking,” said Indrid without lifting his gaze from the clipboard. “My kind lays eggs, actually,” he added in a more joking tone.

Joseph whimpered. Indrid’s head snapped up. “Do you think he’ll… like me?” It was an embarrassing question to ask, but would hopefully distract from the even more embarrassing fact of how exactly Joseph felt about the prospect of eggs.

“I’m sure he will. Do you have any more questions before we continue?”

“No.”

“Alright. Feel free to stop me at any point if you become uncomfortable. Would you mind undressing for me?” Indrid turned his back and opened a cabinet.

Joseph unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, then his pants, and neatly folded both. Indrid turned back to the room and gestured to the gynecological chair, and Joseph sat down. “Feet in the stirrups, if you please.”

Joseph watched with some interest as Indrid affixed electrodes to his chest, entirely professional, and a heart-rate monitor to his finger. Then he sat down on a stool between Joseph’s spread legs and the clipboard on his lap. Joseph closed his eyes, waiting for Indrid to keep touching him, and heard the scratching of a pencil.

Oh. Indrid was drawing him, with his head between his legs, so close Joseph could almost feel his breath. Joseph couldn’t see the heart monitor from where he was, but he could hear it, beep beep beepbeepbeep as his heartbeat quickened.

“You’re already rather aroused,” Indrid commented absently.

“No I’m not,” Joseph said, although he was sure he was already wet enough for Indrid to see.

He looked up, not at Joseph’s face, but at the heart rate monitor over his shoulder. “My equipment tells me otherwise.”

Joseph couldn’t argue with that. Eventually Indrid put the clipboard aside and picked up an electronic probe, that looked something like a micropipette. “I need to put this inside you. It’ll test your fertility and make sure you’re not allergic to any Sylph proteins.”

“Alright,” said Joseph. The probe slid in easily.

“Such a good, accommodating human,” Indrid murmured. He kept the probe in for a few seconds, though to Joseph it felt like more, and pulled it out when it beeped. “It looks like you’re all set. Are you ready for your assigned partner?” Indrid asked, leaning over the chair to remove all the electrodes and the heart monitor.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“It’s perfectly fine to change your mind at any point.”

Indrid wasn’t going to let him pretend he didn’t want this. “No, I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Indrid crossed the room and opened the door he himself had come through. “Barclay? He’s ready for you.”

The person who walked in, indeed, did not look like Indrid. Just far enough from human to remind Joseph exactly what he’d signed up for, Barclay looked like an ape, with auburn fur and a face just to the left of human, and he was nicely dressed, in a white button-down and slacks.

“Joseph, this is Barclay,” said Indrid. “Barclay, Joseph. He’s quite wet already, I think he’s been looking forward to this.”

“Nice to meet you!” Barclay stuck his hand out for a handshake. Joseph scrambled to get down from the chair and shake his hand.

“Uh, nice to meet you too!”

“I’m required to stay and watch, just to make sure everything goes alright, but you can just pretend I’m not here,” Indrid said.

Joseph nodded. “Bed?”

“Sounds good to me.” Barclay started unbuttoning his shirt - god, his chest was broad - and then took off his pants - god, that ass - then turned back to Joseph, who tried very hard to keep his gaze up and not on, as Indrid had put it, the copulatory organ. “Can I kiss you?” Barclay said.

Joseph nodded. And then Barclay was cupping his cheeks and kissing him. Joseph forgot where he was, forgot what was happening, his whole world was just Barclay’s hands on him and Barclay’s honey-brown eyes. “You have gorgeous eyes,” he said when Barclay pulled back a few inches.

Barclay laughed. “You’re cute.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

Barclay nodded. “You already seem more eager than most.” He bent his head coyly and kissed Joseph’s neck. “Let me be good for you?”

That made Joseph whimper. “Please fuck me.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Joseph lay back on the bed, pulling Barclay down with him. There was so much of him, solid and muscular underneath the soft fur. Barclay kissed him again, quickly, and pulled away, and Joseph closed his eyes, expecting a cockhead to press against his folds but letting out an involuntary squeak when he felt a tongue instead.

“Sorry,” said Barclay. His arm was wrapped around Joseph’s thigh. “Not that?”

“No, no, that was good, I just wasn’t expecting it. Please.” Joseph tugged on Barclay’s hair. He had a vague feeling he shouldn’t be begging, that this was supposed to be something professional and detached.

“Tell me what you want,” Barclay asked.

“I- I don’t know.”

A moment of silence before Indrid cut in. Joseph had almost forgotten he was in the room. “If I may offer a suggestion.”

“Sure.”

“He responds well to praise. Good boy, and all that.”

Just hearing Indrid say it so matter-of-factly was enough to make Joseph squirm. Barclay lowered his head and licked across his entrance. Then he turned his head to level his gaze at Indrid. “Voyeur.”

“Excuse me,” said Indrid primly. “I am being paid to be here.”

“Nice gig if you can get it,” Barclay muttered.

“Humans tend to regard me as a sexual nonentity,” Indrid replied. “Therefore my presence is not alarming.”

“Oh, be quiet, moth,” said Barclay, and turned his attention easily back to Joseph. “Fuck you’re so good for me,” he said, his whole lower face slick, “so wet, you feel amazing.”

Joseph tried to buck his hips up but Barclay was too strong, too heavy. “Please fuck me, if you keep doing that you’re going to make me cum, and I want -”

“You want me inside you, good boy?”

“Yes,” Joseph breathed. Barclay got up again and Joseph dared to look between his legs. Fuck, his cock was big. Joseph threw his head back and let himself groan as Barclay pushed in, unbearably slow and gentle. Looking up, he could see that Barclay’s teeth were gritted as he eased himself in and out. He was holding back.

“Fucking harder,” Joseph said, wrapping his legs fully around Barclay’s waist. “Fucking fuck me.”

Barclay buried his face in Joseph’s hair, and it took a little for Joseph to make out the words he was whining. “Want to be so good for you,” Barclay was saying. “Want to be the best mate, breed you right, want to -”

And Joseph realized the strangled moans he could hear were coming from him, that he, Joseph, was coming right now as Barclay’s dick split him apart.

The next thing he knew, Barclay must have finished too because he was pulling out and collapsing on the mattress next to him.

Panting, Joseph managed to turn his head. Indrid was still standing there, watching, though at some point he’d snapped the pencil he was holding.

Joseph’s voice was hoarse. “How soon can I volunteer again?”

[rouiyan]

𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘐 𝘍𝘈𝘓𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the fourth volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: and when i fall, will you be there to catch me by the waist?

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst, fluff ✧ word count : 7.4k ✧ disclaimers : disclaimers — violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, bloody/gory scenes, mentions and allusions to character death, malintent

✧ author’s note — this is the one where i romanticize everything.

read volume three here: dearly departed.

prince donghyuck is running. he's sprinting almost, and his strapped bow and quiver hits his back with each of his coming strides. his hands are furious in breaking away the tall grasses that surround him on all sides with a blunt blade. cutting through them with swift flicks of his wrist. the dirt beneath his feet crunch and the blades of grass he's cut sway to the ground with slow and deliberate motions, avoiding the drag of gravity like paper in the wind. donghyuck is aware that he's leaving an obvious trail but there isn't time to spare if he doesn't want to meet death at his destination. he wished he'd been smart enough to take a horse, though he knows he would have had to abandon it as he drew close. 

the skies are clear today, rare for the winter that has made itself evident in the past few weeks. there are no clouds to stir up a storm, and no threat of rain to muddle his sight. donghyuck pulls a compass from beneath his armored chest. his feet are still moving fast though his arms are now pulled in to read the display on the device. the grass that's no longer pushed back springs up and brushes the skin of his forehead, the skin under the cut of his hair, obtrusively. the needle points south albeit a tad east. he continues forth. the sun is just about setting, flakes of purple beginning to bleed into the blue and donghyuck swears he can hear the ocean. he swears it's near. 

he breaks out into an open expanse, sudden in the way the grass stops short, but he sees soon enough that it stops short at the curb of a trodden dirt path. his hand against the ground, he feels the soil fine in between his fingers, sifting almost as finely as sand does. donghyuck's face tinges with the slightest annoyance in the realization that thin soil meant that tracks were covered up all the more easily, something that'd indeed be in his favor, if only there were tracks left to follow in the first place. the compass resurfaces again, the fine chain on which it hangs sloshing in the wind in conjunction with his hurried movements. lee donghyuck bites the bullet and recedes back into the mass of grassland, this time hurrying along the edge of the road whilst ducking once again in the cover of the reeds.

the sun is fast in waning and it's as if the prince is chasing it. he is on the descent of the hill himself when he begins to hear it clearly, the sounds of waves crashing against rocks, sputtering along the shore. he wishes he had time to go down and relish in the feeling of the water lapping between his toes, the salt and sand it carries shrugging off his dead skin. the sight he's first met with is the thatching of the roof, worn down and sodden through days of heavy rainfall. it sits like a weight upon the rest of the structure that soon forms in his line of vision. a decrepit shack, almost, or a sizable shack. the shiplack that holds the siding in place is doing the exact opposite, lifting off of its holds and fraying downwards into the ground, carrying pieces of the inner insulation of the walls with it. the shutters are absent in barricading the gaping holes the windows have abated to, the awning of the porch creases earthwards, blocking most of the front door. the visage reads, 'seaside home succumbs to the inexorable confines of loneliness and lack of care.' there is no other way to describe the forces that keep the assembly upright except the willfulness of a wicked hand.

donghyuck pauses and crouches to the roots of the turf. he peers between the strands to see a guard, no, two placed just before the widest cavity in the side of the house, the only way in he supposes. his fingers are quick to pluck the end of an arrow, to slot it in its place, to draw and arm back, an eye squinting. he's quick to duck under the cover of the grass once again when the arrow pierces the left of a guards' eye. he's quick to avoid ruffling the grass that would otherwise be giving away the whereabouts of his presence away to the other, frantic, guard. prince donghyuck is crouched at the foot of a tree when he draws another arrow, slots it, draws back, releases. he knows that death meets wherever the point of his arrows land, he's accustomed to it, he feels pride in knowing that one shot is all he needs to become the greater version of him, to decide who lives and who doesn't. one shot is all he needs to play god. at least, that is what you had told him on a lonely day of his fifth summer, the first summer he had spent at the northern palace but definitely not the last. 

"and you'll keep staring from afar, will you? you in the creepers," you turned your head in exact to where he'd been crouching, "as if i wouldn't know." young donghyuck removed himself effectively from the brush, dusting off bracts from his trousers in effort to present himself with a little more ease. sheepily, he treaded across to a few yards behind where you were stood, stance rigid and facial muscles pulled taut when staring into the bullseye. you plucked an arrow, turned it over in your hands, fingers running along the ridges to inspect. prince donghyuck knew that you were the same age as him, he'd been taught of the four, of which he was one, who were birthed in the same year, in each of the kingdoms. he knew this, yet with the aura you're giving off, he couldn't help but think that you've been around for much longer. the arrow split the previous arrow in a clean half. both lodged into the red-marked center, fifty or so meters away and barely visible to the eye at such distance. 

prince donghyuck stumbled to take a bow from the stand beside you. he placed an arrow clumsily between his fingers, strangely he felt the need to prove himself though he does just the opposite by fumbling. the arrow launched after his third try, but rather than taking on a straight course, it gave a feeble arc and lodged itself into the soil before him. the prince was a sight of vexation at this point, "my instructor said- he said…"

you crossed your arms over your chest, bow tucked neatly in between. "oh, i bet he said a whole bunch."

you taught him all you know and he learned with a newfound respect, though he was unwilling to admit to himself. you had him practice on a bird first, a bigger target than the red dot, so tiny that frustrations would surely be easy to come if he'd started there. donghyuck gave you an apprehensive glance behind his shoulders but you nudged him along with a nod of your head. it's the first time he hasn't missed. he never misses a shot after that. "is- is it dead?" donghyuck didn't dare peer over, afraid of what he might see.

"of course it is."

the five-year old boy was rendered a stuttering mess at this point, "d- did i just commit a felony?" shrugging, you plucked a stone from the shore of the creek, tossing it light across the water, "hunting is legal, if that's what you're asking."

"but i just killed a- a living thing!" he exclaims as if you hadn't said what you had said moments before. sighing, the next thing that comes from you left the boy in confoundment and annoyance at how curt you were, like an grown up he thought. "well, there are times where we are left with no choice but to comply with the blurred lines of right and wrong. there are times where we are left with no choice but to play god.”

his snappy attitude is all too quick to arise, no clue as to even what you were referring to and only in the knowledge that he disliked talking to you. "you're only five, just like me. what do you know?"

"i know a great deal," you turned abruptly to face the boy. you stepped in slow, paced motions, eyes strong and unwavering. he gulps as you spoke though unsure of why. "i know because i look for all my answers from what's put before me, not from my instructors."

prince donghyuck bites down on his lip, he wasn't nearly done with you yet, "so you're saying that you've learned all you know? then when will you learn that you don't have to act all high and mighty when you're already crown princess."

"i don't act. i am not an entertainer." he could not count the amount of times you've rendered him unable to process his thoughts. donghyuck can only retort back, "then what are you?"

"i am crown princess y/n, just as you've said it."

it's years later when he realizes why the earth seems to quiver beneath you, it's years later when he understands that it's because unlike the earth, soil that is bound by the pull of gravity, you've never allowed yourself to be limited to what something, someone, anything else subjects you to. you are a subject to no one, and that is why you will be queen one day. 

he thinks this even as the second of the guards drop dead. he thinks this because he has never had less of a reason to carry out a task, yet he finds himself doing so with attentiveness to detail. donghyuck by no means could categorize you as manipulative, nor persuasive. he simply understands the way you work, the things you desire, the people you need by your side. even he, as much as he disagrees with the likes of prince jeno, he knows that only he can be your king.

the dust settles thick as he crosses through the threshold, one leg after another. he doesn't need to breathe to know that the air could suffocate if he didn't have his arm sleeve pressed into his nose. the inside of the cottage, the wreck that it is, seemed to be intact, for the most part. donghyuck even thinks that if you were to run a thick duster across the tapestries, the carpet, the counters, the armoire,  most everything, that the place could live up to the coziness of just about a decade ago, minus the blatant hole in the wall and the condition of the walls itself.

donghyuck does his best, he's sure, but the halls twist in ways meant to confuse and he ends up at the same stairwell all too many times to count. he finds it soon enough, just as the sun regresses into night. the one stairwell that led down in the midst of all the ups. the absence of light is the only noticeable thing by sight, the moon isn’t nearly upon the horizon, but he uses all that he knows to make out the shine of the door at the foot of the steps. 

skipping the last few steps, he rams into it with all his body weight. the brass, weakened through weather and age, cripples beneath him revealing the darker of night. 

the first thing donghyuck does is cough, there is no way around that. his arm is back by his nose but this time his mouth also clamps tight onto the roughened fabric of his sleeve. he has a short blade in hand, his least favorite weapon of choice but a sword would have been too inefficient and a single arrow too thin. besides the heavy air that hangs, the room is also dead silent. four paces in and his foot hits a solid, a clang, a metal. he drags it along in the same direction, clang, clang, clang. bars. metal bars. a cage, an imprisonment of sorts.

the last bar he's hit escapes him, it swings open. the door, he supposes though he wonders why it hadn't been locked, why the door to the very basement hadn't been locked, why the whole vicinity was put under the supervision of two, poorly trained guards. donghyuck understands when his eyes do their part in adjusting to the dimness of the room and he sees the prince, slumped and unconscious, out cold. 

perhaps, death really was waiting for him at his destination.

time is running thin as donghyuck dismisses his urge to check for a pulse, he figures he'd have to bring the body back anyways, alive or dead, and furthermore he has a deadline. long gone is the dagger, tucked away on the side of his left thigh, replaced with a metal arrow that clangs itself with each time it strikes the wall adjacent to it. to prince donghyuck, picking a lock with a sharpened point of an arrow is second nature; he's done it as many times as little boy scouts practice their square knots and soprano's run through their warmups. but even then, he hates the feeling of picking a lock that binds two wrists, he hates the feeling of how the wrists fall when they are no longer bound, and he hates the feeling of the chains as they clatter and clump at his feet. more than that, the dead weight of a man on his shoulders, void of all vicarious pretenses, is the worst among all feelings.

the sun carries with it shadows as it sets. it draws them like a coachman and his horses, a dog on its leash, a flock of baby geese and their mother. the shadow of the cottage, in particular, is seven feet from where it was when donghyuck entered. he doubts he'll have much time to get back into town on foot, running wouldn't work well with his already depleted stamina and the hunk of a man on his shoulders. he plays it safe with a jog and his compass in hand, the shine of the needle becoming harder to decipher in the fast-coming shadows that drown out his sight.

the first break he takes under a tree a little ways down from the cottage, shoving the weight of jeno under the cover of a few tendrils of vines. he almost wants to kick his figure in annoyance but under the guise that he was trying to wake him. prince jeno is very poor company when he's knocked out, or dead, he supposes now is as good of a time as any to check. fingers against his wrist, he feels the faintest of a pulse and is relieved in the most concealed way, though there is no one around for him to be concealing from. donghyuck thinks, with sureness, that if he were to let the boy wilt in his arms, to deliver him dead when he might as well have been alive, he himself would be dead in your eyes. he shakes his head and brings his flask to the lips of the older, slightly older.

the first few drops of water do nothing except sit in his dry mouth but the rest is gurgled, choked, swallowed. the prince, and soon to be king, lunges at donghyuck with his eyes still shut closed. he has his fingers tight around the eastern prince's neck when he finally regains the will to peel open his lids. the sun is long gone at this point and the moon has still yet to appear over the horizon. jeno is startled when he realizes that the ground his knees are rubbing against isn't dusted concrete but thick soil and stones. he draws back at that though his arms wind back as well, as if to drive into his unknown captor's cheek, to knock him out. donghyuck is a whirlwind of coughs as he barely registers the fist that's approaching fast, he's glad he still has it in him to roll to the side and croak out an, "it's me."

two princes are panting under the span of a tree, the roots that jut out slashing the backs of one of them and the twigs that litter the ground cutting into the kneecaps of the other. their breaths alternate, loud sighs and sharp inhales, as they regain their bearings enough to acknowledge each other. two princes sit side by side under the span of a tree, glancing at each other, or what they believe to be each other, in the shroud of darkness that envelops them. they wait for the moon.

jeno finds himself reaching for the flask that lays discarded a few feet away. he chugs and donghyuck eyes him in disgust, feeling how his own throat is clenching up with the same thirst. jeno must sense this because he holds it out for him when he's had his fill, "how much time has passed?" donghyuck throws back the rest of the water. they are bound to come across a freshwater stream on the long way back, he's sure and he swallows, "a week in approximation."

a week, he's sure a lot of things could've happened in the week he was gone. possibly, you'd know of his absence. surely, you know of the death of your father. no doubt were you in mourning and he was halfway across the region and in no state to comfort you. his brows furrow, "anything notable that's happened?"

there are many things donghyuck could say in response. he hasn't left your side since the day after your father's body was found, the day he'd arrived at the palace, ready to comfort. he'd never have expected you to lash out in rage with no one to blame. he'd been there when the maid had delivered news of the anonymous tip that'd made your knees go weak in an instant. a hell of a week it had been, indeed. he prefaces with the general. "the coronation has been moved up, three days from now you will be crowned king."

jeno nods in understanding. it's all his parents have ever wanted from him, to marry off into golden blood, to become golden blood, for their immediate family to bathe in golden blood. he sighs knowing that he feels it's fine if it's with you, that your presence in his life simply mocks that of his parents. but he needs answers, the yearning to see you is set alight in the pits of his stomach. "and how is she holding up?" 

disgruntled, prince donghyuck answers curt and vague, the exact opposite of what jeno needs to soothe his worries, "she's holding up just fine." neither of them are in high spirits when they set off into the night. they suffice with the silence and when they come across the expected stream, donghyuck fills the flask, they bathe. the moon is kind that night, outshining all nights before and illuminating the compass needle, the guide into the outskirts of the southern kingdom.

the sun is on the rise when the two princes are met with the sight of buildings in the distance, small shacks, roofs thatched but unkempt and messy unlike that of the seaside cottage for royalty. the people bustling about are donned in the plainest of clothing and donghyuck is sure that his combat gear and jeno's days old and crinkle suit would draw unwanted attention from the commoners, after all, he's almost sure that they wouldn't recognize the faces of two royalty if they were dressed down, not here in the southern kingdom where the prospects of royalty are told like a fairy tale.

like how any disguise is gained, donghyuck sneaks through the bushels of the nearest house and snatches two pairs of trousers, two plain cotton tops, and a tweed satchel, leaving four golden coins under the back awning. they change before the sun arrives to clear the air of fog  and mist and they bustle and weave within the crowd with ease when the sun peeks over diagonal, mid-morning.

they don't make it far on foot, there is still a ways to go before they can safely make it past jeno's homeland without being noticed. the farther they delve into the heart of the kingdom, the closer they mingle with the nobles, the higher-ranking families, those who would recognize them almost immediately. 

a first of many close calls come when they are at the back end of a manor, a huge estate, spanning about half the palace itself. whoever the owner was, the individual jeno was rambling on about, wouldn't suffer the loss of two horses. that is, if they could be stolen in the first place. the stables were a mile into the plot of land from the back and though donghyuck could be so efficient in simply shooting dead all the guards that lined the outer premises, he really did not wish to cause a ruckus, not when he's sure the officials of the southern kingdom are aware of the escape of their second prince. and if jeno is correct in labeling this very estate as the abode of the capital governor, he wouldn't be keen in taking chances where it could hurt most. 

night falls for a second time and, under the cover of darkness, jeno slashes the calves of two of the guards, a stroke that could easily be mistaken to be of a running and wild badger if timed correctly. he ducks between the electrical cords of the fencing, donghyuck just behind him, as he gets on all fours to survey the grounds. the guards that are left mill around the stables, the only structure that'll provide them light during their break. they are jolly and big-bellied when they laugh and jeno finds it all too easy to slip past the commotion to the back of the stables where the gates open onto the track. donghyuck moves with practiced stealth to the opposite end, foot looping on the edge of a table where kegs of beer are stood tall. he steadies himself, centering his movements around his breaths and not his impulses. retrieving his compass, he doesn't stop to crack it open this time, angling the sleek alloy cover in such a way that it glints in accordance with the glass of the window, left side of the stables that's illuminated inside out. 

they count to three. the kegs meet the earth and while some roll, others simply spill. donghyuck leaves a mess in his wake. he'd like to stay back, admire his work, the looks of shock on their faces and the realization that'll come when they check the stables a little later. he gets this feeling each time he completes a mission, and very rarely is a prince allowed to do so. prince donghyuck loves the rush, the adrenaline, the anticipation and the satisfaction of completion. he knows that jeno feels the same. although as much as he would love to linger in the shadows to bathe in his victory, he knows that if he doesn't remove himself from the scene he will have a great deal more things to be worrying about. perhaps, his head on a stick.

with the horses accompanied by night, an ever-so-welcome friend, they are able to make haste. their course deviating the slightest to avoid the boundaries of the royal palace. jeno is familiar with the towns that lay just a little beyond and just a little before the middle glade. his familiarity means he knows where to book a rest for the night, where to get the needed replenishments for themselves and the horses and where to stock up for the coming day that will be spent entirely in the middle glade. his familiarity is helpful, but deemed futile when they arrive to see that each stall, selling food or goods, has a banner hung on the overhead. the prince's face is printed on each one, a lost prince, help needed! captioning each notice.

the pitstop, originally jotted to span a whole of two hours becomes a series of laborious tasks that involve intricate planning of thievery, indirect thievery as they make sure to leave, in their ructions, the rest of their gold coins, distributed evenly. they enter the middle glades with relieved and wearied hearts and sacks upon sacks of provisions.

the middle glade is the right place for any wearied heart. the grass is knee-length here, and it stays that way for a day's trip worth of land. the edges are crowded by a thick forest of trees with trunks too wide to hug and roots so big that traversing the land on foot is treacherous enough. but just beyond the thickets of trees and boughs that hang low is the glade itself. the four kingdoms were built to accommodate the livelihood of the grasses, wildflowers, gentle ponds that stretched only a few feet deep. the glade is a sight for sore eyes, and a marvel for all traveling through. it's where the four kingdoms diverge, and also where they meet.

rays of sun are harsh on their backs, it's been a little over an hour and though the looming threat of the southern kingdom has been left in the dust, the road ahead proves bleak, grasses the run along the horizon and, seemingly, endlessly beyond. jeno thinks of what he'll say when he sees you. he thinks of the smile that's sure to grace your features and he thinks of your warm embrace. jeno is patient when he thinks of you.

"she's been troubled."

jeno looks over in surprise at the sound of his companions voice, he notes the lilt and remains silent for him to go on. 

"the princess and i, as i'm sure you know, we've been well-acquainted for a long time now." donghyuck steals a glance of his own and finds that jeno's sights are held to the front but his brows are drawn in consideration, deliberation. "and i've always known her the best, loved her the best, been the best for her. we've both been, for each other i mean. we both also knew that there would be a day where the same would be said for someone besides the other. i don't mean harm when i say that i didn't think it'd be this soon, not for her."

"why not for her, distinctly?"

prince donghyuck gives a moment to think of an answer that he knows all too well from being by your side for the good majority of his life, "because she's not one to talk. she prefers to listen." nudging his point along, jeno makes it known, "she talks to me."

"that's how i know you're the one for her." jeno smiles to himself. he lets himself relish in the feeling of your love, even indirectly. his lips stay turned upwards, even when he wills them back down. he can't help but feel a little silly so he disguises his countenance with another question,  "did she ask this of you? to come for me?" a question that he already knows the answer to.

"of course," a playful grin spreads with ease across donghyuck's face. he supposes that the taut strings between them have loosened up ever so slightly, either that or the dreariness of traveling for days on end with only each other's company have done the trick, "i'd have never gone out of my way for you." jeno's expression is gruff but his tone is light when he quips back in agreement, "neither would i."

"i'll have you know though, she's beyond excited about the wedding preparations. the coronation as well but i can sense that she's more apprehensive to take the throne so early on. it's a relief to know that you'll be by her side when the time comes."

"as i should be."

"you know, i've heard some rumors about you, just picked them up here and there. and while i have made sure of your sincerity by means of this," he gesticulates, "this trip of ours, i would like to confirm that you're not...after her for the throne, are you?"

"not i, but i wouldn't put it past you to see it as so. much of my family sees her for only her blood," he doesn't bother to palliate the resentment in his expression as he spits out the last half. the other in the conversation is thrown into thought, once again. the moments he gives himself to respond are filled with the sounds of horse hooves fast on the crimpling grass.

"the death of her father, were you aware that it was dawning upon us?" donghyuck airs prudently, "in the assumption that it was of your lineage's doing."

jeno replies dismissively, not in the context that he is avoiding the inquiry, but more so that he found the case scenario obvious, "i was not aware, no. it had certainly been staged so that i could not have been there to prevent it, unfortunately." his eyes slide from the grassy hills ahead to his friend beside him, he lets new information fall from his lips in the face of someone he has come to trust, "i'm also apprehensive about her taking the throne so young, and not because of her duties. i have an inkling that she might be stolen before her throne is."

"another scheme of your parents, the king and queen? or is that past my bounds to be asking?"

the dismissive tone laces his voice again, but only for a few cumulative seconds, "not at all, there are many times a day where even i find it hard to identify as one of them." a turning point is reached where he gazes grows stern and the dismissiveness is replaced with an air of officiality, "but yes, i believe it to be one of their schemes to place a crown atop my head."

donghyuck considers jeno's words with heavy thought and a heavily-ladened question, "would you take it if it was offered?" he takes his answer with an equally heavy understanding.

"at the cost of her, i would give it up in a heartbeat."

you've lost count of the nights you've spent staring at the same ceiling you were faced with now. even turning onto your sides you know that you'll be met with all too familiar scenes. your mind, instead of relenting to the rest it needs, replays the same track over and over of prince jeno asking for you not to stay up too late, ironic in the sense that that's simultaneously exactly what you've succumbed to. you miss the way his locks bunch in between your fingers, something you haven't quite grasped the reasonings behind your liking of. it's just hair, but it being his hair supposedly makes all the difference. would it be foolish for you to be thinking of his hair when he might as well be taking his last breaths in the same second? there wouldn't be a way to know, the wall that you've encountered each time you venture down the glum alleyways of 'what if.'

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame." (my co--star day at a glance 1119).

you wallow in acceptance because the fear, the darkness, the shame stands too tall against your thin spears of hope. they've dwindled with each day that you've spent circulating between those three emotions in a hopeless and never-ending circle of self-induced torture. somewhere in between your fourth and fifth hour of intermittent lapses between sleep and wakeful exhaustion, the inner door of your chamber is burst open and you swear under your breath. murder is in the night.

or rather, it's your lady-in-waiting, her eyes bugged out and a coat haphazardly thrown over her nightgown. "your highness!" that's when you see the smile on her face, that's when a similar one begins to light your own. "the guards down in the valley, they say they've seen them!"

legs kicking up the blankets that hold you down, you scramble out of bed, even slipping on a coat is deemed too much a time-consuming task when the raptures that have enveloped you for the past weeks are now coming to a close. your fingers barely catch onto the door frame just as you skid out, peering back in to get another word for your maid, "them, them as in two. both lively and well?"

"i've been told of two men, both on horseback."

a grin splits your cheeks wide as your bare feet clap down hard on the frigid marble flooring. it echoes unlike the sound of your nightgown flitting between your form with each step, the whistling of wind curling your insides with warmth and joy. your heart sings like a village girl, whose love has just returned safe from the battling seas. perhaps you were a juliet, in the pretense that 'star-crossed' meant that you and him were written in the stars, not torn apart by them. your lungs welcome the morning air as you inhale as much as you can, replenishing the depths of your spirit, invigorating you down to each cell that you were built of.

the guard at the foot of the steps implores you not to go any further, the crisp winds that sift through the orchard would be far too dangerous with how little you are wearing. he sends for your lady-in-waiting, who had just arrived behind you, panting with all her might, to head back in to retrieve a coat or two for you. you tell her to take her time.

you're on your knees weeping when they come into view, the sight is unsuitable for the weak-hearted. head in your hands, you're making frantic motions to swipe away the furious tears that trace down your cheeks when the soiled dust from a sudden break of hooves lifts into the air before you. prince jeno dismounts as if it were his life's duty, his strides are long, as they have always been, and when he takes you in his arms, collecting your listless limbs and wearied bones in place, you find home within his embrace.

at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, a man clad in plain white and a woman in a silk nightgown rejoice in the name of love. his fingers never let the goosebumps on your skin stay for as long as he smoothes them over, you are absent of the wintry weather on your bare skin. at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, the up and coming king and queen of the northern kingdom rejoice in the names of each other, alive and so, so full of life.

you're looking up in curiosity at him as he crosses the room to the side of the bed, opposite of yours. jeno has a book in his hand, and rather than looking at you, his sights are on the pages, a finger skimming along with his eyes. he's by your side when he looks up, satisfied, "i brought something to read to you, love."

your eyes sparkle in the moonlight that slips undisturbed through your open balcony doors, "and what might it be?"

"you'll know when you hear, i assure you." he extends an arm and your back is pressed against his chest without a question, his arms encircling your frame, both hands converging to hold the book in front of the two of you. he spoke the truth when he said you'd recognize it. a smile makes its way to your face before you can even take notice. and when you do indeed notice, you mouth the words along with his voice.

“i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. i will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. i will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, and the pepperoni loves the pizza. i will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. i will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. i will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness of the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written.

i will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. i will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp…i will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you until every fire is extinguished and rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods. i will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close…i will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. i will love you no matter where you go and who you see, i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else–and i will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. that is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

(Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters)

the book is discarded, but unforgotten, to the side when the curtains are pulled back. the moon is at its height. renjun has a lot of work to do.

the scene is as expected, the princess, inseparable from her prince is on the bed and clasped on all sides by his form. he regrets that he did not have the guts to ask for the murder of them both. his orders strictly called for the death of one, a much more tedious task when a possible witness, such as the prince, could hold a hefty punishment over his head if he were to be caught. renjun knows that isn't likely to begin with.

his first mistake is waking the prince. perhaps going in for a knife to the heart was the most efficient but the least accessible, seeing as the man clung to you like no other. renjun doesn't bother hiding though he knows his face covering and hood aren't enough to cover his unmistakable stature. the prince charges at him once he's gained a sense of his surroundings. renjun dodges his sleepful fit easily and uses this opportunity to strike at you. a quick blow to the side should do enough damage for his job to be considered completed.

his second mistake is misconstruing the sheer amount of power the prince possesses. in truth, the prince does not know himself, especially if that power is being drawn by the prospects regarding your safety and wellbeing. renjun is pulled back with veined arms that encase as if to wrestle him into surrender. he's experienced enough to worm his way out and to position himself opposite of the bed where you're now beginning to stir from all the commotion, the prince standing in front of him, shaking his head in disgruntledness as he tries to fight off the waves of post-awakening exhaustion and strain.

renjun knows a lot of things. he knows much about caged animals, he knows even more about greedy men, specifically greedy and powerful men, he knows of hierarchies and classes and exactly how to get what he wants from them, but in this moment, he knows nothing more than the fact that prince jeno will duck. and that he will regret.

when one is young and naive and still in the belief that their blanket will shield them from the monsters in the dark, they simply disregard that it will not. the flimsy, flimsy blanket, made of nothing more than woven, and likely processed, fabrics will do nothing against the demons that await, under your bed, in your shadows, from your ceiling. you are not young, nor are you naive, and it's in your understanding that these demons, they are a breed of sorts, fallen angels. perhaps, you will never understand. and in their line of work, they have never halted at the sight of a blanket. you toss it aside and you charge even as your prospects of living dim as the dagger parts the air, the air that scampers away and leaves an open trail for the dagger to the dead center of your abdomen, the very spot your father had been punctured with.

there is a part of renjun that wishes he missed.

the man in the moon frowns as the beams that foam and froth and bubble behind him are poured down from the heavens onto the west wing of the palace solely, the west-facing windows, a specific west-facing, wrought iron traced door that gives into the expanse of your room, your bed. it illuminates you, it bares its shine upon you, unabashedly, unashamedly. and it is also the sole reason jeno can see, with such clarity, the shank that slits your silk nightgown with ease, that embeds itself within your now-withering body, that in turn, makes his blood run cold.

renjun is long gone when jeno begins his cry for help. there are guards just outside but it would take a miracle for a medic to arrive before you bleed out your internal organs completely. the white of your sheets is stained with your blood, the strands of your hair are strung together with the stickiness of the substance, jeno's hands, the beds of his fingernails are deluged in the blood that spurts from where he is desperately trying to press down on. the hole in your front gushes with each breath you take and jeno could only wish that he could breathe for you, in your stead. 

prince jeno cries, in the most literal and figurative senses, for help, for someone to wipe away his tears and to tell him that you're alright. to shake him awake as he dissolves further into the abyss of his fears. to kneel by his bedside and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that you're fine, really, that you've just gone to get a cup of earl grey with honey, that when you come back, there will be no dagger struck between your intestines and no red staining your nightgown. lee jeno cries because as time drags, and the guards that scramble about, fruitlessly counting on a distant and frankly unprepared medic, you are in his arms taking your last breaths.

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame."

and so he accepts.

volume five, the final installment: heaven belongs to you will be updated whenever the author sees fit.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i hope this piece brought back some cherished memories of 'a series of unfortunate events,' personally, such a great memory of my childhood, reading-wise. i say this a lot but, this has got to be one of my most favorite things i've ever written. i think i did quite well with this. it makes me happy. i hope it made you happy, i love you, have a nice day.

[heartsofbeskar]

from the ashes

chapter 10

din djarin x fem!oc

WARNINGS: brief mention of sexual activities, graphic descriptions of injury/blood

WORDS: 5.4K

EXCERPT: The corridor, dark just a few feet ahead of them, felt like the mouth of some monster, and with each step Ten took it got closer to swallowing her whole.

Lights followed their movement, creating a bubble of illumination permanently around them. The skirt of her dress trailed gently behind her in the absence of wind, her legs occasionally breaking through the carefully placed slits. Her skin was crawling.

A/N: phew this was a bit of a beast of a chapter both in length (i think my longest chapter for this fic??) and in structure, as i was playing around with timeline inspired by bae @asta-lily (srsly check her out) — hope yall like it!!

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The cold water beat down against her bare skin, goosebumps raising across the surface. Ten sighed, leaning back against the metal wall, running her hands through her hair, pulling it.

She stood directly under the stream of water, tilting back so it washed over her face, shutting her eyes. The ghost of Mando’s fingers lingered on her skin, in her— everywhere. His voice, the words he’d said to her, the noises he’d made, echoed in her head.

I want to see you come, Ten.

Maker, she liked how her name sounded from his mouth.

Pushing forward, she braced her hands on the wall in front of her, watching the droplets race down her arms, over the scars, over her tattoo. Despite the temperature of the water, warmth began to spread from her palms, energy concentrating there.

Ten hold a palm out, facing towards the ceiling. Water dripped from her fingers, but as it began to fall on its expected trajectory, towards the floor, it curved abnormally. Slowly, drop by drop, a pool of water formed in her outstretched palm. She breathed out harshly, willing it to collect together, but she could tell she was losing her grasp on it.

The feel of cold beskar under her fingertips. A rough and modulated voice close by her ear. Heavy limbs on hers, holding her to the floor, hands moving to—

The water moved together fluidly, quickly, forming a perfect sphere, hovering just an inch above her hand. It spun slowly there, the water circulating inside the shape. The refresher light refracted through it, creating patterns on the metal walls.

“Shit.”

When she finally emerged from the refresher, Mando was gone, any evidence of their encounter on the floor of the ship effectively removed. Though Ten was sure that area would burn her feet if she walked over it.

The door to the ship’s sole cabin and sleeping space slid open with a gentle hiss, lights in the small room powering up automatically in response to her movement.

She stilled when she saw the large Mandalorian occupying the cot. He was propped against the wall, halfway to laying down, arms crossed over his chest. His vambraces sat on the floor next to him, but otherwise he hadn’t removed any armour. His chest rose gently and steadily.

He was asleep, she realized with a start.

Slowly, she padded over, feet silent as she came to stand beside the cot. She knelt down, pressing onto the thin mattress with one hand, testing. When he didn’t make any indications of waking, Ten eased the rest of her body onto the mattress as well.

Her muscles cried with relief as she sunk as far as she could into the flimsy material — still, it was better than the hammocks she was used to. Turning her back to Mando, she folded her hands under her head, closing her eyes.

A moment later, she felt a rustling beside her. Looking over, Mando was stirring, uncrossing his arms with a low groan. When he made to swing a leg off of the cot, Ten grabbed his thigh, lightly. The contact sent jolts down her arm.

“I can—” he started to protest, but she cut him off.

“Just shut up and go back to sleep.”

His body sagged back against the wall, arms going back across his chest. Ten turned away from him again. The low tone of his voice cut the silence one more time.

“I’m not going to cuddle you.”

“Good.”

—

There was a short rush of air as the doors to the elevator closed, blue lights embedded in the floor illuminating the space from below.

Ten eyed the human men in front of her warily, their backs facing her, suits crisp and clean, their hairlines perfectly manicured on their necks. They began the smooth descent down, beneath the surface.

“Fiddle with the necklace if you can hear me.”

Mando’s voice was intimately nestled in her ear, the piece of metal small enough to be tucked into the cavity. Casually, she brought her hand up, fingering the matching metallic pendant that hung low, between the exposed valley of her breasts. A fashion statement, to anyone looking.

“Good. You should be there soon. I’ve still got your position on the scanner.”

She wouldn’t admit it, but a relief filtered through her body hearing it.

The elevator slowed, the lights dimming as they approached their stop. With a soft hiss, the doors opened. A long corridor laid beyond.

“Good luck, Ten.”

—

Coruscant rapidly filled the viewport, a myriad of lights and movement spread across the planet. The sight of so many people set Ten’s teeth on edge. It had been years since she’d been here, for good reason.

The man beside her sat deadly still, as he usually did, and only the clenching of his hand where it sat atop his thigh gave away any indication of how he felt.

The tension that had saturated the air of the ship for the majority of the journey seemed to reach its crescendo as Ten brought the ship in to land on the planet, in the same docking station Tosche had used months prior.

Largely they’d avoided each other for the remainder of the flight from Nevarro, no easy feat on a ship that small. A brush of shoulders passing through the cockpit doors, a barely there touch when one of them laid in the shared cot for a rest. It felt like a string being pulled impossibly taut, each of them silently daring the other to speak about what had happened between them.

As it turned out, they were both stubborn as banthas.

It wasn’t until Mando was on the verge of lowering the ramp that Ten snapped the string.

—

The corridor, dark just a few feet ahead of them, felt like the mouth of some monster, and with each step Ten took it got closer to swallowing her whole.

Lights followed their movement, creating a bubble of illumination permanently around them. The skirt of her dress trailed gently behind her in the absence of wind, her legs occasionally breaking through the carefully placed slits. Her skin was crawling.

“As I’m sure you can see, we take the utmost care to provide top security here,” one of the men boasted. Ten pictured how satisfying it would be to break his nose.

Instead, she said, “Did you build this place or find it?”

As the man prattled on about specifics of construction, Ten flexed her forearm, cupping her hand into her sleeve. The sound of the chip hitting the floor was drowned out by his voice.

Moments later, Mando’s voice. “It’s working. I’ve got the readings coming in. Looks like you’re in a tunnel about a hundred feet long connecting to the entrance.”

She couldn’t reply without lifting the necklace to her mouth, very effectively fucking them over, but she noted his words, drawing her own mental map of where she was headed.

“Now, for what you’re really here for,” the man who had been babbling on sent her what was no doubt supposed to be a flirty smirk. Nose definitely wouldn’t be enough, she had to imagine breaking the jaw too. He knelt over slightly, presenting his eye to a small scanner set into the wall at the end of the corridor.

Smoothly, they slid open.

—

Her hand grasped tightly onto his wrist. He turned to look at her, and Ten faltered for a moment under the weight of his gaze. She swallowed, shaking her head.

“I just need to make sure you’re not going to treat me any differently on this job. I can handle myself, Mandalorian.”

He peered down at her, still saying nothing. Maker, she wished he would say something — anything. The air felt like it had to be forced out of her lungs, like he had stolen it from her somehow, without even touching her skin.

Finally, he spoke. “And why would I treat you differently?”

Ten scoffed. “Don’t act dense, I know you’re smarter than that. You’re not the first person I’ve worked with that I’ve gotten … involved with at some point. Don’t make it complicated.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it? Getting involved?” He took a half step closer, broad frame filling her vision. She didn’t miss the teasing edge of his voice. “Any of those people you got involved with make you come like that on the floor of your ship?”

Heat flushed up her body, lighting up all her nerves along the way. Ten beat it down, doing her best to keep her face impassive. She wasn’t sure if it worked. Fucking Mandalorians with their fucking helmets to keep their fucking faces covered.

“You’re going to need to do a lot more than that to stand out,” she shot back, finally dropping his wrist from her hold. She reached around him, all but slamming the key code to lower the ramp. “Just … no protective bullshit, okay?”

—

Despite her somewhat … prickly exterior, Ten had found herself chasing beautiful things in all the spare moments that had allowed for it. Perhaps the seeds for it had been planted all those years ago on Yaim, where the sunlight filtered through the trees like stained glass, where the wildflowers bloomed twice a year with colours that seemed to get brighter with each passing day, where the air itself seemed to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Wherever the origin, Ten found herself exploring the desolate moons and planets of the Outer Rim, always searching, hoping, of finding a peace she couldn’t even describe.

So when the doors opened on one of the most beautiful rooms Ten had ever seen, her breath caught in her throat.

The ceiling was draped in soft fabrics, gathering at the centre, and billowing across the expanse above them. Where they met the walls there was ornate crown moulding, periodically broken up with elaborate white statues of a variety of fearsome appearing creatures, all crouching in some form of attacking stance. Continuing down, the walls were covered with rich patterns embossed in shining gold, standing out starkly against the black walls. The floor stretched ahead of them, gleaming black marble with veins of white spindling in all directions.

“This way, gorgeous,” the taller man said, and Ten had to fight down the most violent of her instincts when he placed his hand just above the small of her back to guide her inside. He seemed to have a small shred of sense, as he stopped just short of actually touching her.

Her heels — ridiculous and too tight and impractical, but more practical footwear would have blown the cover — clicked against the floor as they entered. Eyes turned towards the new entrants and Ten’s skin prickled uncomfortably at the attention. Men dressed in ash grey uniforms scanned their eyes up and down her body, and she knew what they saw, how exposed she was.

It felt like a Bantha was standing on her lungs, expelling all the air. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” came the rough voice in her ear. “I’m here. You aren’t alone in there, I’m here.”

It was a lie of course, he wasn’t there. At least not yet — he was still on the surface, trying to map out another point of access to the underground hub. But she leaned into the lie all the same, air slowly filtering back through her body.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

—

The stench of the lower streets of Coruscant entered Din’s nose even through the protection of the helmet. Dirt and grease and urine from multiple species. He couldn’t fathom how Ten was able to stand it.

She walked beside him now, eyes roving over their surroundings, catching the movements of every figure that shifted around them. He noticed her lightsaber was now attached to her hip, sitting next to her blaster.

His mind wandered again to their … involvement, as she had adorably called it. If he was honest with himself, Din had been riding the high of having her beneath them, at his mercy on his fingers, for the remainder of the ride to Coruscant. And like any addict, he knew — he needed more.

But that was a problem for later, he reasoned.

The bar was tucked into a nearly indistinguishable alleyway, covered partially by someone’s laundry hanging above, and framed by a littering of empty crates someone had discarded over the area. He gestured to Ten with a jerk of his head, walking ahead of her through the narrow space.

A narrow brick alley gave way to a small, dark room. If Din hadn’t already known it was a bar, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to guess. The smells of the street were replaced with the thick scent of smoke inside, and several customers lounged out over the minimal seating, taking long drags on exotic looking pipes.

“The Mandalorian,” came a deep and ragged voice. A human man sat nearby at what served for the bar — a worn expanse of wood that looked too thin, with a poor stock of bottles on a shelf behind it. Din couldn’t see a bartender, but the man had a drink grasped in his hand all the same. He brushed his hair from where it hung in front of his eyes, and Din was surprised it didn’t drip with the amount of grease it seemed to have. “To what do I owe the favour?”

“A favour is exactly what I’m here to cash in on, actually, Sio.” Din stood in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest, letting his figure fill the immediate space. Ten came to stand beside the bar, lightly fingering its grimy surface. “You owe me one, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sio coughed, low and long. He looked significantly more agitated now. “Ah yes … I do recall that, vaguely. But first why don’t you introduce me to your little friend, huh? She looks like she needs someone who can really show her a good time, eh …” The man rose from his stool now, leering in closer to Ten. Din tensed, one hand going to his blaster and the other clenching into a fist. Ten appeared — at least on the surface — to be impassive, but he saw the flash of annoyance in her eyes.

He took another long drag of the pipe. “They don’t make ‘em like you ‘round these parts, that’s for sure…”

And then, like an absolute fucking idiot, Din saw his hand reach out towards Ten’s waist. Faster than he could react, she was bringing her hand up to the back of his head, and slamming him down face first into the wooden surface.

Blood ran from Sio’s nose, and he spit it out as it covered his mouth. “Well, she’s got a bit of bite there.”

Ten wiped her hand off on her pants. “Now you owe us two favours.”

—

She dropped another tracking chip in front of the ornately carved bar. A stark contrast to the tiny room they’d met Sio in, this bar spanned the entirety of one of the room’s walls, with a pristine surface inlaid with carved designs. Behind it there was an impressive stock of liquors from all over the galaxy, served by a contingent of bartending droids. One of them slid smoothly over to where she stood.

“Hello, may I offer you a drink?” Ten pondered it, fingers tracing over one of the bar’s patterns.

“No, thank you,” she politely declined. She turned back to face the room, elbows resting behind her. A man with a pinched face and white hair slowly approached, with a sneer she wanted desperately to slap off.

“You are a vision, my dear.” He held his hand out expectantly, and Ten swallowed thickly before placing hers on top of it. He brought it up to his lips, kissing her skin. She felt bile rise in her throat. “I haven’t seen you here before — allow me to introduce myself. Moff Ardellian.”

Ten forced a smile, hoping any discomfort in it would be written off as nerves. “Sola,” she lied smoothly. “I’m new to this part of the city.”

Moff Ardellian stepped closer to her, and Ten felt her muscles tense in response. She wasn’t sure if he noticed. His eyes roved greedily over her face. “Sola … that’s quite the scar you’ve got there. Such a shame to see such ugliness on such a pretty face.”

You should take that up with Moff Quell, who I’m sure you know intimately well. “I was a dancer for a time. An unfortunate gift from an … unhappy client.”

“You poor girl,” he tutted at her. “Well, I can assure you we don’t treat our beautiful ladies like that here. You’ll be safe whenever you’re in attendance. And … some girls make alternative arrangements to guarantee safety and comfort long term, as well.” When she didn’t make any move to respond to his vile insinuations, the Moff sent her a wink, starting to turn away again. “I’ll leave you to ponder that for the time being. Enjoy your night, Sola.”

Ten took a deep breath as the man walked away, clenching a fist at her side. She motioned to the bar droid again. “I changed my mind. Give me the strongest drink you can make.”

—

“This is stupid.”

Din bit back a laugh he knew would not be appreciated at the pure petulance currently on Ten’s face. And he could hardly blame her; the long and delicate drapes of fabric against her skin looked alien, so unusual to what Din had become used to her. But it would be a lie to say he didn’t appreciate it.

“This is a cover.”

She rolled her eyes, but she knew he was right.

The woman who had been crouched at the hem of the dress rose, retrieving a nearby jar filled with some kind of balm, by the look of it. She dipped her fingers into it, applying a generous amount onto the bare expanse of Ten’s chest, causing her to flinch.

“This is a scar salve,” she said in an accented voice. Din couldn’t make out the region. “It should temporarily remove the smaller scars across your chest, here. Won’t be enough for the face, unfortunately. You know, I know some great dermal regenerists in the city, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” was Ten’s clipped response. The woman cocked a skeptical eyebrow, returning the lid to the container.

“You’re almost all set. I’ll go get the details of the fake chain code.”

Then they were alone. Din eyes went up and down Ten’s body, and he was thankful for the cover of the helmet. The front of the dress dipped low, exposing the valley between her breasts, the skin there now smooth and pristine. Everywhere else, the black fabric clung to her, down her arms, over her hips, flowing gently around her legs. The room was uncomfortably warm.

Din walked closer to her, until he was just standing just behind her. One step closer and her back would be pressed into his armour. Their eyes met in the speckled mirror. He brought his arm around, showing her the long chain he held.

“This will provide an audio and visual feed, directly into my helmet. I’ve already wired it in.” He opened the chain, looping it around her neck, smoothly moving her hair back until it sat flush on her skin. “Should just look like a nice piece of jewelry. And this—” he pushed the hair off one of her ears, holding it back with a light hold as he hooked something small into her ear. “—is an audio receiving piece, so you can hear me. Also wired into the helmet.”

His hand lingered on the back of her neck, and he slowly trailed it down her spine, and outwards, coming to rest on her hip.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he said in a low voice. He squeezed his hand. “We can make another plan.”

Her eyes softened slightly. “You and I both know this is the best plan we could have. It’s fine.”

Din nodded. He didn’t want to remove his hand. “I stand by what I said. I won’t let the Empire — whatever’s left of it — take you.”

Ten covered his hand with her own.

—

Ten made her way slowly around the room, dropping more of the tracking chips, making the least amount of polite conversation she possibly could get away with.

Now, she came to a small bathroom. Down a short hallway away from the main room, it was metallic and practical. She eyed herself in the mirror, unnerved by the made up appearance. She couldn’t help but wonder what the Mandalorian had thought of it.

She brought the communication piece of the necklace to her mouth. “That’s the whole room. I’m alone in the washroom now. Anything?”

“No access from the surface that I can see yet.” Damn. “Looks like that hallway extends further left, possibly some offices. If you can slip away, it’d be good to drop one down there.”

“Slipping away would be my pleasure.” She dropped the necklace back down, letting it settle between her breasts again. Lifting some of the fabric of the skirt, she ran her hands over the knives strapped around her thigh reassuringly. Smoothing the dress down again, she eased the door open, making sure the hallway was empty.

Ten slipped those damn heels off before continuing down the hallway, the opposite direction of the party. As she dropped another chip down, she noted the names etched into the doorways. It seemed like Mando had been right, these were offices.

Continuing at a slow pace, she scanned the names with mild interest, wondering how disruptive it would be to their mission to go into one at random and smash everything she could find.

Near the end of the corridor, where it split into two more, Ten saw a name that made her heart seize in her chest.

Dr. R. Dracko.

Mando’s voice broke into her ear. “There’s an access tunnel a level below you, 300 meters away, that leads right to the surface. I think I found the other end. All goes well, I’ll join you in a moment.”

Ten nodded dumbly, before realizing she couldn’t see him. She rested her hand on the handle of the door — there was no keypad or scanned entry, since they obviously assumed it was safe down here. She pushed it open. Unlocked.

It was unassuming inside, a small desk nestled in the corner, a powered down holo display. The only other furniture in the room was a sleek cabinet against the opposite wall. Curiously, she pulled open a drawer; Maker, there were actually papers inside.

She rifled through them, the familiar but almost forgotten feel of them strange on her hands. There was a wealth of folders, each labelled with a tab in Basic. Almost every one was classified ‘Project Inactive.”

Pulling open more drawers, she dug until, finally — ‘Project Active.” Not even bothering to look at its contents, she extracted the weightly folder from the drawer, heart pounding with adrenaline.

The increased heart rate wasn’t ideal when she turned and a knife was sunk smoothly into her abdomen.

She gasped, and pain seared through her as the knife twisted — it was in the hand of a man now standing in front of her. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes up to his face. It was Dracko, his nostrils flaring, an air of superiority falling onto his face.

“Little bitch,” he spat at her. “I know who you are, probably better than you do. You thought you could just come here and—” He was cut off as Ten raised her hand, energy coursing through her as she slammed him against the wall of the small room. A trickle of blood appeared, moving down his temple.

She groaned loudly, any thoughts to listeners out of her mind, as she sank down the wall behind her. The dress around the knife felt heavy as it became soaked with blood, which left her fingers red when she touched it.

It lit a fire inside of her, and tears came unbidden to her eyes at the burn of it.

Bunching up the skirt of the dress, she ripped a long piece of fabric off the bottom hem, wincing at the strain of her abdominal muscles. Her hands were shaking as she wrapped the knife where it stuck out from her, securing the makeshift stabilizer around her back.

A sheen of sweat covered her skin as more blood oozed out around the wound. She tried to stand, but a white hot flash of agony erupted from her side. Her body slammed back against the wall, and she panted deliriously.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside — the door to the office was still open. She grasped her leg, bloody fingerprints appearing on the skin, as she pulled the knife from the strap around her thigh. Ten knew she was growing much too weak to pull on the Force. This was what she had. She braced a hand against the wall as the footsteps approached just outside the office.

She raised her arm opposite the stab wound, knowing one good throw was all she was likely to get.

A blaster appeared first, the barrel scanning the room, and then — that damned silver helmet. Ten felt a moment of relief flood through her, muscles growing heavy as the adrenaline waned. The knife seemed to get sharper where it was settled in her flesh.

“Shit,” she breathed out. Mando scanned the room, wordlessly taking the pulse of Dracko where he lay in a crumpled heap.

“Fuck, Ten.” He approached her now, hands floating around her side, not touching. She laughed, but it was raspy and uneven.

“I look that good, huh?”

He shot her a look, and though the helmet looked the same as it always did, she got the meaning. No. You look really fucking bad, so shut up.

—

Getting back to the ship was a blur. Ten recognized the vague shape of bodies littering the hallways Mando let her down, the distant ringing of an alarm, the cool air as he brought her up and out of the long access shaft. They were lucky the lower levels of Coruscant didn’t look twice at a Mandalorian hauling a woman with a stab wound through the streets.

Her hands gripped the edges of the worn crate Mando sat her on. She was gasping, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs, but each inhale felt as if it were bathing the surrounding muscles in acid, slowing eating away at her body.

Mando was back now — where had he gone? When had he gone? — and crouching in front of her, something metallic in his hands. He slowly unravelled the fabric Ten had put to stabilize the knife, and she cried out.

“I know, I know,” he said in a low voice. Perhaps … soothing? She couldn’t put the pieces together in her mind to make out the tone. “I know it hurts, but I need you to stay still for me, okay? Grab here, hold as tight as you need.”

He raised one of her hands up until they met with something soft and warm. She wiped furiously at the wetness in and around her eyes, until his blurry helmet came into view. Her hand was wrapped around the fabric of his upper arm, she realized, his shoulder pauldron discarded on the floor nearby.

There was a gentle ripping noise, and Ten felt cool air on her skin. Looking down at the source, she saw he’d cut away the dress around the knife, just below her breast. The flesh there was red and mangled, the edge of the knife serrated. Shit.

“Mando, it’s … fuck—” Her eyes were glued to the wound, watching the edges expand and contract as she took shallow breaths. She felt a gloved hand on her face, urging it up. It was covered in a wetness that was no doubt her own blood, now smeared across her cheek. Mando dragged her eyes to his helmet.

“Don’t look at that. Focus on me. Okay?”

She nodded weakly, her brow furrowed tightly. Her own distorted reflection started back at her from the beskar chrome, body writhing of its own accord.

“I’m going to pull it out now, okay? On three.” She nodded, tensing as she felt the movement of his hand wrapping around the hilt of the weapon. “One—”

She screamed out as he gave a harsh pull, the sound echoing around the ship. Her hand cramped as she gripped his shirt tightly, as if she was trying to will the pain to travel somewhere else, anywhere else. It blinded her, and she could hear Mando speaking but couldn’t make out the words as he pressed onto her side. Wetness flowed down her body, outlining her leg, blood pooling on the floor.

The room spun around her, and Mando’s voice finally drifted back to her ears.

“—need to cauterize the internal— doing so well, okay— talk to me, Ten.”

She shook, forcing words up and out of her throat. “What the f— shit — fuck do you want me to say?”

“Tell me about the Mandalorians you knew.”

Ten almost — almost — had to laugh. He wanted to know .... about Mandalorians. Of course he did. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to pull the memories through the dense fog of pain.

“There were … two of them. Refugees like w—we all were, from the Great Purge of … of Mandalore. Fuck!” Her muscles seized anew as she felt burning; a real burning as she realized Mando was cauterizing. She grit her teeth, moans of pain slipping out as she slammed her head back against the wall.

“Keep going.”

“F—fuck, okay.” She tried to take a deep breath, though it still felt much too shallow. “They were like … they were like you. With the helmets and shit. But they … shit … they were on that moon for a long time. We all were.” She twisted her hand harder into his shirt, and she could feel the muscles straining underneath as he worked. “They were — ah — they were kind. Silya used to … used to tell me stories about Mandalore when I … when I couldn’t sleep. And Tinian … taught me how to throw a punch and not— not break my knuckles.”

Mando laughed at that. His hand came to grip her elbow, so tightly it almost hurt. The fire raging under skin was beginning to douse into a duller burn, embers of an inferno that glowed with a constant heat. “You’re doing so well, Ten. I’m almost done.”

Ten nodded, letting out a long breath. Her breaths felt more attainable now, more air drawn into her starving lungs.

“What happened to them? Silya and Tinian?” Mando was grabbing wrappings now, his hands gliding over the blazing skin of her torso, temporarily suppressing the fires they encountered.

“They’re dead.”

He didn’t ask anymore. Ten released her hand from where it was embedded in his shirt, the muscles aching as she flexed her fingers. She wiped a generous covering of sweat from her forehead. She dared a glance down again, thanking the Maker the area was now covered in a bandage, the skin around it shiny with bacta salve. Her breath came in pants.

Mando’s hands came back to her face, framing it. “You did well, Ten. You’re okay.” He pressed the forehead of his helm against the skin of hers, seemingly not caring about the blood and sweat that was likely to be deposited there. “I should get you a towel—”

“No,” Ten gasped, grabbing him by the elbows. “Just … stay. Please.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

For a moment they stayed there, Ten’s breath fogging against the front of his helmet. She closed her eyes, hands curling upwards around Mando’s biceps.

“I would cuddle you now, if you wanted.”

“Go fuck yourself, Mandalorian.”

—

A/N: what did i tell ya??? a beAST! thanks again for all those who read it, this is my baby and im excited its been gearing up for these stubborn mf'ers

taglist: @djarrex @pedrostories

[titaniasfics]

prompt: wandavision au

(dialogue)

Vision: you light up my life. the feelings i have for you are like electric

Wanda: you are an absolute Vision, a spectacle on this earth

In which a card game among friends turns into declarations so sweet, everyone gets cavities. Luckily, they’re too drunk to care. Loosely based on the game, Cards Against Humanity. I just made a lot of stuff up. It’s really tons of silliness and banter, with a thirsty witch and her synthezoid in the middle.

Note: I wrote the whole drabble before I noticed that the prompt requested was for a WandaVision AU. I kept a copy of the prompt to write as the original requester intended. I also adjusted one of the lines of dialogue. It made my grammar bone hurt. I hope this works just the same. 

Comedians

“I’m the dealer,” Sam exclaims, taking the cards from Rhodey. “I’ll pass them out.”

“You were the dealer last time. What is it with you always wanting to be the dealer?” Rhodey asks.

“That was then. This is now. You in, or are you gonna keep whining?”

The whole team is sprawled around a large chabudai table Tony insisted on buying, complete with enormous cushions upholstered in bright, multi-colored patterns which bring a smattering of rainbow brightness to the otherwise ultramodern blandness of the Avenger’s compound. Wanda sits close to Vision, her leg pressed into the warmth of his as she sips a caipirinha from a large batch she made as her contribution to the the party. She feels dreamy. Happy. And all she wants to do is climb on Vision’s lap, maybe keep kissing him the way they’d done earlier that day. And yesterday. And the day before that.  Everything between them was so new, she had a hard time focusing on the game, her concentration drawn to the person next to her.

“You are staring, darling,” Vision murmurs, making an excellent show of analyzing his cards. “Trying to get a leg-up on my hand?”

“Yes,” Wanda nods in mock seriousness, dropping her voice. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Completely focused on your…hand…” She raises her eyebrow.

“I see the caipirinha is having quite the effect on you.”

“It’s not the caipirinha having that effect,” she smiles coyly.

“Ah,” he drops his voice even lower, “so you are flirting with me because…”

Wanda’s voice goes as low as his. “Because I like you.”

Vision’s smile gets big and stupid, much more of a giveaway than anything she’s saying. “Well, if that is the case, carry on.”

Wanda giggles behind her hand, grateful that everyone is too busy watching Sam and Rhodey bicker to pay them any mind.

“Have some respect,” Rhodey growls. “I’m older than you AND I outrank you.”

“Oh, you’re old, alright. I hear those ancient bones creaking all the way over here.”

“You did deal last time,” Natasha reminds Sam, winking at Rhodey, who drops his head, shoulders heaving in amusement.

“Watch this,” Vision murmurs before raising his voice to be heard by Sam. “I have an equation.”

“No, no, no. Don’t you start with that nonsense. Just pick up your cards and play, okay?” Sam practically leaps to his feet, making a mess of dealing the cards over Rhodey’s open guffaws. “Talking about those equations. Nobody wants to hear all that.”

“I’d like to hear all that. Tell me all about your equation.” Wanda asks, wondering how far she can push Sam.

Sam points at her, his eyes glittering after inhaling three caipirinhas’s in a row. “You see, you encourage him. That’s the problem. That’s why he’s all ‘Equations this, equations that,’” he mimics. “Just pick up your cards.”

Wanda’s yelp of mock offense is drowned out by Natasha and Rhodey’s laughter. Nobody actually cares if Sam starts the game or not, but it’s fun to get him going and even Vision is swallowing a smirk, evidence that he’s really gotten the hang of getting Sam’s goat as well.

 “Who wants treats?” Tony says, carrying a tray of Jell-O shots in multiple colors from the kitchen.

“Did you make those?” Steve takes a shot, sniffing it. “Okay, my eyes are watering.”

“We made them,” Pepper says, grabbing one and downing it like it’s water. “Ooh, yeah, that’s how you do it.”

“If there was any doubt you were made for each other,” Steve says, hissing after swallowing a bright yellow shot.

Eventually, the shots are passed around and even though Wanda doesn’t usually mix drinks, she does take a bright red one that tastes like ripe cherries. Everyone is buzzing happily as they match up their cards.

Wanda glances at her hand, considering how to make something meaningful out of her cards. She lines them up, turning them over and over, but they are nothing more than drivel.

You light up… has nothing to do with any of the cards she’s holding.

“I’m going to lose this round,” she moans, grabbing two random cards and handing them to Sam.

“No worries. I will be victorious for both of us,” Vision says, turning in his as well.

Carefully, Sam arranges each set before reading out the black card and the answers.

“You light up like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Your chicken nugget is like electricity. What did my eyes just read?”

“Hey, I got a bad hand,” Clint complains.

“Yeah, what is with you and chicken nuggets?” Nat teases, elbowing him in the side.

Sam scoops up the next pair, reading the combo out loud. “You light up like a 4th of July boat on fire. “Your erotic asphyxiation is like electricity? The hell?”

Tony frowns. “What was I supposed to do with erotic asphyxiation?”

“That’s a question for Pepper, not for me.” Sam snaps back before reading a few more, each more ridiculous than the previous one until he gets to the last one. “Will you lookie-lookie here. Somebody is in their feels. I do believe I found the winning combination.” Sam clears his throat, making sure everyone can hear.

“You light up my life; The feelings I have for you are like electricity.’”

“Oooooh,” everyone chimes in.

“That’s so sweet,” Pepper breathes dreamily. “It’s like a poem.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need another shot to wash that down,” Clint says, downing another mandarin-colored Jell-O shot. “My chicken nugget was better.”

“Alright, alright, who’s gonna claim these points?” Sam asks.

“Those would be mine,” Vision answers, arranging his winning cards perfectly on the felt before him. “That was for you, by the way,” he whispers.

Wanda beams, her hand snaking under the unbelievably low table to squeeze his leg. “And you are an absolute Vision, a spectacle on this earth.”

Vision covers her hand with his, leaning in very close, and the words, the drinks, his nearness to her, making the whole world turn upside down, but in a good way. “You should have saved that for our game.”

Wanda shakes her head. “No, those words are only for you. And with my luck, I’ll never get two cards together that make any sense.”

Vision’s smile brightens again – she doesn’t remember him ever smiling so much before today.

“You better not be playing hide the synthetic zucchini down there, Wanda,” Tony says, his eyes bright with too many Jell-O shots.

“Don’t listen to him,” Pepper slurs, her pale cheeks pink. “He says the sweetest things to me all the time.”

Tony raises a wobbly finger as if he could erase the comment like an oversized pencil eraser. “Okay, you can’t…no,” Tony protests. “I have a reputation to maintain. I am Iron Man.”

“You’re a big, old cuddly wubbly is what you are,” Natasha cackles.

“Iron Man,” he repeats, rubbing his eyes. “Not cuddly. Not cuddly at all.”

“You will never live this down,” Natasha retorts, putting another Jell-O shot out of its misery.

“And you had to go give her ammunition,” Tony complains to a very woozy Pepper, who leans her head on his shoulder.

“Another round,” Steve says, looking almost as sober as Vision. “I’m dealing. Let’s go.”

He shuffles the cards, passing them around until he gets to Wanda, freezing with her card in hand.

 “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you two, aren’t I?” Steve says, dropping his voice so only they can hear. He points at Wanda and Vision and she realizes his sobriety is only an illusion. “I know what’s what.”

Wanda is about to say something to the effect of he doesn’t need to worry about keeping an eye on two grown adults, but Vision simply leans forward, sliding the card carefully from Steve’s grasp. “It must be a relief to know that you have not completely forgotten what ‘what’s what’ looks like after all these years,” Vision calmly responds, passing the card to Wanda.

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Did you just insinuate that I haven’t…gotten any in a long time?”

Vision shrugs, a mannerism Wanda has never seen before, and decides she really likes it. Like his sense of humor, his kindness, his million-watt smile. “I would never presume to know the particulars of your romantic escapades on the rare occasions you leave the compound, Captain.”

Steve stares at him for a few beats, the tension tightening as if on corkscrews until he breaks into loud laughter and continues to deal the cards, murmuring “Even the robot’s got jokes.”

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Supernatural Diseases - Shifters

Note: Please message us if you plan on using these! We just want to coordinate to make sure there’s no doubling up at the same time.

General:

Stuck Shift: For those who can shift at will, a stuck shift is when an individual is stuck between their two forms, which can be very painful and make it hard for the person to function. Generally resolves on its own with time, but there may be some lotions sold on Amity Road that can speed things up.

Balam:

Chronic hairballs, obviously.

Apotheon: The balam suffers from the feeling that they are something divine that was broken into many pieces, and begins to exhibit deific delusions of grandeur and a sense of creeping loss. There isn’t a known cause to this condition, and it can be difficult for a balam to get out of this mindset. However, they can be shaken from it if something forces them to come to grips with their own mortality.

Toxoplasmosis magicii: A magical parasite much like the normal cat parasite, that is completely harmless to the jaguar form and can cause fever, body aches, swollen lymph nodes while a balam is in human form. This results in an increased desire to stay in the jaguar form for longer and longer periods. Can be treated with selkie slime.

Bugbear:

Fear Toxicity: Fear begins to be toxic to the bugbear, usually derived from not feeding enough. Over time, the bugbear will grow gradually sicker as they continue to feed, and eventually they will be completely unable to feed on fear, leading to inevitable starvation. In the short term, this causes their illusion powers to not function properly, and in the long term it is deadly. Fortunately, there’s an easy enough cure -- receiving a nightmare from a mara.

Scare-bies: Caused by small, supernatural mites that burrow under the skin. They’re extremely itchy, and after a time, will even cause patches of hair to fall out in a bugbear’s bear form, giving them a mangey appearance. These mites can impair a bugbear’s ability to cast illusions, making it difficult -- even impossible -- for them to feed properly. Over time this can lead to starvation and even death. Fortunately, scare-bies can be treated by special ointment made from mara blood and grounded up yeth hound tentacles. This smothers the mites until they crawl out of the skin. It’s important that every bit of infected skin is covered by the ointment otherwise the infection will spread once more.

Ursus Mane: More unpleasant and awkward than anything else, Ursus Mane is caused by a virus that affects hair growth. In bear form, afflicted bugbears are completely hairless, leaving their skin vulnerable to the elements and anyone who would do them harm. In human form, these unfortunate bugbears are covered in a thick coat of bear hair, resembling the most extreme cases of hypertrichosis. This can be treated with the use of supernatural steroids that gradually return the hair to its rightful form.

Kitsune:

Elemental Shifting: The kitsune will shift elements uncontrollably and without warning. This is particularly problematic not only to the kitsune but to others. i.e. A river kitsune suddenly with thunder powers would not know how to use their powers. The exact cause of the condition is not known, but it’s likely highly magical, and will typically resolve itself over time -- hopefully before something disastrously wrong happens.

Kitsunebi: Part of the mythological association between kitsune and will-o-wisps may stem from this relatively harmless ailment, wherein a kitsune who uses their powers very liberally may have will-o-wisps gravitate to their location. The wisps do not harm the kitsune, but it makes it hard to move inconspicuously. Refraining from using their magic for an extended period will cause the will-o-wisps to drift away over time. 

Inari’s Void: The kitsune’s fox-shaped shadow takes on a “mind of its own” and begins attacking people in range, possibly even leading to peoples’ deaths. On some level, the shadow may be acting out the kitsune’s worst impulses. This seems to be brought on randomly in places with large amounts of spiritual or magical energy, especially if the energy is corrupted in some way. The effects linger even once the kitsune leaves the location, but they will dissipate on their own over time. 

Lamia:

Medusa Trichoptilosis: The lamia begins to grow snakes on their head. They don't harm the lamia but could prove a nuisance, such as trying to bite a passerby. This condition may cause some sensory overload to the lamia as they’re now able to see, hear, and smell from multiple locations on their head, which can be disorienting. The snake heads must be painfully chopped off, and after the lamia’s next shed, all will be well.

Dysecdysis/Stuck Shed: If a lamia is not well-fed or exposes themselves to poor environmental conditions, they may have a hard time shedding their skin. This can cause the old skin to painfully adhere to the new one underneath, which looks pretty awful and is very uncomfortable for the lamia. Over time this corrects itself, but sometimes the new skin becomes somewhat damaged in the process.

Clogged Venom Glands: If a lamia doesn’t use their venom for too long, it may harden and clog inside of the gland. This is painful, and causes swelling in the face and neck. While the glands are swollen they can’t use their venom, and they may need some magical assistance to gradually free the glands. 

Selkie:

Sensory Inversus: Caused by a parasite, Sensory Inversus makes the senses of the selkie become acute above ground, and dulled underwater. This results in increased light sensitivity, whiskers growing in human form, and overly sensitive hearing in human form. Additionally, this makes it dangerous for the selkie to be in seal form, because those senses are needed underwater. Specific potions made of mermaid fins can treat it.

The Skin Crawls: Selkies start experiencing an intense desire to wear someone else’s skin, usually not another selkie’s. It starts as a subconscious off-hand thought, then slowly grows over time until it's all encompassing. The feeling will go as soon as the selkie puts on someone else’s skin (...After carefully peeling it off their victim who will likely die). The other treatment would be using the skin from a well-formed mermaid.

“Donkeyskin”: Caused by a fungal infection that can get into the pelt if not cared for properly, making it fit weird, and causing the limbs to not all transform properly. This can feel strange in the water, and makes the selkie look a little like a mutant seal monster. While not necessarily painful, it is irritating and a little itchy when interacting with the selkie goo. The infection can be treated by soaking the skin in a bath made from warm water and selkie mucus for 15-24 hours. Should it be left untreated, the damage to the skin will be left irreversible. 

Siren:

Witherwings: Sirens must be particularly careful about selecting their prey, otherwise they may face consequences. Many normal humans and other supernatural individuals can be carriers for Witherwings, which has no presenting symptoms in non-siren individuals. However, once a siren has consumed an individual with the virus, they will experience fever, itching, and discover that their feathers will begin to fall out. If not treated soon enough, a siren can permanently lose their feathers. Treatment for Witherwings include topical oils with bits of crushed phoenix feather.

Omnitone: A strange phenomena can occur where sirens lose the ability to control their mesmerizing musical abilities. Instead of being able to actively turn on their powers, sirens will find they are enthralling people with their speaking voice and those under their power are prone to dangerous levels of obsession. Drinking lemon tea mixed with eintykára honey is the common practice of getting rid of this affliction.

Mushmouth: (Teeth horror tw) Particularly messy eaters in the siren community should be aware of Mushmouth, a very annoying but minor disease of the mouth. Similar to cavities, too much accumulated iron will cause siren teeth to begin to rot and even fall out. A diet of only fae (as they don’t have iron blood) can allow them to avoid this condition. Mushmouth is easily avoided by regular flossing, brushing of teeth, and general dental hygiene. Once afflicted, sirens must refrain from eating flesh and rinse nightly with a brine made with mermaid scales.

Werewolf:

WereFleas: While werewolves may not be prone to dog fleas (the jury is out on that one) they do have their own flea species to worry about. If this mutant kind of flea bites a werewolf, an uncontrollable itch occurs. The fleas will live in the fur (or hair) of an individual and reproduce there, worsening the problem. If left untreated, this causes numbness in the areas of the bites. Strangely enough, this can be treated with regular dog/flea removal.

Úlfhéðnar: A rare disease stemming from wolfsbane consumption, the werewolf begins to feel the wolf within overshadowing their humanity, often getting the feeling that their human shape is ‘false’ or some fake skin they are ‘wearing.’ Their senses sharpen beyond the werewolf norm but animalistic behaviors, sometimes violent ones, begin to increasingly creep into their human life, and the onset can be quite rapid. This can go all the way to losing the capacity to understand human language, and walking on all fours. One of the better treatments for this is to proactively re-engage with human life, almost pushing away the wolf side as much as possible. This can be dangerous if the violent behaviors are already an issue, and may result in the werewolf losing touch with their wolf side around the full moon.

Osteolupinus: (Chronic illness tw) Wolves get afflicted with a joint and bone disorder which makes turning more painful than usual, and can result in imperfect transformations -- for example, the skin and musculature changing but not the bones, or vice versa. Not only is this painful, but it can inhibit movement, and can be an issue in either direction of the transformation. Can be treated by eating the bones of a bonedoggle, zombie, or banaspati.

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 6

Chapter title: Tip of the iceberg

Word count: about 4300 words

WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of blood and violence.

Author’s Note: I must admit, while I said a couple of chapters ago that this was inspired by Mission:Impossible, that’s by no means the only inspiration for this fic.

First | Previous | Next

...

It was the next day after the heist, and the whole team was exhausted. Still, they had to remain on the run, and they all knew that there was still work left to do.

The three had decided to head into the sprawling city of Westopolis. It was a thriving seaside metropolitan area with a big name for tourism- a good place to hide out among the crowds.

They ended up renting a small, lower-level room in a towering hotel made almost entirely out of glass and steel. The receptionist was very reluctant to hand over the keys, clearly expecting Rouge in particular to trash the room and break all the furniture.

“Miss...Ruby, was it?” he asked, arching an eyebrow condescendingly. “I suppose you may stay here, though you must pay for any...damages incurred.”

“Absolutely.” she replied, without the slightest hesitation. Turning on her heel, she walked off with Shadow and Omega in tow, leaving one immensely surprised employee in her wake.

Their room was decently clean and nicely furnished, albeit a little plain and without the excellent views those on the higher floors would receive. Rouge left shortly afterwards to go find a VHS player, leaving the other two alone in the room. Omega remained standing and attempted to curb his impulse to break something simply to spite the receptionist. They didn’t have an unlimited supply of money, after all.

Meanwhile, Shadow simply slumped onto the bed and glowered at the wall. The E-series robot, after a minute of studying him, decided that he was likely tired from the mission yesterday, as well as highly apprehensive about what he would have to do soon. 

Omega did not normally give a second thought to the emotional state of most organic life-forms. The large majority of people, to him, were mostly irritating but otherwise of little concern or importance. He remained indifferent to- if slightly perplexed by- their hormonal imbalances and the ‘feelings’ that they produced. It was simply foolish to be ruled by something as fickle as your emotions. (He was aware that he had acted in a manner deemed irrational in the past, but this was due to his programmed goals, not a spur-of-the-moment sensation.)

Shadow was an exception to this rule. Omega viewed him as a person who had fought by his side many a time with impressive skill. Now, the awareness that the hybrid was reduced to a weakened mess simply by the constraints of his organic body was...strange. Omega found that he disliked seeing a talented fighter being laid so low by something as fickle as a few chemically induced sensations.

While the robot would never admit it out loud, Rouge and Shadow were people whom he would defend from any danger or displeasure, no matter what. Although most organics could handle the world just fine on their own, he had decided, these two in particular were talented enough (and their company was enjoyable enough) that he would punch anyone and anything who dared to harm them. And then fire a few missiles at the offending thing for good measure.

This thought process, he decided, explained why he sat down on the bed and proceeded to pick up the dejected hedgehog as though he weighed next to nothing.

“Hey- Omega! Put me down!” Shadow shouted, flailing in surprise and embarrassment as he was lifted into the robot’s arms. He made several grumbling noises upon realizing he was trapped, but ceased the majority of his movements.

“You are still not acting like...you.” Omega said, looking at Shadow thoughtfully. “We are currently attempting to remedy the issue, but it appears that this is more of a long-term solution. What would be an acceptable short-term solution?”

The hybrid rolled his eyes. “There is no ‘short term solution’, Omega. Running from the most dangerous law enforcement in the country tends to make people a little tired. There’s no need to search for a solution, anyway. I am perfectly capable of dealing with this on my own.”

Omega considered how best to proceed. Despite Shadow’s protests, he clearly required aid. And he hadn’t missed the hybrid’s refusal to admit to the effects of his past on his current state. He was never very good at dealing with emotions or stubbornness- that was more Rouge’s strong suit- but Rouge wasn’t here. And he was.

He had been told before that physical contact was often pleasant for organics, when initiated with people that they trusted. And Shadow trusted him, correct?

Thinking for a moment longer, Omega chose to touch the hybrid’s quills in a calming manner. He did so cautiously, ensuring that his sharp fingers would not cause any unwanted harm. Shadow was too caught off guard to protest, his eyes closing within moments as he resigned himself to being pet. As the mechanical creation continued in his repetitive motions, he noticed a quiet noise emanating from somewhere in the room.

Further examination revealed that Shadow was the source of the noise, and that he was purring.

It wasn’t much, just a little rumble in his chest, but something about the indescribable noise made Omega tighten his grip slightly on the small (oh so very small) hedgehog. Despite Shadow’s incredible prowess in battle, he was still reminded in this moment of just how fragile and vulnerable even the most powerful organics were.

Embarrassingly enough, this was when Rouge decided to fling open the door. Shadow snapped out of the daze Omega’s attention had put him in and squirmed as he tried to escape the steel trap that the robot’s arms had created. His effort was too little, too late, however, as Rouge squealed upon seeing the two ‘bonding’. “Awww! You guys! This is so sweet! I swear, I’m getting cavities just by being in the same room as you two.”

Omega glowered at her. “This is not ‘sweet’. I am attempting to…” He trailed off as he realized that what he had been doing did, unfortunately, fall into the category of cute things. “...fine. I was merely aiding Shadow in his moment of emotional distress. There is no need to make such loud shrieking sounds.”

“I’m fine.” the hybrid grumbled sulkily. “Stop worrying about me.”

Rouge shook her head. “Hon, we’re never going to stop worrying about you. That’s pretty much what being friends is about. We care about how you’re feeling.” She tried to wrap her arms around both Shadow and Omega, but resigned herself to the fact that she didn’t by any means have long enough arms for that. Instead, she worked her way into Omega’s hold, smiling warmly at the two of them. “Hugs are good for everyone.” she declared. “That’s just a fact.”

Shadow allowed himself to smile, just a little. “I...appreciate you both doing this for me.” he said quietly.

The E-series robot watched this interaction with a certain amount of...he wasn’t sure what this was called, actually. He was...pleased? Yes, he was pleased to see his two favorite people getting along.

He decided to hold them a little longer as a result.

Rouge sighed after a minute, though, resigned to what came next. “I guess we’ll have to get to the difficult part eventually.” She looked over at the VHS player, before pulling the box of tapes out. “Which day was it again?”

Shadow pointed at a cassette. “That one.” he muttered, staring down at the bedspread.

“Can you not remain in an adjacent room or go somewhere else for the duration of this video?” Omega asked him.

The hedgehog shook his head. “No. No, if we’re putting this out there, I want to know what it looks like.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to us, hon…” Rouge reminded him.

“I need to prove it to myself.” he declared, an air of finality to his words.

Omega stood and plugged the player into the TV set, before putting the tape in. He began to set up the screen, and it seemed to take an eternity before everything was ready to go. Rouge grabbed Shadow’s hand and squeezed it tightly. The robot, on returning to the bed, took his other hand. He took a deep breath. 

“Do it.”

Omega pressed play.

...

The tape shows a grid of all the security cameras throughout Space Colony ARK. The footage is slightly grainy, but the three can make out vaguely distinguishing features on all of the people. 

Omega fast-forwards the video until the moment that the first G.U.N. soldier appears. Shadow holds both their hands tighter.

They watch as the soldiers begin to move through the space station. At first, they don’t cause much alarm- the space colony was funded by G.U.N., after all. Their leader and a couple of others enter the main laboratory and speak to the scientists. After a minute, an alarm goes off.

One of the soldiers fires on the scientist who triggered it, and he sinks to the floor, red pooling around him. All of the other researchers freeze.

Several screens away, a small hedgehog and his sister begin to run.

The space station itself is against them. They were sitting and stargazing on the exact opposite side of the structure from the escape pods. The two have to rush through an endless maze of corridors, avoiding the soldiers throughout it all.

The soldiers are now firing indiscriminately on civilians and government scientists alike, as they are blocking the halls and the soldiers are desperate and violent. The people are only unintentionally in the way, of course- they’re simply fleeing the destruction. None of the researchers knows where Project:Shadow is right now, and the soldiers are frustrated. Every second that slips by is one where they don’t have what they came for.

Clearly, they didn’t come into this situation looking for a peaceful outcome.

Meanwhile, the blond-haired human pauses to catch her breath. She is very sick, after all, and has not run much in her lifetime. The hedgehog looks worried, but remains by her side. He is partly fearful due to her health, after all- and he would never leave her side in such a dangerous situation.

He startles at the first sound of gunshots and begs her to keep moving.Thankfully, she gains a second wind from the adrenaline and they continue to run. Despite the fact that the hedgehog is skating, pulling her along, they are not moving very fast. Not fast enough.

Behind them, the carnage continues.

On the bed, Shadow is crying silently. Rewatching the destruction of his childhood home breaks his heart, and both of his friends can see it. He looks at the desperate hope in the eyes of the hedgehog on the screen (who isn’t that much younger but at the same time so different) and knows what comes next. 

He spots an elderly scientist with an instantly recognizable moustache, handcuffed to a railing. The man is one of the few survivors of the massacre. He begs the soldiers to spare his daughter’s life, to bring her back safely. Shadow is startled to hear, among the words, a plea to please remove Project:Shadow alive. To not kill him.

The scientist looks desperate and tells the soldiers that he loves his children. He tells them that he needs to see them again.

His children. Plural.

The sound of crying rings out across the hotel room.

The human girl convinces the hedgehog to get in the escape pod first. He can’t work the controls because he’s a little too short- ‘fun-sized’, she calls it. Besides, it’ll make her feel better. He could never argue with that.

The soldiers arrive. The girl looks back and forth between the pod and the controls. Shadow pinpoints the exact moment, this time, when her expression changes from fearful to resigned. He wishes he hadn’t eaten this morning- his breakfast won’t sit still.

Shadow screams “No!!” as she lunges for the control panel, the word ripping raw from his throat as though he can somehow save her if he just shouts loud enough. He chokes as he hears the gunshots, as he sees her fall. He sees himself clawing at the glass, screaming and crying unintelligible words as Maria speaks her dying wish.

He barely even sees the pod eject, his eyes blurred with tears. Omega pauses the video.

...

Rouge pulls Shadow into her arms. He’s shaking and barely seems to be aware of what’s going on, silent tears trickling down his face as he sits limply in her embrace. She feels him gasping for breath- he can’t quite seem to get the air he needs.

“Breathe, Shadow.” she murmured. “I’m here, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay, I promise, but all you have to do is breathe.”

He reached out and held her back tightly, clinging to her with enough force to drive some of the air out of her own lungs.

“I’m here for you, Shadow.” Rouge whispered. “Just let me know what you need when you can.”

“I will not go anywhere either.” Omega said, turning his volume down. “You will be safe here with us.”

Shadow gasped for breath one last time before whispering quietly, “You promise?”

“Of course you are.” Rouge rubbed circles on his back comfortingly. “We’ll always watch out for you.”

“Absolutely.” Omega added.

After another few minutes, Shadow began to relax a little, but he made no move to pull back from the bat. “Sorry…” he muttered.

“No, don’t apologize.” Rouge said, her voice strong and warm. “None of this is your fault. None of it. I promise.”

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this.” he growled.

Omega placed a hand on his back. “It is completely normal to react in such a way to traumatic experiences, as a matter of fact- and that is the truth.”

“You’ve seen it now, hon. We’re going to watch the rest of the video, but you just turn your back and lie down, okay?” Rouge offered.

“Okay…” Shadow sighed, too exhausted to fight- and he didn’t really want to, anyway. Both of his friends kept their hands on him as he turned around, and his face relaxed more as he closed his eyes, exhausted from his panic.

“I will mute the sound.” Omega informed him.

…

Mostly, the rest of the video was just filming the cleanup and shutdown of Space Colony ARK. Eventually, once the crews started getting to the lower levels, the cameras were shut down. It seemed that G.U.N. didn’t want anybody to know what happened next.

But there were still five full minutes left of film…

Omega and Rouge shared a look. The bat turned to Shadow and told him that the tape was going to run longer than expected. They’d watch it all the way to the end, even if it was just a black screen.

It turned out that it wasn’t blank at all.

When the camera opened with a new security camera view, Rouge grew tense. 

The date says it’s about ten years ago. It’s dark out. The footage shows G.U.N. soldiers standing in the shadows, watching a gathering of people. It looks like someone’s speaking to them from a stage. One of the soldiers gives a signal to the others.

They charge into the crowd without warning. People begin to shout and run as the soldiers move through the crowd, stunning people with batons and taking prisoners left and right.

Amidst the chaos, the speaker begins to film the event. She is grabbed from behind by two soldiers while a third points a gun at her. She appears to talk to them, panic evident in her eyes. The third soldier snatches her phone with one hand and steps on it before shooting it twice. The speaker doesn’t look to be above twenty.

She looks scared. She doesn’t look like a criminal. She looks like an ordinary person.

The tape ends there.

Nobody speaks.

…

“What happened?” Shadow asks, turning over just as Omega switches off the TV. “What is it?”

“I’d have to watch it with the sound on to be sure-” Rouge swallows thickly at the idea- “but it looks like G.U.N. attacked a bunch of innocent citizens.”

Shadow looks shocked. “I thought that was-!”

“Illegal.” Omega says flatly. “That is illegal...and it goes against everything G.U.N. is supposed to stand for.”

“I...I’m going to watch it again.” Rouge said. “I have to know. Shadow, go for a walk, okay?”

He leaves without question.

They watch it again.

Once they’re done, Omega watches as Rouge sits for a minute to process the film, before she rewinds the tape. Squinting at the screen for a moment, she sags slightly when she finds what she was looking for. 

The bat walks into the hallway and sees Shadow standing at the end of it, looking out the window. The sunlight frames his strong stance and alert ears. Anyone else would say he looks powerful. 

Rouge thinks he looks apprehensive.

“Shadow?” she calls, walking over to him. A twitch of his ear signals his acknowledgement. “There’s more.”

“What is it.” he responds, his voice monotone.

“This took place in Empire City. On United Federation soil. With ordinary people talking about nothing but their ideals. I suspected it the last time, but I had to rewatch it- there’s a couple of background clues in there.” Rouge’s voice shakes.

Shadow shakes his head. 

“She was just a girl, Shadow.”

Suddenly, his back straightens. “She?”

Rouge realizes she hadn’t told him this before. “There was a girl, speaking to the crowd. She was a teenager, it looks like.”

Shadow drags her back into the room. He stands there for a solid minute, trying to control his breathing, but has to give up and grabs a pillow, digging his gloved hands into it. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears again. “Is she alive? Did they kill another granddaughter? Another sister, did they-”

“I don’t think she’s dead. There would’ve been a lot of protest if that happened, and the film’s recent enough for me to have heard of it.” the bat said.

“We don’t know that for sure. Rouge, we can’t stop here. Not now. Not when there’s more.”

She exhaled heavily. “I agree. Completely.”

“As do I.” Omega said. 

Rouge groaned. “People get away with something awful once and they think they’re invincible. Ugh.”

“Not anymore.” Shadow hissed. 

The hybrid realized something, his eyes widening slightly. “Omega. Go call Sonic or Tails. Now.”

Omega came to the same conclusion as him immediately. Without comment, he left the room and descended the stairs to the ground floor. If G.U.N. had visited the two...with that kind of reputation…

He managed to find a public phone in a store a couple of blocks away and dialed Tails’s number.

“Hi! This is Tails speaking!” 

“This is E-123 Omega.”

“Omega!?” Tails gasped. The next sentence sounded muffled, as though the microphone was being covered. “Sonic! Omega’s on the phone!”

The robot heard a faint shriek of “What?!” before Tails came back on the line.

“Has G.U.N. visited you at all?” Omega asked, keeping his voice absolutely level. No need to frighten the fox if nothing had happened.

“Actually...yeah.” Tails said, sounding a little tentative. “They didn’t hurt us, but I did have to rescue Sonic.” He proceeded to recount the entire event, from the agents’ arrival to their (reluctant) departure. He also updated Omega on the latest news stories, which were predictable, but still irritating.

The robot did not like Tails’s story though. Not the news, not the agents, and especially not the part with the Taser. However, as much as he would like to fire lots of explosives at all of G.U.N., he decided that it would be best to update the two on his news. “We have found the security files from Space Colony ARK. They prove beyond all doubt that G.U.N. killed many of the inhabitants of said space colony in cold blood, including one Maria Robotnik.”

“That’s great!” Tails exclaimed, before realizing what he’d said. “Uh...relatively speaking.”

“However, one of these files contained excess information. We do not know whether this was on purpose or by accident, but either way, they show soldiers of G.U.N. taking multiple people into custody without giving any reason for their actions. When asked why they were doing this, they gave no reply. Further investigation is necessary, but it seems that they treated ordinary people like enemies of the state. And this was done while the current commander was in charge, according to the date on the security camera files.”

Omega heard Sonic start shouting unintelligibly in the background. Tails responded to him once or twice with a “Yeah” or “Mm-hm”, but suddenly called, “Sonic! Be careful, you’ll break something if you keep up like that!”

The fox turned his attention back to his slightly confused audience. “Sorry, he’s angry and just like roundhouse kicking the air and stuff. Though I think he’d rather be smacking around G.U.N. robots- no offense, by the way.”

“None taken. I am fully aware of my superior status regarding those mindless drones.” Omega scoffed.

“Yo Omega!” he heard Sonic shout from the background. “How’s Shadow doing? Is he there?”

Tails sighed in a rush of static. “Sorry, he’s...kind of rushing around right now so he’s forgetting his manners and isn’t coming to the phone himself, but that’s okay, I guess.”

Omega would have smirked, had he been built with the necessary components to do so. As it was, he simply answered, “Shadow is not here. He has been...struggling with the combined knowledge that G.U.N. is even worse than we realized and rewatching his sister’s death. In respect to his privacy, I will not say more.”

Tails relayed this information over to Sonic, who sounded sad. “Oh...aw, man. Hey, can you tell Omega to let him know I miss him?”

The fox seemed upset by this news at first, but then he giggled. “Did you hear that, Omega? Sonic really misses Shadow and he wants him to know, isn’t that cute?”

“Absolutely.” the robot agreed, fully aware of what Tails was trying to do. 

About two milliseconds later, Sonic roared, “I meant RACING him, Tails! Stop ASSUMING THINGS!!”

Tails laughed again, the wickedness of it obvious this time. Suddenly, Omega heard a loud clatter, and then the crackle of someone picking up the phone. “Sorry, Omega,” Sonic hissed into the speaker, “It’s been nice talking but I have a fox to launch into the sun. Gottagobye!”

Omega walked back to the hotel, pleased that Tails and Sonic seemed to be doing alright. (He wasn’t as worried about Knuckles, he was basically unreachable by anyone. The echidna would be fine.)

When the robot neared his hotel room, he heard loud voices. It seemed that Rouge and Shadow were participating in something he remembered was called ‘venting’, in which they were able to express their feelings without producing any significant action plans. He believed that its purpose was to release emotional tension, and it was sometimes good for them. It was also a very fun activity when he was the one allowed to rant.

“I know, right?! I mean- who do they even- oh, hi Omega!” Rouge exclaimed when he returned, smoothing down her hair from its slightly messy state.

“Greetings. I have learned Tails and Sonic are both alive, healthy, and generally safe. Shadow, Sonic wished for me to inform you that he misses you and would like to race you again at some point in the future.”

Shadow smiled faintly. “That’s nice to hear.”

“I know, right?” Rouge sighed. “Finally, some good news.”

“Although.” Omega added.

Rouge covered Shadow’s ears and then proceeded to say a series of very rude words that Omega could never repeat around Tails. The hybrid waved his hand at her once she was done, muttering something unhappily about not being a little kid.

“G.U.N. did visit them.” the robot said.

“And?” Rouge asked.

“And Sonic was very close to being on the wrong end of a Taser.”

A hint of gold flickered behind Shadow’s brown contacts. “They. Did. Not.”

“They did. But Tails rescued him, so do not destroy the room.” Omega informed him.

Chaos energy still sparked slightly between the hybrid’s fingers. “Who did it.”

Omega decided after a moment of thought that Shadow was unlikely to blow up the room or cause other serious damage and spoke. “A barn owl by the name of Agent Toya.”

“I knew her...she was always pretty quiet. And intense.” Rouge said. “I’d like to get you a meeting with her sometime.”

Shadow smirked darkly, before sighing and falling back onto the bed. “Ugh. I’m too tired to spear her right now.”

Rouge walked over to the window for a minute and looked out, before spinning back around, her eyes bright. “What we need-” she declared, pulling Shadow off the bed and grabbing Omega’s arm with her other hand- “is to go out to a park or something, grab some food, and make fun of all the rich people with their expensive condos and million-dollar handbags. We can listen in on all the hot gossip too. How’s that for an idea?”

Omega was pleased with this idea. “I will taunt all of the people who think they have nice cars. Ours are far superior to their puny vehicles.”

Shadow smirked. “Only if I get to have a lemon iced tea.”

“You could get literally anything and you choose lemon iced tea, but fine. I’ll grab lunch and get you your ye olde drinke while I’m at it, mister 50s.” Rouge rolled her eyes, but she was only joking and he knew it.

“Shut up.” he huffed, swatting at her as they walked out of the hotel.

Rouge cackled so hard she had to sit on Omega’s shoulder for a while to catch her breath. Once she was finished, she grinned down at him. “Feeling better?”

Shadow’s expression briefly darkened, and Rouge regretted saying anything. But then, he seemed to seriously consider her question. “Yeah.” he said quietly, allowing his mouth to twitch up into the faintest hint of a real smile. “Yeah, I am.”

[mcatmemoranda]

Addiction is a chronic, relapsing brain disease that results in changes to motivation. Dopamine (DA) drives motivation. Drugs cause increased DA.

They don't say "detox" anymore. Now it's called "medically-supervised withdrawal." "Abuse" and "dependence" are no longer used; now it's called "substance use disorder." Substance use disorder (SUD):

Physiology (tolerance and withdrawal) + loss of control (use more than intended, spend a lot of time trying to obtain drug, can't cut down, give up activities, have cravings) + consequences (unfulfilled obligations at work, school, home, interpersonal problems, dangerous situations, medical problems).

OBOT = Office-Based Opioid Treatment.

In 2000, the Drug Addiction Treatment Act (DATA) allowed qualified physicians to offer OBOT; allowed physicians to prescribe schedule III, IV, and V narcotic medications approved by the FDA in treatment settings other than Opioid Treatment Programs (OTP).

In 2016, the Comprehensive Addiction and Recovery Act (CARA) allowed NPs and PAs to become eligible to prescribe buprenorphine.

The pt must have 2 or more of the 11 criteria within the past year in order for you to diagnose an OUD.

Drugs for tx of OUD:

-Buprenorphine (partial mu-opioid receptor agonist)

-Methadone (mu-opioid receptor agonist)

-Naltrexone/naloxone (mu-opioid receptor antagonist)

90% of heroin addicts relapse without Medication-Assisted Treatment (MAT). MAT decreases mortality, increases retention in treatment, and improves social functioning. The risk of death without treatment is 500% higher than the general population! Even with treatment, there is a 2x increased risk of death in pts with OUD compared to the general population.

Endogenous opioids: endorphins, dynorphins, enkephalins

Opiates: morphine, codeine

Semisynthetic opioids: buprenorphine, heroin, oxycodone

Fully synthetic opioids: fentanyl, methadone

Opioids in the thalamus cause analgesia. Opioids in the Ventral Tegmental Area (VTA) cause DA release to the Nucleus Accumbens (NAc), the pleasure/reward center of the brain-> addiction.

Buprenorphine is schedule III, unlike full agonists. It's unlikely to cause fatal respiratory depression since it's a partial mu-opioid receptor agonist. Buprenorphine has higher affinity for the mu-opioid receptor than other opioids (e.g., heroin, methadone), and can displace them, leading to precipitated withdrawal.

Naltrexone can be taken PO QD or IM monthly. It reduces cravings by reducing endorphins. It prevents heroin and other opioid agonists from binding the mu-opioid receptor. Treats alcoholism too.

Pts with OUD develop tolerance to the effects of sedation, euphoria, respiratory depression, and nausea caused by opioids, but do not develop tolerance to the constipation and miosis caused by opioids. Treatment causes loss of tolerance, which increases the risk of overdose, should the pt take the opioid again at the same dose he used to take it before gettting treatment. So you have to warn patients that if they get treatment and then go back to abusing opioids, they could overdose and die.

Clonidine is an alpha-2 agonist, decreases presynaptic release of norepinephrine; decreases anxiety/restlessness that occurs in withdrawal from opioids. You can give loperamide for the diarrhea; NSAID for muscle and bone aches; and ondansetron for the N/V that occur in withdrawal. Methadone and buprenorphine treat withdrawal sxs. Only a federally and state-licensed program can prescribe methadone.

The R-enantiomer of methadone is therapeutic; was used to treat pain in 1947 and OUD in 1970. The MAT waiver training is a waiver to the 1973 law that allowed methadone to be used for maintenance treatment of OUD.

Methadone is metabolized by CYP3A4 and is detectable in urine. It's a full mu-opioid receptor agonist with weak affinity for the receptor; can be displaced from the receptor by buprenorphine, naloxone, and naltrexone. Overdose of methadone can lead to respiratory arrest and QT prolongation.

Buprenorphine doesn't cause respiratory arrest if used as prescribed; can be lethal if mixed with other sedatives (e.g., EtOH or benzodiazepines). It has high affinity for the mu-opioid receptor. The pt needs to be withdrawing from opioids to start buprenorphine, otherwise the buprenorphine triggers withdrawal.

I remember one of the nurses at the psych hospital I worked at would say "the pt is having a sub for lunch" to let me know she had just given the sublingual suboxone (buprenorphine + naloxone) to a pt. Buprenorphine is mixed with naloxone to prevent people from abusing it. If the pt takes the combination sublingually, then the naloxone has poor bioavailaility. If the pt injected the combination, then the naloxone would have higher bioavailability, so injecting the combination of drugs can't cause the pt to get high. It prevents diversion of the drug to abuse. The ratio of buprenorphine to naloxone is 4:1. So suboxone is 2 mg buprenorphine to 0.5 mg naloxone.

Naltrexone can be given after the pt is off opioids for 7 to 10 days; works just as well as buprenorphine, but waiting the 7 to 10 days to start it can be difficult for pts who are experiencing withdrawal sxs.

Dosing:

-Methadone: 80-100 mg

-Buprenorphine: 4-32 mg

-Naltrexone: 380 mg depot

Since naltrexone is an opioid receptor antagonist, you can't give pts on naltrexone opioids for pain management--it won't work.

Buprenorphine dosage is changed based on the pt's cravings--increase the dose to decrease cravings; treatment lasts as long as the pt benefits from it. AEs of buprenorphine: HA, constipation, xerostomia. All opioids cause dry mouth (one of the reasons heroin addicts can have poor dental health--the drugs dry the mouth out and increase risk of cavities).

DDIs of methadone:

-SSRIs (esp. fluvoxamine) cause decreased metabolism of methadone-> increased blood levels of methadone -Carbamazepine induces methadone metabolism. So use valproate or something other than carbamazepine; but if carbamazepine is necessary, increase or split methadone dose.

-Do not use MAOIs with methadone; TCAs have decreased metabolism when combined with methadone-> increased TCAs (increased risk of TCA toxicity, which is convulsions, cardiac toxicity, and coma).

If pt is on buprenorphine, stop it before giving naltrexone.