#perhaps he did a stint with dagger

[wraithsoutlaws]

ive had porter gage for 5 seconds but u know im already thinking of how he and fallout dagger have a history and probably a bloody one at that

[haepii]

Metanoia | NJM (01)

(n.) the art of changing one’s perspective

Pairing: Na Jaemin + Fem!Reader

Genre: Werewolf!AU, Supernatural!AU, Fantasy!AU, Romance, Drama, Angst

Series: Main Navi, Neo Culture Pack Series Masterlist, Limerence, next part

Warnings: Violence, Gore, Mentions/Use of Weapons (I.e., swords, daggers, knives), Mentions of Blood, graphic depictions of Murder/Blood, Werewolves (if you don’t like it, leave), Mentions of bones cracking/breaking, Mentions of witches/witchcraft, mentions of vampires/fae, mentions of werewolves (duh), Jealous/Controlling Behavious (I do not condone these behaviours in real life, but obviously this work is pure fiction and so are the characters in it even if they are based off real people), dark themes, mentions/depictions of trauma/symptoms of PTSD/Anxiety/other mental illnesses, angst, mentions of superpowers/witchcraft/etc. (for anyone who has beliefs against this), reader has feminine qualities and fem pronouns/descriptors

WC: 9.6K

Taglist: @peepsibo @seajae @thesunsfullmoon @suhappysuho @traint0tokyo @niinjo

NOTE: for the readers of Jisung's series, I thank you for all the support but I must advise that this series takes a much darker route from Part 1 so PLEASE read this series at your discretion. This series includes much darker themes that some of the other series do and takes on a more tragic tone, please DNI if any of the warnings above trigger you, for parts with more graphic depictions there will be excessive warnings and warnings during the parts where it gets excessively dark.

Additionally, I wanted to mention the release date of this series being so far from Limerence. As some may know, I have just completed my senior year of highschool in the last few weeks, so the writing of this first part took place over months and months in the background of schoolwork/final exams. I once again want to thank you all for the patience you've had for this series finally being released.

Without further commentary, enjoy the teaser and get ready to step back into the weird and whimsical world of the Neo Culture Pack. If you haven't yet read Jisung's series, it is recommended you read it first (as this is a series of series, and this series is the second in reading order, interchangeable with Kalon (Mark's series). However, as of right now I plan to release them in seperate stints (or after I've released 5-8 parts of this series), so pretty much how I did the release of Jisung's on its own. – Grace <3 :)

Ten Years Earlier…

“Jeno!” 

Jaemin yelled, searching the remains of the pack house, as he waded through the bodies of massacred pack members that lined the floors beneath his feet. His hands were covered in blood, and he could not recall whether it was his own or somebody else’s, but he felt determined to find Jeno. Something inside him told him that his twin brother was still alive.

Images of the moments before flashed in the young boy’s mind. He remembered everything; his mother’s kiss to his forehead as she hid him in the attic, the desperation in her voice when she told him not to leave until she came to find him, and her cries for Jeno when she’d desperately left to reunite the twins amidst the Slayers’ attack. The irony of it all was, perhaps, that his mother never had the chance to return to him and lead him out of the attic. Instead, Jaemin staggered out of the attic when he realised he was alone.

Now he found himself in the kitchen, defeated and alone, he now prayed by some miracle of the moon goddess that his brother was alive. “Jeno… it’s me, Jaemin. We’re alone, we don’t have to hide anymore.”

A loud creak sounded, and out from the pantry stepped Jeno, who ran to his brother and hugged him tightly. There was a long silence before Jaemin pulled away and Jeno dared to ask with a dread-filled tone. “Where’s Mother?”

Not being given the chance to form an answer, Jeno felt his stomach sink when the sound of wary footsteps filled the room. The elder of the two, Jeno, barely had time to pull the young into his former hiding place. Jeno didn’t register the voice at first, the only sound registering in his ears was the pounding of his heart.

“Jaemin? Are you in here?” The voice was distraught and broken, just like they were. Clinging to the hope of a familiar face. Chaeyoung continued into the kitchen, clutching at her wounds, praying by some miracle of the moon goddess that she was not alone. She also prayed that she was not sinking into insanity, that Jaemin’s voice was not a trick of her mind or desperation.

It was only when she came into the eyeline of the boys, tears streaming down her face as she collapsed against the side of the stone countertop, clutching at her thigh. She must’ve been hallucinating, she’d lost a lot of blood, but she could swear on the last inch of her life that she’d heard Jaemin’s voice. As if it was her last hope, she let out a final mumble. “Jaemin… please tell me you’re here… I don’t want to die alone.”

The younger brothers rushed forward out from the pantry, and into the debris-littered kitchen to their eldest cousin, the daughter of Beta Min. Their father was the Alpha, their uncle the Beta, and three of them, the twins and their cousin were to be the future of the Blood Moon pack. That was until the massacre. Throwing their arms around her, they let her sob into their shoulders, both Jeno and Jaemin grateful that she was with them.

“We’re the only one’s left…” Chaeyoung sobs out, partially with relief that she was not alone, partially with sorrow that their family was mostly dead, but mostly with fear. It was only them now, Chaeyoung had only freshly turned 18 and was set to begin her travels to find her mate. The twins were learning to phase into their wolves, not even older than 10. “We’re no longer safe here. We need to leave.”

Jaemin does not hesitate to ask, but instead looks to Chaeyoung for any answers she may have. “Where’s our mother?”

At the mention of her Aunt, Chaeyong closed her eyes tightly, in an effort to keep the blood scene from her mind. She recalled it all as clear as she’d seen it with her own eyes. How, in her final moments her Aunt, the twins’ mother, had made her promise to keep them safe. Their mother had made her niece promise to find them, go as far away as possible and to never return. “I found her in your father’s office… she’s–”

Jeno cuts off that sentence, not wanting to hear it for himself. Sadness filled his voice. “You don’t have to say it. We know.”

There was a long and sad silence that overcame the group, but the feeling that they would never be able to return here made Chaeyoung find her courage once again. She was the first to speak, and her voice had taken on the same tone of her aunt’s when she’d told her sons that she would come back from them. For some reason, it made the brothers trust their cousin more than they ever had. “Look… I have a friend, the alpha of a pack not too far from here. It's only a few days’ journey, but it's not an easy one. He’s the only one I am certain will take us in with no questions asked, but I need you to listen to me. Can you boys do that?”

They nod, and without question, turn to listen to her. She pauses for a moment, shifting her bleeding leg slightly. With a pained voice she mumbled out. “I need you boys to phase… and follow my lead.”

The journey had taken weeks, weeks of fighting off hunger, hiding from rogues and running for their lives. Chaeyoung was right when she had said it would not be easy. Not for her or the boys who followed her in their small wolf forms. Yet, here they stood, at the entrance to the Neo Culture pack house. She registers the scent before she registers the commanding presence of Taeyong before her. 

The smell of citrus and jasmine filling her nose from the young man, freshly 18 standing on the stairs as he looks at her with the same glowing eyes. She didn’t care what would happen to her, or that her dress was tattered and her hair was wet and dripping onto the marble tiles beneath her, she only cared about the Beta standing on the stairs with the blue glowing eyes, who smells like citrus and jasmine. She instinctively finds herself moving towards him, letting go of the two boys who clung to her. They met in the middle, colliding like magnets as she looked up at him, only uttering one word with the utmost happiness in her voice. “Mate…”

Eight Years Later…

A silence fell over the Dominyen royal court. Queen Iseul barely hid her sobs, as her husband, King Minhyung spoke over the crowd of the twelve Dominyen Noble houses and their lieges, the slayers who did their bidding against the werewolf packs on their lands. “Prince Baekhyun has been found guilty of the murder of Lady Eunbi, his Erasthai and betrothed. It is according to our ancient customs that he must be sentenced to death to pay for his most unforgivable crime.”

Your breath hitched as you turned to your father from your smaller throne two rows down from his and your mother’s seats at the head of the court. Feeling the calming hand of your Novicitai, Yeona on your arm you turned to face her, yet her efforts to block out the overwhelming betrayal and grief your mother felt, combined with the fear of watching her only son’s execution was all in vain. Your stomach sank at the thought of having to feel the moment your brother died, the brother you held so dear. The brother, who for many years had been the reason you’d never have to face the burden of the crown, and the reason you’d never have to place duty over love. Baekhyun, your brother would be sentenced to death and you would have to watch his execution before your own eyes.

The court remains silent as Yeona looks to her mother, who stood beside your own mother, a soothing hand on her shoulder. She grips your hand like a soothing vice and whispers into your ear. “You cannot look away. If you do… they’ll all know.”

The marble floors of the royal courtroom open and a platform rises, holding your brother in chains with his head against a chopping block and the executioner with his pure Dominyen silver axe. Your eyes fill with tears as Baekhyun remains still. Your father speaks with authority over the court once again. “May justice be served.”

Your eyes remained transfixed on a single spot on the marble tiles, not looking at the execution but not looking away. You grip Yeona’s hand with such force that your knuckles are white and her hand is purple. As the executioner raises his axe, tears fall from your cheeks. The nobles are on the edge of their seats, some with opera glasses pressed right up to their eyes, others watching in shock. 

The axe lowers, you jolt slightly, feeling the fear then the piercing pain as if the sword had sliced through your own neck and chopped off of your head. Your mother lets out a cry that shatters the silence in the court before she is ushered out by her Novicitai, Yeona’s mother. You raised a hand to your neck, the feeling of your brother’s death still lingering in the back of your mind. Your eyes avoid the scene of the floor being lowered once again, before your father speaks. 

“It is with the best interests of our realms at heart, that I present to you my heir, Princess (Y/N), the council’s delight and the future Queen of Dominyens.” You rise from your seat, dropping Yeona’s hand as you step forward onto the balcony before you, eyeing the hundreds of nobles and representatives. Within moments, they all bend the knee to you, swearing their loyalty to you as your father’s successor.

Two Years Later, Present Day…

“Three months? Three months! Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Yeona grumbled, shaking you awake as she entered your room. Crossing over to your dresser, she began to pull out all of the clothes she could stuff into your duffle bag, while you got up from your bed. You’d supposed the near two years of running had been in vain, judging by the bare walls of your room in the college share house you’d manage to manipulate your way into.

“You’d think after two years they’d stop.” You could feel the waves of Yeona’s stress wash over you, and it ate at you. Her feelings slowly ebbed at you, as if your stomach was a sinkhole and it was gradually collapsing on itself. The curiosity ebbed at you, and you couldn’t help but ask, your voice no louder than a whisper. “Rogues or Guardians?”

“They’ll never stop, you’re too important, you know that. It's only Guardians, nothing we can’t handle.” Her voice sounded strong, and hid her emotions well. If you didn’t have the ability of feeling and influencing the physical and mental pain of others, you’d never have guessed her inner turmoil. Either way, her efforts to conceal her emotions would be in vain, after all, she was bonded to you as a Novicitai like her mother was to your own mother. Her emotions were your’s, as your’s were her’s.

“Baekhyun was important…”

Yeona paused her movements, and turned her attention from the array of her silver weapons in front of her to you, as you packed all the essentials into her purse. You could feel the hesitation, the mental pause before she stammered over her words. “Baekhyun was… well, he didn’t align with their values.”

“... and we do?” You looked at her, almost challenging her for a moment. For once you wanted to stop running, the whole reason you agreed to leave was not only because you feared the crown, but you feared the institution itself. The institution, under which your father so willingly watched and forced his wife and daughter to watch his own son publicly beheaded for a crime that… he may not have committed. You could tolerate the arranged Erasthai pairings, and the fanfare… but the killing, the public executions of family members. You drew the line at that. 

If you thought about that day long enough, that feeling still lingered. The excitement of the nobles, the horror of your mother, the blade slicing through his neck, the fear… all of it. There were still nights when Yeona had to wake you from the nightmares, or face seeing them herself through your mental bond. You needed to leave, there was no other option.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Yeona spoke with her usual calm and reserved voice but she now moved with more urgency as the Guardians outside were growing in numbers and it would be increasingly difficult to escape as morning drew closer. “I don’t, you do… and if you don’t, it doesn’t matter because they don’t care who you are as long as you can be who they want you to be.”

“Do you remember our drills?” She asks, handing you your duffle bag, which was stuffed to the brim with every personal and essential item you had. You tried to recall all the times Yeona had awoken you in the night, it was on random nights, but each time it was the same. 

Get to the car, stay low, lock the doors, and wait for Yeona. It was clear her regimented training to be your sworn protector, and a Guardian still played a major factor in her personality. She always had to keep you on your toes, and keep herself fit. You still remember the jobs she’d gotten as a vet science student and a vet nurse. Funnily enough, animals never really seemed to like Novices, Guardians, or Slayers for that matter. They only seemed to like royal Dominyens. You’d supposed wherever you found yourself next would be the same. You’d be enrolled in high school, playing the role of a quiet loner and keeping a low profile. Yeona would be your older sister and ‘legal’ guardian as your parents were abusive, out of the picture, dead, or some other cover story. It was the same every time.

“I remember.” You answer with a small nod, pulling on a hoodie, and chucking its hood over your head. Yeona nodded, handing you your duffle and her purse. You could feel the pressure she felt, or more accurately, placed on herself. She gave you a small reassuring smile, though deep down you knew it was only for her benefit. “Good. It’ll be okay, alright? No pressure, but if they even suspect it’s you, we are totally fucked.”

“Right, no pressure.” You let a small smile come onto your face, trying to ease the situation. Yeona sighs and looks at you. You don’t feel it at first, but underneath all that tension, there is the flicker of amusement that you always manage to pull from her in moments like these.

She opens her arms slightly with a small giggle as you hug her tightly. She mumbles into your hair, as she squeezes you tight. “You need to remember what we’re running from to remember why we’re running in the first place. I promise you, this time will be different. No more running.”

“I know.” You say, the sweet moment you had just shared taking on a sombre tone. She’d always say there’d be no more running, and though you appreciate the sentiment, you just knew it couldn’t be true. She’d say this everytime, and everytime it would end the same. It is an endless game of cat and mouse. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Stay safe.” She mumbles into your hair, and you can feel the anxiety coming off of her in waves, and you can’t help but take the edge off. Slowly feeling her anxiety calming, you gather all of the stuff you’d carry down to the car parked in the alley below. The alley littered with Guardians.

No pressure, you’d thought to yourself, as you slung your duffle over your shoulder and Yeona’s obnoxiously large purse over your arm. Opening the door to the hallway of the boarding house, you slowly began to walk down the stairs. It was early morning, and you knew for a fact the only person who would be awake was the creepy gamer across the hall. It was dead silent, and in a way peaceful. Yet, this peace provided you no relief to the gut feeling that plagued you every time you had to run.

Maybe it was the rush of knowing Guardians wait in the alleyway just down the stairs and out the back door. Maybe it was the fact that Yeona had never pulled off one of her schemes against more than three Guardians, and by the way she felt, you knew there were more. Yet, maybe… deep down, you knew this would be the last time you’d ever see Yeona, because maybe it wouldn’t work this time, and maybe you’d have to admit defeat and face your duties. That thought felt like stabbing in your chest, the thought of having to give up Yeona, who in many ways, was like a sister to you, who’d been through so much for you. You couldn’t let this plan fall through, not this time.

You walked down the last few steps, and made it to the back door with relative ease. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yeona out the window, preparing her distraction. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you headed out the door, and down the path to where the old car, an early 2000’s Toyota Camery, Yeona had bought a year back had been parked. Opening the passenger side door, you get in, and the second you close the door, you lock it and shove the bags you’d been carrying into the back seat. Out of anxiety, you tighten the strings of your hoodie as Yeona ran over to the car. 

Opening the door, and jumping in she locked the car, before you could even blink she had her foot on the accelerator. She looked mad, yet you continued to stay low in your seat, for fear of being seen, or being identified by the guardians. “They had samples of me too. They’re upping their game.”

You knew what this meant. Typically, royal Dominyens were bound to a Novice, or Guardian, who became their sworn protectors, like a friend or, better put, a sibling. This bond was called a Novicitai, expanding both from the physical aspect and to the mental. The bond had used to be common back in ancient times, when werewolves were savage creatures and blood witches had yet to be overthrown by elemental witches. However, as the supernatural world began to evolve into its modern form of diplomacy, the council, the bond had almost entirely faded out with evolution. 

 After Baekhyun’s execution, the Novicitai bond between yourself and Yeona had been unlocked. Through this bond, there were times where Yeona could see through your eyes, and into your mind without being born with your power. Among other things, she could feel your emotions, and channel your power if you were injured and needed her protection. Without the bond, the blood of a Dominyen royal was needed to activate this, thus the need for a blood sample. Your stomach sank.

Yet, it was not Yeona they were after. They were after you and your gifts granted to you by the Goddess Athena at birth, was both a blessing and a curse. The power to heal both physical and mental wounds at the expense of your own health made you powerful, but your power to feel the emotions and pain of others made you unstable. In many ways you were a powerful, but unreliable successor to the Dominyen throne.

“Good news is, there was a coven of slayers annihilated recently by a wolf pack in a town only a few hours from here. I could get you set up at the high school in that town, and there’s a university in the town over.” Yeona paused her words. She seemed optimistic enough about this prospect, and even though your eyes were shut from fatigue, you still felt the warmth of her optimism flowing through you. She continued in an even more positive tone. “If we up our game… the wolf pack might not even notice we’re there. We could be normal and make friends. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah… but how would we up our game?” You ask, noticing how she seemed to hesitate over your question. She knew the Guardians had upped their game, and had begun finding you two in increasingly shorter time spans of previous interactions. At first it took eight months, then six, five and four. Now it only took three months.

Yeona frowned, looking out at the motorway ahead of you. “I’ll have to think about it. You just focus on getting some sleep, okay?”

With a pat to your knee she continued down the motorway, and for some reason you just knew everything would work out. It had to, you’d put your life on the line for two years, and you, much like Yeona, thought it was time to enjoy your newfound freedom. Besides, what was a climb without enjoying the view?

The sun flooding in from the car windows lured you from the depths of sleep. Yeona didn’t notice you were awake for a few moments, before she mumbled out. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Morning.” You smiled softly, shifting up in your seat so you could see your surroundings. To your surprise, Yeona was pulling into a roadside diner, one of the ones that served the greasy but hearty breakfasts, and what she really needed, coffee. You didn’t notice it at first, but her fatigue hit you like a tsunami, and you had to brace yourself for a moment. “Woah, Yeona, let me.”

As you reached your hand out to give her some energy at the expense of your own, she softly caught your wrist. Shaking her head, she gave you a stern look. She was always like this, stern but meaning well. “No, not when you’re on an empty stomach and not when I’m driving.”

“It’s just energy.” You say with a small laugh, taking the hood off of your head and rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie. 

Yeona shook her head, pulling the handbrake of the car and looking over at you with a worried look. “Energy that you need, too. After you eat, I’ll let you do it then.”

“Okay.” You sigh, pulling yourself from the car. You’d deny it to Yeona, but stretching your limbs felt amazing. You walked slowly to the entrance of the diner, Yeona having already made it into the restaurant in the first place, most likely to get a booth. Walking through the door, and sitting across from Yeona, you find her already drinking from a pot of coffee she’d ordered.

“You better look at the menu, she’ll be coming back to take our order soon.” She gives you a small smile, and you can tell she immediately feels better after drinking her coffee. It’s as if she didn’t even need the energy you so readily offered to give her. “Also, I’ve already enrolled you in the highschool there, so they’re expecting us to get your uniform this afternoon.”

“That was quick…” You let out a breathy laugh, reading over the menu as you did.

Yeona looks up from her own menu, as she mumbles out, careful not to have any prying ears of potential other supernatural creatures listening in. “I’ve been planning this move for a few weeks now. The annihilation of that coven was inevitable and their extinction has not yet been registered with the council. Technically, we could pose as the holders of their territory for a while. It’s a somewhat long-term solution.”

Most of the time, you trusted Yeona with this sort of thing, but something about this wolf pack felt off, like something big would happen that would change everything, and you didn’t think you wanted anything to change. You liked things the way they were. “I know you call these shots… but I was meaning to tell you that I think this whole overlapping territory thing with the werewolves… they’ll eventually notice. It’s too risky.”

“If we blend in then maybe… it’d work out.” Yeona raises her mug to her lips and takes a long sip of the scalding coffee.

“Blending in hasn’t been doing much good for us these past few times.” You try to reason, and though it is out of concern, you sense Yeona’s sadness and betrayal at the fact that you don’t seem to fully trust her on this. 

“Well, maybe we’d blend in more if you made friends, and you’ll be able to at this new place. The office lady, Mrs. Min said that they have a very welcoming top student and sophomore head girl to give you a tour on your first day tomorrow.” She tries to sound convincing, but you don’t get the chance to respond before the waitress is walking over.

“G’morning ladies, what would y’all like to order?” She asked, her voice laid on thick with the ‘customer service’ persona she was presenting.

“Bacon and eggs please.” Yeona gave the girl a tight-lipped smile. It was clear she wanted to keep interactions with the waitress to a minimum, and you thought it best to follow her lead. You supposed it was because you still weren’t far enough from any overlapping territories with your location.

“Make that two.” You added with a soft smile.

“Anythin’ else?”

“Uh… maybe another pot of coffee.” Yeona suggested, looking at you for any confirmation. You nodded enthusiastically and turned back to smile at the waitress.

“Comin’ right up!” The girl smiled, and walked off back to the kitchen. 

Yeona turned to you as silence fell over the near empty diner, with the other patrons being an elderly couple down the other hall of booths, and a truck driver sitting at the counter. “This will be a good start for us. I promise. Plus the flat I rented out is a major upgrade. It’s just a matter of finding a job now.”

A silence falls over the pair of you in the minutes it takes for your food to be delivered. You can almost feel Yeona’s emotional drain. As you began to eat your greasy but hearty breakfast, it didn’t even cross your mind to break the peaceful silence that befell over your booth. Now that you came to reflect on it, you were both sick of running. 

The anxiety of always being found and having to skip out on normal teenage girl experiences had left you without anything to enjoy. All of this running, hiding and keeping a low profile–in many respects–had been for nothing. Part of you felt that, maybe you didn’t get to have those experiences because you were, in fact, not a normal teenage girl. You never could be from the get-go, because you were not a mortal, and no amount of wishing you were would make it so. Yet, you wanted to be.

The harsh reality you faced was that you wanted to be mortal, human, and free. Oh, to be free. You’d do anything for the privilege of being free. Free from the running. Free from the fear of being taken back to the gilded cage you inhabited by the people who wouldn’t stop looking for you. Lastly, you wanted to be free from the anxiety you felt every time you closed your eyes, for your fear of the nightmares that plagued you.

You couldn’t help but air the thought that constantly plagued your mind every time you moved again. “What if we have to run again?”

And, just like every time, Yeona placed a soothing hand on top of your own and looked deep into your eyes, and with a grave tone she gave you a reassuring smile; “I will make sure that we won’t have to.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to ask one of the Min twins so that we would be able to spend time together at this stupid dance tonight.” Jeno’s expression was painful, his voice may have been even more painful. Though most teen boys would froth at the mouth to even snag a date with one of the hottest twins in school, neither Jeno nor Jaemin seemed to care. Hana gave the muscular, much larger boy a scathing look. The dance tonight was supposed to be fun, but at the daunting thought of having to deal with one of the Min twins the entire night… he was filled with dread. “What? They’re insufferable.”

“That’s one word for it.” Jaemin scoffed out in agreement. While these girls were insufferable, they were still highly attractive, and many would say that it was almost expected for Jeno and Jaemin to ask them in the first place as the hottest boys in school, and respective captains of the Basketball and Wrestling teams.

“You guys are being mean. Micha and Nari are lovely.” Hana took a long sip of her black coffee, sinking into the cardigan she had wrapped around her as Jisung wrapped his arm behind her seat. Though she still wasn’t fully recovered, no one could deny how much progress she’d made, enough for Nayeon to allow her to go to the dance that night.

“No, because for once I agree with the twins.” Ryujin spoke, her mouth full of scrambled eggs and bacon, but nonetheless understood by the group at the breakfast table.

“I agree with Hana.” Renjun did not even need a moment to think of his stance now that the topic of discussion was on the Min twins and not how Hana was recovering or even the mere topic of mates. Though everyone knew that the topic of mates was… touchy for Renjun, the normally calm Beta had never found his mate, as far as the pack knew. Though, anytime the topic was brought up, he’d grow distant. 

“Your opinion is irrelevant, you always agree with Hana.” Ryujin stated, as if she was the judge in a courtroom. Before Jisung could even move to defend Renjun, the feisty Beta pointed her finger at him. “Jisung, before you even say it we know you’re Switzerland and are, therefore, irrelevant in this conversation.” 

“They’re nice to my beautiful and amazing girlfriend. So, they’re fine by me.” Jisung turned to Hana with a smile, who turned back to him for a moment, her coffee mug now resting on her knee, that was now propped up to her chest as she sat at the table. She gave the much taller boy a small peck on the lips. 

“Irrelevant! He’s pussy-whipped.” Ryujin once again spoke as if she was the deciding factor on relevance, but then feigned vomiting with a vulgar gesture as her best friend once again leaned in to kiss Jisung, which had left Chenle laughing hysterically like a dolphin, even if his first instinct was to react the same as her. 

“Fine! What makes them so terrible?” Jisung teasingly smiled at Ryujin pulling Hana closer to him as he spoke.

Simply enough, Ryujin gave him her answer. “They’re bitches.”

“To who?” Hana replied, as if it was a way to defend the Min twins who were not there to defend themselves. Even when everything she was told about someone was negative she still tried to see the best in them, even if it meant going against her best friend.

Ryujin’s expression had changed at that moment. No longer did she look like she enjoyed speaking to Hana as much as she’d done in the moments prior. She looked hurt and her expression resembled that of a kicked puppy. She could long hold in her thoughts, so they tumbled out in her overly-emotional rambling. “Me! And they’re far dumber than me, too! Any conversation of substance with them is about boys and gossip. Beyond that, they’re as shallow as a kiddy pool and they’re only care in life is when they’re gonna get their next mani-pedis. Oh! And they talk in sync and it makes me want to fuck myself gently with a chainsaw.”

“That just about sums it up.” Jeno agreed with a short laugh, scruffing Ryujin’s hair slightly, earning him a glare from her. 

“We’re in for a painful night.” Jaemin agreed, even though it was his idea to begin with. If he was anyone else, Jeno would have probably punched him by now. Too caught up in their fates, neither Jaemin nor Jeno caught the incredulous look Hana had given Ryujin. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Hana. We all knew I never was Mother Theresa. Even before… I became a werewolf.” Her voice was pitiful and almost whiney in tone, before it changed into a laugh, and she was consumed with giggles. She had to take a moment to compose herself, before raising her hands as a sign of peace, trying not to offend her packmates. “Sorry, I can never take myself seriously when I say it...”

 Hana’s expression does not change, instead she sighs and takes another long sip of her coffee, before she speaks again. “Well… I form my own opinions on things.”

Sometimes Ryujin had to admit Hana wasn’t the easiest to be best friends with. She was perfect and every flaw Ryujin had was magnified when she was placed next to Hana. She would never be smart enough, never have a boyfriend perfect enough, never fit into the pack where she was clearly unwanted. Those were her deepest, darkest thoughts. She’d never air them, of course, Areum wouldn’t allow it. Or… maybe Areum would, after all, her sister seemed to have a clear favourite in Hana over herself. Nevertheless she opts for a light-hearted smile. “Well… clearly you’re not a totally unreliable source, since you have us.”

The drive had been long and quiet, with a thick yet comfortable silence. The once sunny morning had turned into a rather grim and rainy afternoon. As the beat up Toyota Camery drove down the lush and green highway, you found yourself watching the raindrops race down the window. 

Out of nowhere, Yeona had broken the silence, just as she took the nearest exit off of the highway. Her focus still on the road, her proposal sounded more like an order than it did a question. She didn’t bother asking your opinion on the matter. “We’ll head over to the school tonight.” 

“Okay.” You sigh. It had always become like this between the two of you when you had to move. Probably because every time you had to outrun them, you’d always swear it was the last time, though that statement never seemed to age well. 

The drive only seemed to near an end as you began to see the mountain range in sight, shrouded in thick fog, and covered in dark green, lush trees. You could almost smell the earthy pine and rain from inside the car, and it seemed to enthral you for no apparent reason. Yeona could feel this excitement that had suddenly brewed within you.

It wasn’t long until she had turned down a side street, and pulled into a small parking lot, filled with other cars, most of them trucks, one camper van parked next to another truck. This town seemed to be the retiree’s dream, as you’d gathered from the walking distance of most places to this one apartment building. 

Yeona pulled the keys from the ignition and smiled slightly at the humble apartment building before you. “Welcome to our new home.”

Yeona soon got out of the car, and made her way to the reception desk that sat behind a small sliding door. This building was not student accommodation, like your previous places had been, it was long-term rentals that were across four blocks of units with a central courtyard. It was humble, but nice. It didn’t take long for Yeona to walk out with the keys to the new apartment, and despite the raindrops setting into her hair, she yanked the door open and sat down in the drivers’ seat. “What are you thinking?”

“That this town isn't half-bad.” You turned to her with a small smile. 

“Me too.”

She returned your smile, and then glanced back at all of your stuff littering the back seat of the car. You looked at her, and despite your mental fatigue you gave her a smile. “Where to now?”

“Well, the building manager had said that we should try Benny’s Beans cafe just a short walk down the main street.” She answered over the sound of the rain droplets slapping against the windshield and windows.

“And then?”

She lets out a sigh, knowing this would be the lesser of the two you would want to do. She knew you well enough to know that people, specifically people’s emotions, were bound to come in-clutch with school life. Ironically, it was something you wanted to avoid, feeling the emotions of others knowing you could not fix it, as mortals did not take kindly to things they did not understand. Specifically, the abilities you and others like you possessed. “We still need to go down to the school to finalise your enrolment and get your uniform all sorted for tomorrow.”

“Let’s do it, then. The school, then the Cafe.” You sighed, the dread filling you as Yeona started the car. It was going to be a long trip to the school, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread and excitement that had built inside you. It was a feeling that could only be described as impending doom, but maybe it wasn’t doom, because you did not feel damned. You only knew something was coming towards you, steadfast and at top speed.

The drive to the school was silent, rainy, and long enough that it had come to a slight sunset. It was hardly 5pm, but it was clear the town was ready to kickstart the evening early. One thing that was clear to the both of you was that this town had no night life, and the school dance was on that night. From the girls in pretty dresses to the boys, who had their hair slicked back and wore dress shirts. It was clear that the teens of the town had an event on, happening to fall at the same time as you were getting started. Maybe that is what you were dreading, the school dance that meant you’d have to pass your future classmates on your way to the administration office. 

With a sigh, you found yourself getting out of the car before Yeona, and heading over to the main building. You turned back to the car, the slight drizzle of raindrops had begun to soak into your hoodie, that you impulsively zipped up to your chest. Raising your eyebrows you yelled out at the car, hoping she’d hear you from the piece or scrap metal that was her Toyota Camery. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

With a sigh, she gets out of the car, crossing her arms over her body, and her leather jacket now collecting the small raindrops that rolled down from her shoulders, not quite absorbing into the jacket. Her voice holds a level of caution and authority that she had only ever used when she felt you were in danger. “Let’s go.”

Her voice alone had told you everything you needed to know. This school was not entirely safe, and coming here was a definite risk, when you hadn’t had much of a chance to start ‘blending in’. At the wave of conflict that washed over you from her, you knew that she felt it was essential for this to be done today. Otherwise, the school would suspect you, and the prominent presence of a very powerful werewolf pack in this town, in every facet of its community, meant that she had to ensure all went smoothly.

“We’ll have to keep this brief.” She says with a curt voice, before smiling at some passers by, a couple of teenagers who were dressed to the nines. You could feel their excitement and butterflies, knowing from that alone it was most likely their first school dance. 

Your eyes fluttered around the groups of people, landing on one particular large group. You saw the group, only about twelve dance-goers, and the rest being family. You could feel the annoyance of a few members of the group, and the complete love and adoration of a pair standing slightly off to the side. A girl in a sparkly blue dress, and a very tall, lanky boy with golden brown hair wearing a button-down shirt and dress pants. However, their feelings were short-lived in your mind when Yeona began pulling you towards the administration office.

“Hi, dears. You must be Yeona, called earlier is that correct?” The plump middle-aged office lady smiled. She was dressed in a bead-embellished blouse and wore a deep brown lipstick coupled with cheeks that were heavily coated in a pink cream blush. You noted that she too would be joining in the school dance festivities after you’d been and gone.

Yeona gave the woman a smile and a nod, holding you close by the arm, and though you sensed her unease, she still rubbed soothing circles on your forearm with her thumb. “Yes, thank you so much for taking the time to organise (Y/N)’s emergency enrolment.”

“That’s not a problem, Hon. I know how hard it is in a situation like your’s. I’ve organised our head girl, Hana, to give her a tour first thing tomorrow. It’ll be a later start due to the dance, it should be all on the school’s app.” The woman gave you a warm smile, before handing a small flyer to Yeona, and gesturing to the QR code as she mentioned the school’s app. 

Yeona gave the woman a nod and tucked the flyer into her pocket.  “Right, thanks for reminding me. I’ll have to download that.”

Pausing for a moment, the woman had positioned herself at her computer and began to type uncannily loud, akin to a receptionist. “So you are the legal guardian of (Y/N), correct?”

“Yes. I am her older sister. Bad family home, living together now. Court ruling a few months ago.” Yeona’s tone seemed to grow sadder, and knowing her performance you seemed to sadden your expression too, but not laying it on too thick as to be noticeable to the office lady.

“I am so sorry about your situation, girls. We’ll do our very best to be accommodating for your situation.” The office lady, or Mrs. Min, as you read from her name badge, had placed her slightly wrinkled hand atop your own. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Min. I very much appreciate your kind words.” You gave her a small, sad smile, the best one you could muster, before pulling your hand out from under her. 

The woman gave you a small smile. “It is a pleasure, my dear. So, uniform, timetable, textbooks and locker…”

The trip to the school ended as quickly as it had started, and by the time you had left, less students lingered in the parking lot, but the group from earlier remained taking photos from the school’s lookout point of the mountain range, the school itself sitting on one of the mountains that was smaller in front of the main range, where majority of the town was built. 

Walking past the group to get to Yeona’s car, you felt eyes burn into you. Though you managed to ignore it, focusing more on how the wind blew hair into your face than the eyes burning into your side profile. It seemed as though you didn’t need to dread anything, all seemed well.

Even though the dread you felt had left you for the evening, a new onset of the feeling washed over you the following morning. This day seemed to arrive too quickly for your liking, but as you sat up, you saw your uniform, ironed and clean, hanging on your wardrobe door. You let yourself smile slightly, seeing a heart-shaped sticky note attached to the door, next to your hanging uniform. 

Walking over to the wardrobe across from your bed, that was nothing special, just an ikea bed frame and mattress provided by the landlord. You pulled the note from the door, looking over Yeona’s loopy handwriting. “Gone for a job inquiry at the local vet clinic, breakfast and lunch are on the table, walk to school is short, and I’ll pick you up! - Wishing you the best of luck and much love, Yeona XO.”

You could feel the affection she put into every act of service she did for you. After all, it was her way. Placing the note back on the door, you pulled your uniform down from the wardrobe door and placed it on the end of your bed. Just like always you went through the motions of getting ready, having a shower, brushing your hair, doing some light makeup, and hiding the silver necklace you wore for protection beneath your school blouse. 

Walking out into the open-plan  kitchen-dining, and living area, you saw the steaming breakfast on a plate, next to a brown paper bag. Placing down your canvas tote on the chair next to you, you began to slowly dig into the feast before you. It was clear Yeona wanted to make sure you went to school feeling good, because she’d made your favourite, French toast. 

Back when you still remained within the walls of the Dominyen royal palace, attending the Dominyen academy, and being a member of the Dominyen royal court, you could eat French toast for every meal if you desired it. However, after you’d fled your position within Dominyen society, French toast became a rarity. Now, you only had it when Yeona took the time to make it, or on the rare occasion Sunday brunches weren’t interrupted by having to run for your lives, or rather, your freedom.

You smiled down at the plate before you, seeing how she’d taken the time to get your favourite berry compote to go on top, with whipped cream and maple syrup. It made you feel all warm and happy inside, a feeling that had also become a rarity since your brother’s execution. Finishing up the affectionately made breakfast Yeona had prepared for you, you placed the plate and cutlery inside the dishwasher. Finally, you made a move to grab your lunch bag, locking up the small flat, before you made your way down towards the pedestrian sidewalk.

The walk down the main street of the town was peaceful, and quiet. You saw a few other students walking to school, all with umbrellas in hand, despite the morning being sunny with not a cloud in sight. Continuing your trek, you found yourself slowing as you made it up the walkway, bypassing the school’s parking lot. Glancing at your leather wristwatch, the time only showed it was 8:45AM, it was just over an hour until the day officially begun, due to the late start.

Though you made no attempt at rushing, instead, you made it to the administration office with plenty of time to spare. Pushing open the door to the office, you walked in, seeing Mrs. Min at the desk, with an overly peppy smile after a long night chaperoning at a school dance. “Oh! Good morning, (Y/N)! I take it your morning was good?”

“Yes, very, thank you for asking. How was your morning?” You gave her a soft smile, taking in the newly put up halloween decorations that littered the office, and probably the school halls too. The decorations alone were a sign that the days of summer were over, and that autumn was just beginning. You loved autumn, especially when it rained, it was beautiful. 

“Oh! That’s wonderful! My morning was just fine, dear!” Mrs. Min smiled, eyeing you with a confused expression before continuing her formalities. “Hana will be here shortly to give you the tour! Did you want to stop by your locker first? You are quite early.”

“Uh… yeah. Is it okay if you give me some directions?” You were taken aback by her kindness, she was a kind woman. Old, but still kind, and it was obvious she was nearing her days of retirement. However, you did not think the woman would leave this town and trade it for a beachside one. Instead, it seemed that people who were born and raised in this town never left. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” She gave you a small smile, giving you directions in a kind manner. Down the hall, and turn right at the doors to the auditorium. Your locker number was 364, and she took the liberty of writing down your combination for you. 

You bid her a quick ‘thank you’ before heading out the office door and turning right away from the main entrance of the school. The hallways were practically deserted save for a few of the school’s star athletes who were finishing up their early morning practice. You could feel the slight pain in their muscles, as you passed two of them who were at their lockers, and eating Greek yoghurt from plastic pouches. Finally, you found the doors to the auditorium and took the right turn down the deserted hallway.

Your eyes scanned the locker numbers that were engraved on small, steel plaques overhead. 358, 360, 362, and finally, 364. You stopped, taking in the blue locker before you. You flung your bag behind you, so that you had more room to input your combination.Carefully, you read the numbers on the paper, inputting them and pulling the lock open. With a sigh, you looked over the empty locker, getting straight to work on loading all of your textbooks on the middle shelf, and hooking your bag onto one of the hooks on the bottom shelf. You looked around the locker and decided you’d need to decorate it with time. With a final glance at your new set up, you shut your locker, proceeding to lock it before heading back to the administration office. 

The walk back to the administration office was short, but you noticed as time had passed, more students began to arrive. With some of them came the feeling of a severe hangover, and you knew it would take all of your efforts to block out the feelings of others throughout the day. 

If there was one thing you hated about mortal school, it would be the constant feeling of teenage angst washing over you nearly every second of the day. You hated it, because you knew it was difficult to block out so many things at once, meaning the feelings would ebb at you until you were finally alone. It was both physically and mentally draining. 

Once again you entered the administration office, seeing a girl with long dark hair that was curled in perfect waves that fell down her back. Holding the curls back from her face was a puffy velvet pink headband with beaded flowers and pearls sewn onto it. She wore her uniform to a T, with the exception of her tie which was the male version that hung loosely around her neck, and not the ribbon the girls wore. Lastly, her makeup was classic, with a warm pink blush over her cheeks and nose, and light brown, glittering eyeshadow, that was topped off with a classic nude blotted lip. She was beautiful, and aside from that, the gold badge sitting above the school crest on her blazer read ‘Head Girl’ in bold lettering. It was clear she was well-loved in this place. 

“Ah! You’re back, and just in time. This is Hana, our head girl and your tour guide for this morning.” Mrs. Min smiles, as she looks back and forth between the two of you. “Hana, this is (Y/N). I’m sure you’ll make her feel welcome.”

“Of course! It’s lovely meeting you! Now, should we start over in the sciences and arts building?” She smiled, and you could feel her sincerity radiating off of her. She was a genuine girl, and you could sense it. 

Since you didn’t know the school either way, you just gave her a short nod and a smile. “Uh… yeah sure… I don’t mind.”

Hana was nice, showing you around the school, telling you all the best spots to sit on sunny days like today, getting your school library card sorted and helping you find your classes. It was during her analysis of your timetable she sighed. “Well, it looks like that brings us to the end of our tour.”

She folded up your timetable and handed it back to you with a smile. “Don’t worry though, I’ll walk you to your first class since I have a spare. It’s English Literature for you, which isn’t as bad as it sounds. I have a friend in that class, his name's Jaemin. He’s super nice. You’ll have to join us all for lunch sometime!”

“Sure, I’d like that.” You gave her a small smile, your own voice much quieter than her’s, as she was more of an extrovert. She returned the smile as she stopped her walking outside a classroom door. 

Before you turned to walk in, she gave you a sincere smile as she spoke. “Also! If you need anything, anything at all… please don’t hesitate to ask me, okay?”

Judging by her sincerity that you felt washing over you, she was kind and it was clear why she was well-liked. She was basically the perfect popular girl, everything many strived to be with seemingly minimal effort. “Thanks… I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Not if I see you first. Enjoy!” She nodded towards the door with a smile, which you returned before walking into your first class. The class all turned to you as you walked in, and while you didn’t dislike anyone you’d met so far, you disliked how the tour made you late for class. All their eyes burned into you and it made you feel queasy. 

“Ah! You must be (Y/N). I’m Ms. Jeong, and it’s a pleasure to meet you!” She smiled, and turned her gaze out over the sea of students sitting at desks. She beamed when she finally spotted a spare desk next to a boy who didn’t take his eyes off of you, even after everybody else had turned back to their tasks. 

“There’s a spare desk by the window. Since you’re coming so late in the year, I’ve prepared some extra credit assignments for you to do over the next few weeks. See me after class, yeah?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Ms. Jeong.” You gave her a small smile 

“It’s my pleasure.” She returned the smile, and as you were walking over to the last spare seat, she continued with her lesson, speaking to her class about the use of intentional symbolism within a text.

The second you’d entered the room, Jaemin had felt his world shift. His eyes burned into you as he registered the strong smell of lavender, rain, pine and bergamot filling his senses. The scent made his heart race and mind go blank. He didn’t need to overthink this, or analyse it like he normally would. He already knew what was happening. It was imprinted within his soul from the moment he was born, and immediately he knew. He was meeting his mate. 

However, something put him on edge, something that made his stomach sink, hands shake, and made him see red. The potent smell of wolfsbane and silver filled his senses, intermingled with your own. He couldn’t believe it at first, he refused to, but as you took your seat next to him, he knew his senses had not deceived him. The one person he would love unconditionally was the one thing he hated more than anything in the world. Anger had consumed him whole. What he didn’t realise is that you could feel it too, burning you as it washed over you in rough, unrelenting waves.

His emotions were impossible for you to block out, the burns of his anger feeling as though you were physically being burned. Your eyes welled with tears as your heart raced, because any attempts you’d made to block his powerful emotions were all in vain. The boy next to you did not once look at you. Instead his eyes burned down onto the paper in front of him, as his hands were a stark white, balled into fists as they shook slightly. You, on the other hand, stared at the clock with misty eyes, willing the tears in your eyes not to fall as you waited for the torturous lesson to end. However, he paid no mind to you, the only thing he could think about was your scent.

 At first, he didn’t know what to make of it. After all, he had always vowed to himself to see whomever his mate was as everything he needed. Yet, as he sat there, inhaling the sweet scent shrouded in the potent stench of silver and wolfsbane, he couldn’t help but feel defeated.

Out of all things you could’ve been, from fae to witch, even a vampire… you had to be the one thing he hated most in this world. The one thing he’d kill for his own enjoyment if he so pleased… a Dominyen. 

© @haepii 2022-2023

[retro-scorpio]

The Arcana Meets The Devildom (Part Seven)

The Evolution of MC’s Relationship With The Residents of The House of Lamentation

Author’s Note: Even though the MC described in the following post will be based on myself, I will not be using my actual name, a fictional name, or gendered pronouns for MC at this time. I still want it to be accessible to people, and I feel like giving a name/gendered pronouns to my version of MC will remove a layer of that accessibility. Plus, it will (hopefully) allow people to insert themselves, their version of MC, and/or their OC into this if they so choose. Also, this is going to end up being a long post that uses explicit language, so if that’s not your thing, you can just scroll past this.

Fictional Backstory: Upon dying from the Red Plague, MC finds themselves not in the afterworld that they had familiarized themselves with, but plopped down in the student council room of the Royal Academy of Diavolo with only the memories of the faces they left behind in Vesuvia and the knowledge of the magic they learned while they were still ‘”alive”. Once MC passes through the portal to return to the human world after their second stint in the Devildom, they find themselves back in Vesuvia due to Asra raising them from the “dead”. Neither the residents of Vesuvia nor the Devildom know that they’ve dealt with the same MC until after Julian, Asra, and Lucio’s arrival to the Devildom. Let’s just say everyone was in for a treat when their beloved MC strolled into the residence they were visiting and said hello to the Vesuvian person in the room.

Julian: MC’s main lover in Vesuvia. MC actually developed a crush on the plague doctor when they were his apprentice, but due to the relationship they had with Asra at the time, they kept their feelings to themselves. What MC likes the most about Julian (besides his good looks) is his sense of humor, because it shows the full range of his personality: intelligent and witty yet goofy and a little stupid. When it comes to bedroom activities, MC and Julian keep things fresh and exciting. There are times where they’ll do the good ol’ missionary sex, times where Julian will fuck MC silly (usually after an evening show at the community theater in Goldgrave when Julian just has so much adrenaline from acting on stage that he can’t sit still), and times where MC will edge Julian and make him beg for his orgasm. 

Out of the three Vesuvian men, Julian is the most understanding and accepting of MC pursuing other people romantically during their stay in the Devildom. To paraphrase Julian, MC was considered dead in Vesuvia for the three years MC spent in this other world, and his relationship with MC didn’t start until after MC rose from the dead/returned from the Devildom, so he considers it a part of MC’s past that they should not feel ashamed of. MC enjoys the fact that Julian gets on with her Devildom friends/lovers as well as he does for a variety of reasons (as you, the reader, will see unfold in this post and in others).

Lucifer: MC’s main lover in the Devildom. MC developed a crush on the eldest demon brother pretty much the moment they set eyes on him, but unfortunately for MC, Lucifer initially saw them as a weak human exchange student that he was forced to take care of. Lucifer’s impression of MC only worsened when they went up the stairs to the attic, and MC was incredibly heartbroken and pissed when they found out that Lucifer was the one responsible for locking Belphie up in the attic and deceiving the other brothers about Belphie’s whereabouts. These feelings culminate in the underground tomb. MC, incredibly angry at Lucifer and yet (somehow) wanting to gain his approval, wraps Lucifer’s hands around their neck and dares him/gives him permission to kill them as punishment for allowing Luke access to the House of Lamentation and dragging Beel in their shenanigans. 

Initially after this incident, Lucifer and MC wanted very little to do with each other, but as time wore on, they slowly grew closer to one another. MC’s crush on Lucifer resumed, albeit cautiously, and Lucifer started developing feelings of his own towards MC, although he would have never admitted that to himself or anyone else, not even Asmo (who sensed Lucifer’s crush on MC perhaps even before Lucifer himself did). Perhaps Asmo was on to something, because why would Lucifer feel as betrayed as he did when MC told him that they had met Belphegor? Sure, he felt that MC had just put his entire family at risk of experiencing Diavolo’s wrath, which is a decent enough reason to become irate at someone, but there was something else that was feeding into his anger as well, something that was related to love. MC, in a fit of passion and after Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, and Beel entered the room and tried to stop Lucifer from annihilating MC, grabbed a nearby knife and chopped two of their fingers off, staring Lucifer dead in the face and not shedding a single tear (due to adrenaline numbing the pain). 

Once the situation with Belphegor was resolved and the youngest brother was allowed to live with the rest of his family again, Lucifer calls MC into his study and put their fingers back on with some sewing and a bit of magic. Just as MC is about to leave, Lucifer tells MC that he’s sorry. MC, understand that it takes a lot for the Avatar of Pride to apologize, forgives him, and Lucifer thanks them for their forgiveness. This interaction would be the catalyst for their romantic relationship, and they would eventually repeat this exchange when MC is about to kill Lucifer with the Night Dagger.

Lucifer and MC’s romantic relationship is one built on admiration for each other. Get Lucifer drunk on Demonus, and he’ll blab all about how much he adores everything about MC. The pair can usually be found in one of four places at the House: Lucifer’s study, the library, the music room, and Lucifer’s bedroom. The library and music room are safe places for the couple to be discovered in, for they’re either reading (library) or listening to the other play music (music room). Lucifer’s study is a bit of a gamble, for they could either be working on paperwork/schoolwork in each other’s company, or Lucifer could have MC bent over his desk and ramming his dick in and out of them.

As for Lucifer’s bedroom, it’s best for everyone involved if no one disturbs Lucifer and MC. Most of the time, Lucifer uses his bedroom to explore MC’s kinks. About half the time, it gets sexual; the other half is mere discovery of what MC likes and what MC deems as limits. Sometimes, when Lucifer just wants to be close to MC, they will do the good ol’ missionary. MC is one of two people that can get Lucifer to submit to them, and that happens only when the eldest demon brother wants a break from being in charge of everything.

Lucifer was pleased to find out that not only did MC and Julian know each other, but that they started a romantic relationship when MC returned to Vesuvia. Since Julian is (sort of) the Vesuvian version of him, it raises his pride (and ego) to discover that they both fit MC’s type. If MC doesn’t bring the idea up first, he might just suggest bringing Julian into some of their bedroom activities.

Mammon: One of MC’s fuck buddies in the Devildom. Initially, Mammon and MC vehemently hated each other. Mammon thought that MC was a pretentious snob, and MC believed Mammon to be a complete and utter asshole. Whenever they were near each other, they would inevitably butt heads and argue loudly, to the annoyance and shock of everyone else.

One of these arguments occurs in Mammon’s room. Lucifer had sent MC in there to help tutor Mammon, since they were doing well in the classes that Mammon was failing. MC gets frustrated that Mammon isn’t even trying to get the material, and Mammon accuses MC of only helping him in order to stay on Lucifer’s good side. MC lets a compliment slip when they yell at Mammon, “If I didn’t think there was a way for you to wrap your brain around this, I wouldn’t still be here!” Mammon stares at MC as MC processes what they just said, and the pair are so still and quiet that someone could hear a pin drop. Then, as if someone hit the fast forward button, Mammon pounces on MC, and they aggressively make out. Thirty minutes later, both are a naked, sweaty mess on Mammon’s couch, and the room reeks of what they’ve just done. Thank goodness demons can only impregnate when it’s mating season...

When Mammon isn’t fucking the shit out of MC (which is what usually happens when MC and Mammon get together sexually, despite popular belief), the pair is seen tinkering around with Mammon’s car. While MC does still tutor Mammon at times, Mammon’s (finally) at a point where he’s at least passing all of his classes. Mammon sometimes takes MC out with him to his modeling gigs, which has resulted in MC ending up on the cover of a couple magazines.

When Mammon found out about MC’s other life in Vesuvia, he initially got really jealous of Julian, but that feeling quickly got replaced with something else when he found out about the nature of MC and Lucio’s relationship. In his ongoing attempt of earning all the Grimm in the world, Mammon gets the “brilliant” idea to film a really filthy porno starring him, Lucio, and MC (with MC’s consent, of course). Mammon also likes taking naps with MC and Julian for some reason that he still doesn’t quite understand.

Levi: One of MC’s friends in the Devildom that they hooked up with once. Levi hated MC long after the TSL trivia showdown, and MC had no idea why. At first, MC chalked up Levi’s hatred towards them to his feelings about losing to someone he deemed inferior to him, but as time went on and Levi still was acting cold towards them, MC felt that there was something else that was upsetting Levi. As it turns out, it all boiled down to Levi’s sin: envy. Levi was jealous of MC on a multitude of levels. He saw how MC was acing the subjects that he struggled in; he saw how well MC got along with everyone; and he even saw how easy it was for MC to express their feelings for someone. Long story short, Levi felt inadequate against and unworthy of spending time with MC, and he hated both himself and MC for it.

All it took for him to change his mind was an impromptu family gaming night in Levi’s room. The game? DarioKart (the Devildom equivalent of MarioKart). Levi was winning every single race he was in, even against decent racers like MC, Beel, and Lucifer. Asmo, being the Avatar of Lust, was the first to discover that Levi’s skills at DarioKart was causing MC to, shall we say, look at the third-eldest demon brother in a new light. At Asmo’s advice, MC whispered in Levi’s ear that if he won the next race he competed in, they would make this a night to remember. MC gave him a kiss on the cheek, and that was enough motivation for him to destroy his opponents in his next race. With Lucifer (who was in the loop due to Asmo having a quiet conversation with him during the race) and Asmo’s help, Levi and MC were able to have some privacy.

Once everyone’s out of the room, MC moves from their spot on the floor and straddles Levi’s lap, which causes Levi to turn red and begin stuttering. MC moves Levi’s fringe out of his eyes and tells him how hot Levi was, winning so many times. Before Levi can reply, MC leans in and kisses him. Unsurprisingly, Levi’s shy at first, because he’s scared that MC’s going to pull away in disgust or that he’s going to wake up and find out that all of this was a dream; however, when neither one of those things happens, Levi gets more bold as he gains confidence. This slow, sensuous make-out session eventually leads to MC blowing him in his gaming chair, and after that evening Levi starts treating MC nicely (for some totally unknown reason (ha ha)). There is not a second sexual encounter, but Levi’s perfectly content with the one. All he needs MC to do is to hang out with him and watch anime and/or play video games.

Levi was excited when he found out that MC knew Julian and Asra, because that meant that he could invite the three of them to his room and know that they genuinely wanted to be there. Sure, Henry 2.0 is a nice enough friend, but Levi comes to discover that having human friends is just as good as having an animal companion.

Satan: MC’s (kind of) ex-turned-best-friend. MC first had their eyes on Satan when they entered his room for the first time and saw the sheer volume of books he had in his possession. MC’s crush on Satan grew when he was a guest speaker in their curses and hexes class. To put it simply, MC found Satan’s intelligence incredibly sexy. Similarly, when Satan was tasked with proofreading MC’s Devildom Literature essay, he discovered that the quality of writing was as good as his, that the points MC made in the essay were intelligent and pertinent to the topic of their essay, and that they had no grammatical, spelling, or formatting mistakes, he nearly busted a nut right there in the classroom.

MC and Satan’s romantic relationship blossomed after the incident that occurred between MC and Lucifer in the underground tomb, and the pairing was (surprisingly) a healthy one. Satan looked out for MC and defended them whenever Lucifer was criticizing them (both in front of MC and behind their back), and MC helped Satan to not only discover his own identity outside of being Lucifer’s spawn and the Avatar of Wrath, but to accept the parts of him that didn’t fit into either one of those titles. While the sex wasn’t the type to be described in erotica, it was definitely full of love from both parties.

Satan and MC broke up on good terms a couple days after Lucifer mended MC’s hand. Due to the fourth demon brother’s relationship with Asmo, he knew that, even though MC did love Satan and enjoyed being in a romantic relationship with him, their heart truly belonged to Lucifer. While the old Satan would have hated MC (for falling for Lucifer) and Lucifer (for taking MC away from him), the ‘new’ Satan was at peace with the whole thing. If there was anyone that he would want to see MC happy with (that wasn’t him), it was Lucifer. Satan knew that, once the foundation was laid, Lucifer would care for MC just as deeply as he did. Plus, it would be weird for MC to continue dating him when they’re trying to start a relationship with someone who’s technically his dad.

Satan and MC can usually be found in a quiet corner of RAD or the House, studying, reading, writing, and/or debating (depending on the day). They enjoy each other’s company, and they’re able to bond over their love of learning and books. When the demon brothers were under the influence of the Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup and MC had to give each of them an order in order to them to snap out of it, MC had Satan kiss them on the cheek, figuring that it was intimate enough to break the spell the syrup had caused without creating an emotional mess.

Satan’s one of the few people in the Devildom that gets along with all three of the Vesuvian men, which is a huge relief for MC. MC finds the notebooks Satan has that document tales that he’s heard Julian, Asra, and Lucio told, and after skimming through the notes that the Avatar of Wrath has written in the margins, MC concludes that Satan has a crush on the three men. With Satan’s permission (for MC would have kept their mouth shut about the whole thing if Satan didn’t want the Vesuvian men to know that he has a crush on them), MC tells Asra, Lucio, and Julian about Satan’s feelings. 

Bonus: Lucio’s the most surprised out of the three of them, for he had no idea that the most quiet demon brother felt that way about him. Unfortunately for Satan, Lucio does not feel the same. Julian’s flattered by Satan’s crush, and unlike Lucio, the plague doctor allows Satan to kiss him. However, once Julian and Satan pull away, Satan realizes that he has more feelings towards the idea of Julian and what Julian represents than Julian himself. And then there’s Asra. If Solomon and Lucio were the first Devildom/Vesuvia pairing to hook up, Asra and Satan are the second (although they might just become the first Devildom/Vesuvian couple). It’s almost like they needed MC’s permission in order to do anything sexual with each other...

Asmo: MC’s friend and the only brother they have not hooked up with. It always amazes people to find out that the Avatar of Lust hasn’t made any actual sexual advances towards MC, but it is indeed the truth. Sure, Asmo may say dirty things to MC, and he has given them a kiss or two on the lips, but he doesn’t feel the need to go further than that. Asmo’s perhaps the most sensitive when it comes to picking up his sin in other people, and so whenever MC feels turned on by something or someone, the fifth-eldest demon brother takes note. 

The main thing that Asmo does for MC, besides inviting them to spa days and fancy events/parties/networking opportunities, is give them advice on their love life. Since MC is so nice to him throughout their Devildom stay, Asmo wants to return the favor, and he loves helping people, especially when it comes to romance. He was the one that got MC and Satan to sit down together and reveal their feelings for each other after the underground tomb incident, and he also acted like a mediator for Lucifer and MC, ultimately encouraging them to get over their nervousness and start going out with each other (once the situation with Belphie was resolved).

Upon finding out that MC knew the Vesuvian men, Asmo had a lot of questions. Is Julian straight? (no) Am I Julian’s type? (I don’t know) Could MC please ask Julian if I’m his type? (couldn’t you ask him yourself?) How about Asra? (he’s definitely not straight) Has MC witnessed the way Asra acts around me? (very flirty) Is he like that with everyone? (no) Does MC think that Asra’s trying to fuck me? (again, why don’t you ask him?) Is Lucio gay? (no, but he isn’t straight, either; not a whole lot of people in Vesuvia are) Does that mean that MC isn’t straight? (that would be correct) What’s the deal between Asra and Julian? (I believe they were lovers while I was here in the Devildom and they thought that I was dead) How was their relationship? (Toxic; Asra took advantage of Julian) Would Asra do that to me? (I don’t think so; he’s in a healthier place mentally) What about Asra and Lucio? (Lucio took Asra’s parents away from him during his dealings with the Devil) Diavolo?! (No, not Diavolo; a Major Arcana called the Devil)

Beel: MC’s friend with eventual benefits. Contrary to the popular belief that Beel is a giant meathead, he’s actually quite smart. Sure, he may not get the best grades in school, but if someone starts a philosophical conversation with him, he’s not only able to follow along but offer intelligent insights of his own. Some of this knowledge is due to the amount of time he spends with Belphie and (by proxy) Satan, but a lot of it is thanks to research he’s managed to do between eating, doing homework, and playing sports/working out. Philosophy interests the Avatar of Gluttony, particularly when it comes to that practiced in the human world. This is what ultimately piques MC’s interest in Beel, although his looks and offers of sharing and trying new food certainly doesn’t ruin things.

For a while, MC and Beel were perfectly content with being friends. But then the second aphrodisiac incident happened. The first was when the brothers ingested the Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup; the second (which is this writer’s headcanon) is when MC accidentally drinks one of Asmo’s beverages that happened to have an ingredient that made the average human consumer very, very horny (it was an honest mistake, really; how was MC supposed to know that a Devildom version of their favorite smoothie would have that kind of an effect on them?) Beel was the only one home with MC when the aphrodisiac started to affect them, and so he was the one they had to go to in order to get some kind of relief. And he did exactly that.

You see, another not-so-well-known fact about Beel (unless one happens to asks Asmo about it) is that he loves the taste of cum. It doesn’t matter where it comes from (both from an anatomical and racial (angel/demon/human) standpoint); the moment it hits his tongue, Beel’s going to consume as much of it as he possibly can. To put it simply, the Avatar of Gluttony’s ability to suck dick and eat pussy rivals Asmo (because of his sin) and Lucifer’s (because he’s the eldest). He can go for hours if one allows him to do so. For this reason, MC and Beel’s relationship turns sexual, although there’s a bit of a mental hang up for Beel when it comes to MC reciprocating. It’s not that MC’s not willing to return the favor; Beel just feels like the point of that part of their relationship is for him to give them pleasure.

Outside of the sexual context, Beel and MC can often be found in the twins’ room, the attic, the kitchen, the roof of the House, or RAD’s gym. The roof and gym are the only two places where the two of them can get some alone time, because Belphie frequently tags along when they hang out in the other places; the roof is where a lot of Beel and MC’s conversations about philosophy happen, and the gym is where they work out together (or at least at the same time, as a human is far too weak to do Beel’s workout). They’re not the closest pairing, but both of them like each other nevertheless.

The fact that MC knew the Vesuvian men didn’t quite register in Beel’s brain. Mainly, it didn’t make that much of a difference to him whether MC led two lives or not; he was just happy to be connected with MC. That is, until Julian starts telling him that he should let MC give him a blowjob at least once. The plague doctor doesn’t completely understand that Beel doesn’t feel the need to have MC do that for him. The sixth-born gets plenty of pleasure from MC’s pleasure, and that’s enough for him.

Belphie: MC’s side man. MC was initially hesitant to get close to Belphie after the incident in which he killed (an alternate version of) them, but when they saw that everyone else (minus Beel) was ignoring Belphie’s existence, their pity drove them to have at least one conversation with the Avatar of Sloth. Belphie caught on to MC’s pity pretty quickly during that conversation, but he liked the fact that someone besides his twin gave a shit about him, even if it’s the last person he would have expected to care.

One conversation turned into two, which eventually turned to them meeting in the planetarium at least once a week to look at the stars and talk about all kinds of things. The longer they meet, the more chemistry develops between them; this chemistry culminates one evening when, as MC was talking about an annoying demon in one of their classes, Belphie leans in and kisses them. This leads to a slow, sensuous make-out session that leaves both of them out of breath and a bit dizzy (but in a good way).

Belphie’s sexual nature is subdued but full of passion, and he knows exactly how to make MC melt under his touch pretty much from the get-go. If the walls of the planetarium could talk, it would reveal that MC and Belphie have fucked in just about every corner of the room. Sure, they still talk about life, but a good chuck of their time spent is devoted to sexual activities. One could say that their relationship evolves similarly to that depicted in “Beauty and the Beast”.

Belphie really doesn’t give a shit about MC having another life in Vesuvia, because sometimes it means having extra company (that isn’t Beel). Julian and Asra sometimes join MC and the Avatar of Sloth in the planetarium (99% of the time, it’s to simply talk, but there was an incident when Belphie, Julian, and Asra all took turns making out with MC, which made for a very interesting evening), and Lucio and Belphie’s occasional nap pile finds itself a third member in MC. 

[carynnhalen]

Club Olympus was one of Carynn’s favorite spots in Gotham to visit. Usually because security was lax and it was easy to sneak in without paying the cover fee. Maxie Zeus was doing another stint in Arkham, and that meant it would be easy to score free drinks. Carynn weaved her way through the crowd of dancing people and headed for the bar, shoving her way between a couple of frat boys who were trying to work up the courage to ask Deadshot for a photo.

The guy behind the bar sent her a nod in greeting. “Sup, Carynn. You workin’?” his name was Nick. She’d met him a few years ago when he worked in a hole in the wall bar Josie’s that was in Hells Kitchen. He was nice enough. He was one of the only guys Carynn knew that still had a mohawk, but he was nice enough. 

Carynn scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “Taking the night off,” she shouted over the music. “Needed some peace and quiet.” 

Nick laughed, setting two glasses out in front of her. “The usual?” it was a rhetorical question. Nick filled one glass to the brim with whiskey, the top shelf option tonight, and the other filled with a vodka soda. “You stay out of trouble.” he said with a wink, pushing the two glasses towards her. 

“Always do! Later, Nick.” she scooped up her drinks, expertly heading back through the crowd and up to a balcony that usually served to be a little more quiet than the rest of the club. She hadn’t really had much of a plan for her night off. Mostly she just needed to blow off some steam. Between Captain America showing up to her apartment, and her phone ringing almost non stop with calls from Bruce, things were getting a little too mysterious and heavy all at once. 

Carynn plopped down in a booth, her kicking up her booted feet up onto the table. Taking a generous sip of her vodka soda, she pulled her phone out of her jacket and unlocked the screen. More calls from Bruce. A text from Cel. A few notifications from Dante commenting on her Instagram. 

She scrolled through her contacts; Bruce (even though she kept deleting and blocking his number it still seemed to find it’s way back onto her phone), Cel, Dante, Oliver, a few numbers of work contacts...was that it? Carynn sighed, downing the rest of her drink and picking up the glass of whiskey.

“I see you still have no manners.” a voice said in Russian just before Carynn’s feet were shoved off of the table.

Carynn’s frowned, looking up from her phone. “What the fuck do you think you’re-...oh, Christ. It’s you,” she rolled her eyes at the woman that was now sliding into the booth across from her. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere skinning a puppy or something?”

Isabel Rochev. She was the current owner of Queen Industries and a certified nutjob. She smiled sweetly at Carynn, almost like she was happy to see her. She folded her gloved hands onto the table, leaning towards Carynn with interest. The large rock that had once belonged to Oliver’s mother was almost blinding in the flickering lights above them. 

“I’ve missed you too, Carynn.” she said again in Russian, passing a glance over her shoulder quickly before looking back at the red head. “You are hard to find. Not because you’re in hiding, but because you can’t seem to sit still. I almost thought I’d have to forego my little proposition.” 

“You could tell me Keanu Reeves is downstairs waiting to use me as a chew toy. I’d still tell you to fuck off, Isabel.” Carynn said, kicking her feet back up onto the table. 

Isabel laughed a genuine laugh. Like they were good friends catching up. “Unfortunately, that is not the offer I have for you. My contacts have told me that Oliver is on his way back to Gotham. I was hoping you and I could come to an...agreement. I know you and Oliver are not in the best of places. And I know that for the right price you remove problems.” 

Carynn had to admit, this was a first. She’d never really expected anyone to offer her cash to off Oliver. And maybe, if it had been anyone else sitting across from her, she might have considered the job. “If you want him gone you should do it yourself. Nothing says girl boss like killing your sugar daddy’s son...” she frowned, tilting her head. “Was he your sugar daddy? I’ve never really understood your relationship, at least aside from him definitely being married to someone else the entire time...” 

Isabel pursed her lips. “Do not patronize me, Carynn. You and I are far more alike than you will ever admit. You know this deep down. I am offering you a solution to both of our problems.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Carynn spat. “And Oliver isn’t my problem anymore. I don’t waste time thinking about him. I have bigger shit to worry about.”

“Well, what are these problems? Perhaps I can help you. We could form a partnership. Take what belongs to us. I have come a long way since I last saw you-” Isabel looked to her right, into the crowd below them. She visibly froze, her eyes set on something. 

Carynn leaned forward, trying to follow Isabel’s gaze. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bar was a little less crowded now. Carynn could spot one of the exit doors nearby. There was someone standing next to it. She couldn’t really make him out. Long, dark hair. A leather jacket. The black mask covering his nose and mouth stood out the most, but in a place like Gotham it was definitely not the craziest thing she’d seen. 

Isabel looked over her shoulder once more, nodding quickly. A tall man, who Carynn assumed had to be Isabel’s security, stepped towards them. He looked down into the crowd, surveying the area before speaking into an earpiece. Isabel turned her attention back to Carynn, her smile more nervous now than genuine. 

“I must go. Something has come up...please, think of my offer,” she set her clutch on the table, fishing through it before pulling out a business card. “This is where you can reach me. The number is safe, don’t worry. I hope to hear from you soon, Carynn.” 

Carynn watched Isabel walk off with her security guard before sinking down further into her seat and groaning. So much for peace and quiet. She picked up the card, rolling her eyes at the idea of taking up Isabel’s offer. Another number to put in my phone, at least, Carynn thought with a sigh. 

She tossed back the rest of her drink, slipping her phone and Isabel’s card back into her pocket before sliding out of the booth. Maybe she’d go to another club, maybe she’d head home, she wasn’t sure yet. 

Carynn headed downstairs, waving at Nick before slipping out of the same exit that Isabel’s mysterious friend had been standing next to just a few moments before. Carynn didn’t really care who he was to Isabel. Maybe he was some pissed off ex boyfriend, maybe he wanted to kill her. Who could really know? Carynn just didn’t want any part of whatever shit storm Isabel was no doubt stirring up. 

The alleyway outside of the club was quiet tonight. Usually there were a few people milling around, someone puking into the dumpster or arguing about what club to hit up next. Maybe it was still too early for that. Or maybe Batman was out patrolling and had spooked them all. 

The closer she got to the mouth of the alley, Carynn realized she could hear another heartbeat. It was slow, very quiet. Maybe someone passed out in the trash? That was definitely nothing she hadn’t seen before. She slowed down a little, pulling her phone out to pretend she was busy as she approached the dumpster. 

The smell wafting from it nearly smacked her across the face. It wasn’t a bad smell. Completely the opposite. Sort of a smoky yet spicy smell that made her mouth water like in the fall when Pauli’s Diner was serving pumpkin pie. Carynn leaned forward to try and get a look at whoever it was hiding by the dumpster. 

Something hit her like freight train. 

Carynn had been completely caught off guard. Her back smacked against the brick wall, pain radiating down her spine. Her attacker’s hand was around her throat, the gloved hand making her gurgle as she struggled to breathe. Her vision blurred in and out, but she could just barely make out the man that Isabel had been watching just minutes ago. 

“How do you know Isabel? What were you discussing?” more Russian, great. This was very, very, very not good. 

His hand was like an iron clamp around her throat. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. Carynn reached out, swiping blindly at his face to scratch him. 

Mister tall, dark and creepy let her go with an eye roll. Carynn slouched against the wall, coughing. “Talk.” he spat. 

He had gotten the upper hand on her once, that much she could admit. That wasn’t something that would happen again. “I don’t know anything,” Carynn snapped back in English. “It’s not like we’re friends. She’s a pain in the ass...! Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I don’t really have much info-”

She pulled the knife she had clipped to her belt free and lunged forward. Her mystery man moved quickly, but not quickly enough. The blade pierced through his jacket, grazing his skin. 

He grabbed her throat again, slamming Carynn back into the brick wall. She’d been expecting something like that. She grabbed her knife, getting a better grip of it and kicking her feet up against his chest and using all of her weight to shove him away. 

Carynn rushed forward, Dark and Emo blocking her physical blows easily. He moved just as quickly as she did. Now that they were both fully alert, it was difficult for either of them to get a good hit in. Carynn noticed that he didn’t guard his left arm as vigorously as his right, and she saw a window of opportunity. 

She tried to bury her knife into his left bicep. It ripped through his jacket, but the sound that was almost like nails on a chalkboard made Carynn flinch and jump back from him. The blade of her knife had been almost snapped in half. “What the fuck...” she muttered, tossing the dagger aside. 

Her opponent leaned down, pulling a large, tactical knife that was strapped to his boots. He lunged towards her, Carynn throwing her arms up in front of her to block his swing. She kicked down hard at his shin, throwing him slightly off balance as he tossed the knife from one hand to his other, the blade stabbing through her jacket.

Carynn slipped down and around him, jumping onto his back. Her legs wrapped tightly around his wait, she put him into a headlock. Terminator man didn’t seem very panicked, regardless of his airway being cut off. He spun around, slamming Carynn into the wall a few times in an attempt of knocking her off of him. 

Her grip around his throat loosened, instead she decided to try and pull his mask off to get a better look at who was trying to attack her. Unfortunately that distraction left her open, and the man sunk his knife into her thigh. Carynn screamed out in pain, her opponent tossing her off of him easily.

She landed on the ground with a thud. She had to move quickly. He was stomping towards her, his hands clenched at his sides. Carynn ripped the knife from her leg with a grunt. This would definitely slow her down. She couldn’t afford to be slow. 

Carynn tossed the knife. It was better to keep him from it than having it to defend herself. The Masked Douchebag bent forward to grab her ankle. Carynn kicked at him, but he easily smacked her leg away. He lifted her up, slamming her into the wall. Carynn fell face down, groaning loudly. Get up, get up, get up, she told herself. 

The sound of boots stomping towards her made her panic. She reached inside of her bra as the stranger picked her up by her jacket, pulling out the pocket knife she kept there. Before he could throw her again, she plunged the knife into his side. This time it did more damage than ruining his clothes. 

He dropped her, grunting in pain and anger. Carynn used the distraction to push herself up off the ground, rushing away towards the dumpster to put distance between them. Her leg gave out from under her, and she fell into a pile of trash bags. 

Her opponent pulled the knife from his side, once again tossing it aside and heading straight for Carynn. She scrambled backwards, freezing at the sound of a phone ringing. The two went still, looking at each other as the ringing filled the alley way. 

The man reached into his jacket, pulling a flip phone out. “We have spotted the target. Enough of whatever it is you are doing. Get to the bottom of whatever Isabel has planned.” someone said on the other line. 

“Yes sir,” the Masked Asshole said. “Send me the address. I will find her.” he closed his phone, his eyes trained on Carynn. And as quickly as the altercation had started, it was suddenly over. He turned, grabbing his knife from the ground and wiping it clean on his pants. Without looking back at her, he strolled off and out of the alley way as if nothing had happened.

Carynn let out a loud, relieved sigh and sank back into the trash bags. “Holy fuck that hurts,” she hissed out, grabbing at her thigh. Her hands were covered in warm, sticky blood. “These are my favorite pants...I’m gonna find you you goddamn bastard!” she shouted after the stranger. 

She groaned, pulling out her phone. She would heal eventually, but now there was no way she’d be able to make it home on her own. And taxi drivers didn’t like it so much when you bled all over their seats. She opened up a new message, pinging her location and typing the word help to Dante. 

“I fucking hate this city.” she sighed, leaning back to look up at the starry sky above her.

[senaar-ika]

All Sorts of Skills (Kylo Ren)

This fic was requested by @originalposter-96. Due to the sort of AU that I write (Empress!Reader/Kylo) I had to change it up slightly, but I hope you still enjoy it, darling! This is also not super smutty, just a bit of fun really with a hint of teasing at the end!

CW/Tags: ~sexual tension~ and smooching, inappropriate use of galactic titles (you’ll see), canon divergent bc I can, a teensy bit of soft/tired Kylo this man is just worn out from chasing the resistance smh 

Kylo had just returned from a grueling few days tracking a wiley band of Resistance spies across several systems. He was exhausted and frustrated that most of the group had gotten away. As soon as he disembarked from his shuttle you had pulled him into you for a long, deep kiss and then told him to go get cleaned up. Even without a sensitivity to the Force like Kylo, you could sense his chaotic mix of emotions was close to boiling over. 

He had hesitated at first, but you’d given him that firm commanding look that said “Listen to your Empress.” He couldn’t resist your eyes. The power in them. The beauty in them. But perhaps your thinking very hard about how good making love to him tonight would feel helped him along as well. 

Kylo had strode off to your personal quarters to freshen up while you discussed the results of the mission with one of the officers on his ship. Another transport had landed in the middle of your informal debriefing, and you saw a team of troopers lead a Wookie prisoner away. You had thanked the officer sweetly, reminding her not to mention the conversation to your husband. He always worried so much about you knowing the details of his excursions. 

When you returned to your quarters, Kylo was still in the refresher getting cleaned up. You smiled to yourself when you noticed his discarded clothes in a pile of dirty black fabric on the floor next to the bed. It was small childlike things like this that amused you. You stopped smiling when you noticed that his saber was laying amongst all of his clothes. Something must have really shaken him up to be so careless as to leave that just lying on the ground, even if it was in your private quarters.

Gingerly you picked up the saber and set it on the table next to Kylo’s side of the bed. Although the chambers of one of the most feared men in the galaxy were far and away the safest place onboard, he had an old habit of preferring to sleep within arm’s reach of his saber. You couldn’t blame him. 

While waiting for Kylo to finish up in the shower, you ambled into the white walled room in which your husband kept special artifacts. Your shared quarters extended beyond just the bedroom and refresher, and both were incredibly secure. This room, however, was particularly well guarded. Only those closest to the Supreme Leader were permitted entry to deposit items for him to study. 

You frequented the room without question. Kylo knew that your well-traveled eye could be helpful in understanding some of the things he brought back, and as his Empress you were free to go just about anywhere on the ship without consequences. Today it seemed you’d just missed a drop off of the Resistance prisoner’s weapons. 

You didn’t dare touch any of the items laid out on display for fear of altering anything about them. Kylo could read Force imprints held by them and you wouldn’t want to interfere with his process. 

There was a crossbow, a bandolier of ammunition, and a dagger which you were particularly drawn to. The blade was in impeccable condition and inscribed with ancient characters. You leaned down to get a closer look without picking it up, attempting to decipher the archaic text. 

“‘The Emperor’s . . . Wayfinder? Is in the - the imperial vault?’” You didn’t even realize you were whispering the words under your breath as you read them slowly, “‘At delta 3-6, transient 9-3-6 … darling where did you get this?” The coordinates meant nothing to you really, just numbers, so you called out to your husband. The shower had stopped a few moments ago. 

When you heard no response you straightened up and turned around to see Kylo standing just inside the door staring at you with some combination of dumbfoundment and curiosity. His brow was knitted and his mouth slightly agape. His freshly washed hair clung to his head and he seemed to be clutching at the towel around his waist for dear life. 

“You can read the blade?” He closed the distance between you in two fast steps, his voice barely audible. The scent of his soap, of him, so close to you brought butterflies to your stomach. 

You nodded, turning your attention back to the dagger. “Yes, it’s absolutely ancient, but I think I can make it out I just don’t understa -” 

“That’s the language of the Sith.” Kylo cut you off, something he rarely did since the two of you were joined together. His eyes darted between you and the blade, unable to settle on either. 

“Yes, I know.” You sighed, trying to resist rolling your eyes, “I never thought to tell -”

“Who have you been spending time with that speaks Sith?” Kylo’s tone almost sounded hurt, and he kept searching your face with that expression of simultaneous concern and bewilderment. You bit back a laugh, but you couldn’t help but smile at him. His big brown eyes were so focused on you, so serious. 

“I had a life before you, darling, and it was a strange one. You know that.” You gently placed a hand on his cheek as if to steady him. “I’ve picked up all sorts of skills over the years.” 

He didn’t relax much, but brought one of his enormous hands up to rest over the one with which you were cradling his head. “I studied all kinds of paths over the years.” You said quietly, thinking back to your odd upbringing in the Outer Rim. “The Jedi, the Sith, it’s all part of the larger history of the galaxy that I was raised on.” 

Kylo nodded slowly, turned his face into your hand, and pressed a light kiss to your palm. You smiled, leaning up so that you were right in his ear. 

“And language skills aren’t the only tricks I’ve picked up in my time, you know?” You felt your husband’s back straighten and your grin widened. Then you thought very hard about a particular acrobatic move you’d learned during a bizarre stint you spent on Dathomir. The move involved an incredibly suggestive contortion of your hips and legs, and your memory included the lucky warrior who’d taught it to you. 

Kylo’s mood snapped from soft to lustful in an instant. His hands dropped to your hips and pulled you flush with his body. You gave him a wry grin, knowing that your eyes must be glinting with that mischief he secretly adored. His head dropped down to your shoulder. 

“You enjoy the intimate company of Darkside masters, my Empress?” He growled, nipping at your earlobe. You chuckled, low and sultry, running your hands up his back and tangling them in his damp hair. 

“Perhaps,” You breathed, gasping a bit when Kylo began kissing along your jaw and down your neck. “Though nowadays, I mostly prefer the intimate company of you, Supreme Leader.” Using your honorific titles always got the two of you more impassioned, and Kylo practically keened when you hissed out his superlative. 

His lips left your neck and crushed into your own as he swept you up into a bridal carry. The doors to the artifact room whooshed shut once you passed through them and the lock sealed with a clank. Kylo tossed you onto the bed and you landed softly on your back. For a moment he just stood above you, looking down at you all sprawled out for him.

“Now, your excellency,” you made sure to accentuate the title, “what would you like me to do?” 

A devilish smile bloomed across Kylo’s face as he let the towel fall from around his waist. “Well, my sweet, I would love to see some of these skills you’ve been bragging about acquiring.” 

[inactiive-shit]

The Bones of a Miracle

The Bones of a Miracle Masterlist || AO3 [[Next Chapter]]

Chapter 1: Just Doing What We’re Told

Summary: Roman Pyre is called upon to retrieve the missing Crown Prince by the rulers of Aerewadal, one of the strongest kindgoms in the world. He takes the job with the promise of more money than he could ever hope to spend and finally, at long last, peace. How hard could it be to find one Prince? Turns out, not that hard. But bringing him back and getting paid? That's another problem entirely.

Words: 5,250

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Roman had been resting after his latest mission, allowing his tailors to fix his clothes and his beauticians to work their magic on his wrecked hair and nails, and giving his body the much needed time to heal the bruises and cuts he’d gotten for his efforts.

All in all, Roman had very much been looking forward to having some down time. He’d had grand plans of gorging himself on whatever exotic fruits happened to coming in to the ports and attending lavish plays. Roman had even managed to secure enough time off to attend a masked ball at the end of the month, something that he rarely ever got the time to do.

But when the Queen requests your presence at the castle immediately, and instructs that you be ready for hard travel? You don’t delay.

Roman’s pack is filled with his clothes and food, money and the tools necessitated by the less...respected side of his profession. He has no idea what the monarchs might want with him or his skill set, but it’s best to come prepared, and they wanted whatever this was about dealt with quickly, so it would undoubtedly be better if he doesn’t have to come back home for his supplies.

Resisting the urge to curse under his breath from the pace they are traveling at, Roman leans forward in the carriage and gets the attention of the courier sent to retrieve him. The kid is young, barely more than fourteen if Roman were to hazard a guess. They have a nervous air about them, and Roman is sure this is their first assignment on their own, no mentor to give them a nudge in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, “the Queen’s message seemed pretty urgent. I could get to the castle quicker on my own.”

The kid, Ellie or El or Leo, looks down at their frantically tapping fingers and shrugs. Their gray shirt hangs loose on their body, billowing out around the much more snug black vest. “Their Majesties insisted that I escort you there, sir. The task they have for you is of the highest importance and they wish to ensure that you arrive safely as well as swiftly.”

“What is this task meant to be?” Roman asks, deciding against mentioning that he is more than capable of taking care of himself and he’s not sure what help in that regard this kid could give him, besides. The kid darts a look at him but looks away just as quickly; they know something, and they’re not allowed to say.

“Their Majesties did not deign to inform me, sir.”

“Say what you will,” Roman mutters. He leans his chin on his fist. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

The carriage is hot and even though the windows are open, barely any wind makes its way inside to air out the space. While he dislikes the heat, uncomfortable as it, Roman is just thankful that it’s not humid. Humidity makes his already kinky hair unbearably frizzy and he’s not sure he’d be able to handle another stint on the job while fighting to keep his hair out of the way, too.

Roman wonders, on the hours long journey, why the Queen and Monarch would have sent someone as young and untried as the courier before him. He’s high priority from the wording of the message alone, and he’s one of the best at what he does—perhaps the best, if one is looking only for human options, which the monarchs seem to be doing. But this kid is skinny as a skeleton and has the courage of a skittish street cat. Perhaps they make up for it in wit, but Roman is hard pressed to believe that they alone could make the difference in an ambush or duel.

Still, who is Roman to question royalty? They have enough information on him to put him to death without a trial and people would party in the streets for it. It’s a wonder, really, that they haven’t sent for him before now to take care of him and the threat he poses. It’s stranger still that they would want him for such an important and sensitive mission that he’s not even allowed to know what it is until they reach the castle. Then, a secret ‘mission’ would be the perfect excuse to send for him and have him walk willingly into his own execution.

Roman discreetly checks his bag for all of his things. It’s best to be prepared; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“Any siblings?” the courier suddenly asks, dragging Roman from his thoughts. His eyes flick over them.

“No,” he says. “I was the sole ruler of my kingdom, as a child. Rather liked it that way.” They snort indelicately.

“I imagine that would have been exciting,” they say. “I had twelve siblings growing up and I was younger than most of them. I never got to be the ruler of anything.”

Roman whistles appreciatively. “That must have been tough.”

“Nah. Not much more than anything else.” Their voice is soft and unobtrusive. They settle back onto the bench and adjust their skirt. It flares slightly and goes nearly to the tops of their boots, much sturdier and more well-worn than any other article of clothing they’re wearing. Being a servant trusted by the Queen herself should be a position well-paid enough that they’d be able to afford decent boots. This pair is scratched and scuffed, mud caking the soles. Roman has rarely had shoes in such bad condition, even when he spent months tracking down an on-the-run noble and had to do his own repairs.

The courier doesn’t seem much inclined to continue the conversation, and Roman is more than happy to rest. He stretches across his bench and shuts his eyes. It’s going to be a long trip in this heat.

It takes two days that feels more like four to get to the castle. They were forced to stay the night at an inn that Roman wouldn’t have slept at even before he made a name for himself here. It didn’t even have a toilet. There was a hole behind some bushes they were expected to use.

It is an experience that Roman is not looking to repeat.

The courier leads Roman in through the back. There’s no one around to see them except for mice and spiders. There’s not even a guard placed here. He hadn’t been expecting to enter the castle to the sound of raucous applause and a path of rose petals, but this is so far removed from even the other weirdness that Roman encounters on a daily basis that he’s almost taken aback.

His interest is piqued. Whatever the Queen wants him for, she doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Or to know that Roman is involved.

This is going to pay well. Roman can feel it.

“We wait here.” The courier comes to a stop near the doors. The room they’re in is big and has golden fixtures on the walls that contain brightly burning candles. There are other, floating lights and a few sconces emanating shades of blue and purple that Roman assumes are magically imbued. It doesn’t take the most skilled hand to form colored light, but it does take a regular upkeep. An easy way to infiltrate the castle, Roman notes. Give the right person food poisoning and show up in their place. Of course, you’d have to know the layout of the castle to do anything, but as long as he could find the throne room, he’d be able to orient himself. It’s just a matter of finding the-

All the colored lights flicker to searing white for a moment, and the courier moves forward and yanks open the door. Roman has to stoop slightly to follow them in. Though the kid is short enough to go through without trouble, the door can only be five and a half feet tall, if that, and while Roman isn't extraordinarily tall, he is taller than that. That means it’s probably a hidden servants’ entrance. And if they’re willing to show someone as dangerous as Roman a weakness like that...

“Your Majesties,” the courier says, bowing low. Roman does a quick survey of the room while the attention isn’t on him. Doors, curtains, tapestries, pillars, chairs. But something’s off. There’s something missing. Roman’s just not quite sure what it is.

Then it hits him: there are no guards.

“Elliott,” says the Queen. “Thank you for bringing him in one piece.” Roman schools his face so that it doesn’t show his shock; the kid is on a first-name basis with the Queen. They’re important here.

The Queen and her spouse swivel to look at Roman. He steps forward and bows gallantly.

“Roman Pyre. At your services, Majesties.”

“Mr. Pyre,” the Monarch says. They glance over his clothes. Roman doesn’t glower, though it’s a close thing. He had worn the best suit he had left after his last job, a dark red one with gold highlights and a dramatically flared cape. It wasn’t much, but they were lucky Roman hadn’t simply come in his night clothes with the way he was rushed from his own home.

“That is a fine suit, Mr. Pyre,” the Queen murmurs. She doesn’t look at his clothes, instead staring him in the face. Well. Two can play at that game.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He casts an obvious, critical eye over her own wardrobe: a golden gown with purple beading and lace. There’s the sheath of a dagger hidden within the purple lacing that goes up the front. “I would be more than happy to recommend the tailor to you.” The Queen stiffens in her seat. Behind her, in the place a guard would usually stand, Elliott’s eyes go wide with shock at the slight. Roman refuses to lower his head or wipe the pleasant smile off his face.

“Perhaps you should,” she says, but the words aren’t genuine. She stares at Roman. On either side, her courier and spouse do too. Roman stares back, weathering the silence patiently. He knows the power of forcing someone to talk first, and after all he’s been through, he’s not going to allow anyone that.

The minutes tick by, each slower than the last, as everyone silently demands someone else talk first. And then, blessedly, there is a knock at the main entrance, a pair of grand, gleaming doors that reach to twelve feet high. Elliott slips around the Queen’s chair without a word and goes to the doors. They look heavy enough that it would take a team to open them, but the slip of a child does it with ease. Enchanted, Roman thinks. While it’s not unusual for castles to be filled to the brim with charms and enchantments, it is certainly interesting to see who is permitted through them.

Roman doubts there’s a place in the castle that Elliott can’t go.

There’s a muffled conversation at the door and Elliott sticks an arm out, quickly receiving something from whoever is on the other side. They shut the door and rush back to the thrones, offering the Queen a scroll. Roman watches with interest as she reads it, her eyebrows drawing together just slightly.

She releases a sigh through her nose and passes the scroll to her spouse. They read it quickly. Unlike the Queen, they seem energized by its contents, leaning toward her once they finish and whispering. She hums at their words, and finally resigns herself to losing.

“Mr. Pyre,” she says. Roman bows his head. “As you may have gathered, this is not a social call. To be candid with you, I would rather have you thrown in the dungeon right this second to await your trial and, once you are found guilty of your innumerable crimes, both against this crown and foreign empires, sentence you to death than be forced to deal with you now. There have been many times, over the years, that I considered doing just that, to rid myself and my bloodline of your vexing behaviors. However.” The Queen pauses here. Roman stands tall, arms loose and knees ready. His posture is as relaxed as he can feasibly force it, and he takes stock of all of his supplies and exits. Of course, it isn’t the least bit surprising to hear that the Queen has considered killing him before. That is only to be expected. It is worrying that she is openly admitting it. That isn’t the kind of thing citizens like to hear about their rulers. That she is saying it means something.

“How-ev-er,” the Queen says again. She smiles at him. Roman fights the urge to shiver and bares his teeth back at her, “we haven’t had you arrested yet, despite all the evidence piling up. Do you know why that is?”

“I’m just too handsome for the chopping block?” Roman suggests.

The Queen ignores him. “We always knew we might have a need for you. And so we do. Of course, there are people in this world more skilled than you at your...profession. However, most of them are much less reputable than even you and tend to bring back their quarries in poor condition. So, as much as I would like to have you thrown in the dungeon to never again see the light of day...you’re the best option. Even if you are so Fae.” His cheeks flame as he clenches his hands into fists. He can feel it all the way to the points of his ears, knows that his eyes have taken on a red tinge, as they always do when someone feels the need to point out Roman’s past. He debates the merits, just for a moment, of pulling her own dagger on her and slitting her throat with it. There are no guards in the room to stop him.

Unfortunately, Roman has more self control than that.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to make me not assist you,” he says, carefully modulating his voice. The Queen smirks like she wants him to say no, to test her.

“We have compensation for your successful efforts,” cuts in the Monarch. They grab the Queen’s hand with theirs and lean toward Roman. “Enough that you’ll be living the rest of your days in comfort. Along with the reassurance that all of your crimes and misdeeds in the past will be forgiven with a royal pardon.”

“How much money?” Roman asks, down to business now because this is what he’s here for. Roman lives for the money that makes his life that much easier. The pardon is nice too, don’t get things misconstrued, but it won’t matter for long. He’ll go right back to his unsavory profession and begin racking up disdain and wanted posters again.

The sum they name is astronomical. Roman will never have to take another job again. His mouth dries at the thought. Maybe he won’t be on anymore wanted posters.

“What would you have me do?”

“Find our son,” the Monarch says, and when they say it, both rulers look like they’re begging.

Roman sits at a table in a separate room. It looks like some sort of private dining room—the kind that maybe only the Queen and Monarch dine in. Despite the Queen’s obvious distaste for him, much of the castle has been exposed to him. That’s a dangerous thing. Roman knows that they must be serious about this.

The Queen sits across from him, a file in her hands. The courier stands at her elbow, a few more documents held in their arms. Roman glances over the papers, curious. It’s not as much as it could be, but to find someone like the Prince, Roman is going to need all the help he can get.

The Prince is notorious for getting away from his guards to traipse through the kingdom without protection and has a bad habit of disappearing even within the castle, where no one can find him. He’s good at disappearing, and at not being found.

“Here.” The Monarch drops another stack of paper before Roman. He begins leafing through them as the Monarch takes their seat.

“Four days ago,” the Queen begins. Roman drops the papers back to look at her, “our son disappeared.”

“Disappeared how?” Roman asks. The Queen shares a look with the Monarch. There’s a moment of silence before the Queen answers.

“He left in the night, and we believe he was looking for something. We’ve not heard from him since.”

“You mean to tell me that your adult son voluntarily left for a reason you know and you want me to drag him back?” The glare the Queen shoots him is absolutely vicious. If Roman were any less accustomed to violence and hatred, he would quiver under that look.

“There are many kingdoms that would take great interest in knowing the Heir to Aerewadal is currently somewhere in the country, unprotected,” the Monarch says. They motion to the papers sitting on the table. The Queen passes the folder over. It’s filled with descriptions of countries, leaders, and independent parties that have a bone to pick with the Wedian family. Roman raises his eyebrows, impressed. He’s never seen that level of hatred, all laid out.

“Where is this quest meant to take him?”

“Through Wudour Forest,” the Queen says. “And should that not yield the results he wants, all the way to the Fae Lands in the east.” She pauses, as though waiting for some input from Roman. He stays quiet. “He doesn’t have the training to defend himself from such...attacks as he is likely to face there. He does not have magic, nor does he have appropriate training to deal with people as particular as the Fae.

“We believe he is going after this.” Another page falls in front of Roman. There’s a chest depicted, with swirling filigree and delicate latches. “It is said to contain the Book of Cuilezia, the most powerful spellbook in the world.”

“It’s a myth,” Roman says. He drags his eyes away from the drawing to examine the monarchs. “He does know that nothing like that exists, doesn’t he?”

“He’s going after it,” the Monarch says. They look over Roman. “Do you understand the gravity of this situation?” Roman nods once. “We believe that he’s heading straight for Wudour Forest. We’ve sent guards after him, but he’s talented at escaping detection.” They rub a hand down the side of their face. Roman can see the stress that this has caused them, and he winces. “These papers contain everything we know about the path there, how we think he’s likely to travel, and any other information we thought would be helpful. There’s a room set up for you here for tonight, so you can review the information, eat, and rest.”

“You’ll tomorrow morning,“ the Queen orders. “Get our son back.”

“You have my word, your Majesty.” Roman stands and bows deeply to them. The Queen waves a hand and Elliot steps forward to gather up the files.

They escort Roman to a distant room in the castle. The hall it’s in is vacant and dusty, like it hasn’t seen a good cleaning in years, but the room itself is in good condition. There’s a soft, squishy comforter on the most luxurious mattress Roman has ever felt. There’s a plethora of candelabras and sconces around the room that Elliott lights by hand. It leaves the room glowing brightly, in perfectly natural light. Roman feels almost at home.

“Breakfast will be sent for you in the morning,” they say. “You are expected to be off as soon as possible. The quicker you get back with the Prince, the better.” They turn to leave.

“How old are you?” Roman asks. Well, he blurts it. He’s curious about their station here. About what could get them in so close with the Queen.

Elliott turns to eye him. They must not think he has any unfavorable motivations because they eventually softly say, “Nineteen.” Roman chokes on air. Nineteen! They look like a child!

“You must have lived here a long time, then. To be so young and so trusted.”

“I know my way around,” Elliott says with a smile, which isn’t an answer. Roman sighs. “Sleep, sir. You’ll need it to find the Prince. He’s fast on his feet and knows a thing or two about covering up his trail.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman mutters. He hesitates, but Elliott is still waiting in his room so he figures asking a few more questions won’t be too out of line. “You wouldn’t be able to give me any other pointers about the Prince, would you? The more I know, the quicker I can find him.”

“He’s determined,” Elliott says. They pause, seeming to struggle for the words before continuing. “He has a goal, and not getting caught before he completes his task is likely part of it.”

“What’s his goal?” Roman prods.

“The chest containing the Book of Cuilezia,” Elliott says. Their eyes are sharp despite their voice remaining quiet and hesitant. “The Queen showed you a picture of it.”

“Of course,” Roman says, “and a noble goal it is. But there isn’t anything else he may be looking for? Something that, perhaps, he recently discovered and decided he wanted?”

“No,” Elliott says, voice dropping ever so slightly. There’s a silence. “Not that I’m aware of, sir. I’m not privy to all the goings-on of the castle.”

“I’m sure,” Roman mutters under his breath. “Do you know what led him to believe the chest is located in Wudour?”

“He believes the Fae have it,” Elliott says. “A merchant recently came through, bearing weapons of Fae and Elvish make. She swore that she saw the chest with some of the most advanced Fae Healers there are.”

“She didn’t say what she was doing in the company of such esteemed magic users, did she?”

“She neglected to mention that.” Roman snorts and shakes his head. The courier waits a moment. “If that’s all, I’ll leave you to your reading, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s all. You’ve been helpful,” Roman says. “Thank you.” They slip out the door. Roman collapses onto the bed and the stack of carefully clipped together papers bounces up beside him.

“This castle,” Roman says to the papers, “is full of the most gods awful liars I have ever seen.” The papers say nothing back and, groaning, Roman rolls to his stomach, gathers them close, and begins to read.

Roman is completely packed the next morning when his breakfast arrives. The servant says nothing to him, simply sets the tray on the desk and bows out of the room. Roman picks over the food; they’re obviously not too worried about feeding him anything of quality. The gray-ish mush is slimy and the roll is hard enough to make his teeth hurt.

Perhaps they’re trying to run him out of the castle so that he’ll get a quicker start. At least the apple he has is good, fresh and wormless. It’s not the worst food he’s ever been served.

Ten minutes later, a knock sounds at the door. Roman opens it to see the same servant as before.

“Are you ready to leave, sir?”

“But of course,” Roman says, slinging his pack over his shoulder and grinning. “Lead the way.”

Without another word, the servant turns and begins walking. Roman stays a few paces behind, taking in all the halls they passed. It would be good to know the palace’s layout in case he ever got a job that brought him within it.

If he did, he’d have to ransack the kitchen while he was at it and see what kind of delicacies they were withholding from him. He was sure the rulers didn’t eat like that, and he’s curious to see what they do have.

They come out into the misty gray morning. The sun still hasn’t fully risen yet, but the birds are just beginning to sing in the trees. It’s as beautiful as the music played by the Royal Orchestra at the Royals’ and Nobles’ birthdays. The only good thing about the rulers getting another year older is the music accompanying it.

The stables come up before them, and Roman takes a few quick steps to catch up to his guide. “Why are we going to the stables?”

“Their Majesty said to give you one of the fastest horses in the stable, Drukha, to aid you in your travels, sir.”

“How thoughtful,” Roman says. He steps up to the stall door the servant stops at and peers in. The horse staring back at him has a shimmering black-brown coat and stands at least sixteen hands. As soon as she sees him, she whinnies and rears back on her legs to stomp at him. Roman lurches back from the door just as the horse’s hooves make contact. The gates tremble.

“She’s a little skittish,” the servant says. Roman stands far back as the horse is calmed and then let out of the stall. He follows the horse back out of the stable and into the light. She’s already been tacked up.

“Are you sure this isn’t a hellsfoot?” Roman remarks. The horse’s eyes are rolling around her head like she’s been possessed and she stomps her hooves every time Roman gets too close. In the sun, her coat almost looks like liquid more than hair, which is the same texture that the creatures corrupted by magic have.

“There’s not been any dark magic done around the horses, sir.” Roman edges close enough to take the reins, and Drukha screams at him again. “She's likely on edge on account-a the fact you’re Fae.” Roman tightens his grip on the reins and flushes to the tips of his ears, but doesn’t say anything in response. “She’s fast, and strong. She’ll serve you well, sir. Just needs some time to acclimate.”

“Tell their Majesties thank you from me,” Roman says quietly. He manages to tie his pack to the horse without getting a chunk taken out of his leg and then hops on. The horse prances around for a moment, attempting to bite his legs, but Roman eventually gets her somewhat under control. With one last nod to the servant, he turns the horse and sets off.

The streets, once Roman enters them, are crowded. People mill around and carriages trundle through, slow to avoid the citizens walking out into the streets without a care in the world. It would be quicker if he could just walk, but he’d regret leaving Drukha behind once he got to the forest. As much as she may act like a hellsfoot in the meantime and cause more problems than not.

Though, she doesn't seem to be bothered by the crowd or noise of the market. Not easily spooked, then. She'd just have to get used to him and understand who would be calling the shots.

~~~~~

Logan watches passively as the man in the tree curses colorfully. The branch he's balanced precariously on is perhaps thirty feet off the ground and creaking dangerously. A fall from that height could kill him, though it likely won't. He'll undoubtedly be hurt if he doesn't come to his senses and make his way down from the tree, and Logan has a suspicion that the man won't come down if he's told to or not.

But Logan is perfectly content to watch and see where this leads. He has no stakes in the situation, so regardless of what the man does, Logan will be fine.

(Though, he was supposed to have been finished collecting his berries well over an hour ago, now. He's been watching the eclectic, bizarrely dressed man since he'd heard him crashing through the woods. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his actions beyond his apparent inability to keep a singular goal in mind for longer than ten minutes. His current excursion started as an attempt to get a higher vantage to figure out where he was, but he's been chasing a bird up the tree for the better part of fifteen minutes. The bird, for their part, seemed perturbed by the intruder and continually squawked at him to get down.)

Instead of coming down the tree, the man jumps from the branch he's on and barely manages to get his arms around another. With a deafening crack, the previous branch launches off the tree and comes crashing to the ground feet before Logan. The man just keeps dangling from the new branch, legs kicking wildly beneath, laughing. Logan watches him with rapt attention. He's never seen someone so absolutely unworried about death or injury, let alone this far into the woods and alone.

"Oh, shitty fucking dicks," the man says, and the branch he's holding on to lets out an ear-splitting shriek just before it falls off the tree.

And takes the man with it.

He doesn't make any noise upon impact with the ground and Logan wonders if, like with every other part of his appearance and general disposition, he's defied the odds and died.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who you are), upon closer inspection Logan can see that he's still very much breathing. His leg, however, should not be bending at the angle that it is, nor in the place that it is.

And while Logan will concede that, to some degree, all life is sacred and that senseless killing is generally a bad thing, he has to almost wish that the man had ended up dead. If he died, there would be nothing Logan could do about his unfortunate state. As it is, he is merely hurt and desperately in need of help. A broken leg in this forest at this time of day will eventually lead to death or at least further injury, and Logan cannot abide by such things in his forest.

Sighing, Logan secures his pack of berries and roots over his back and and drags the man up. He's heavy, someone who probably hasn't done much physical work in his life but has had enough access to food. Not a commoner, and that's especially evident with the way he's dressed. The clothes themselves don't match at all, almost as if someone simply had to wear what was there and couldn't create a cohesive outfit, the they're made out of expensive fabrics (not the most luxurious, like silk imported from a people somewhere to the north, but good quality nonetheless) that aren't manufactured with the wear-and-tear of the forest in mind.

He's likely some spoiled noble's son who ought to know better than to go gallivanting around the forest alone and ill-equipped. Logan has no love for the nobles, no matter their land, but perhaps he can make a copper or two from helping this man and buy something new for his cottage. He's been meaning to buy some new curtains with star patterns on them for some time.

Logan tosses the man over a shoulder and sets off for home. It's not too far of a walk, and the man isn't much of a burden to carry. And the leg, while it will take some time to heal, won't be too much work either. Maybe this will be a good thing. Maybe it will work out in Logan's favor.

Anyway, how much work can one person be?

[shadowsof-thenight]

Flashlight: Chapter Fourteen

Story summary: This is an AU Two years ago, the love of your life walked out the door, breaking your heart into a million pieces. He had been unable to deal with his ptsd and you hadn’t been able to help him.Now that your best friend is marrying his friend, he’s coming back to town and you try to brace yourself for the reunion. Will you finally get closure?

Ship: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Warnings: mentions of ptsd, descriptions of ptsd, angst, heartbreak, reader wants to help but doesn’t understand ptsd.

Words: 3327

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A/N: I am currently working against the clock to finish this story before my upcoming stint in the hospital, but my health is working against me a little. Luckily I’ve got @beanstalk007​ to help me out! She’s worked hard to make this chapter readable for you all!

Feedback is greatly appreciated! And if you want to get tagged, let me know.

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Masterlist                                              Story Masterlist

***

After a day of back to back meetings, you were ready for the day to end. With a deep sigh you sluggishly shuffled from the office and down onto the streets, feeling dead on your feet. Your back was aching and you were silently cursing your current footwear as you walked to the nearest grocery store. This wasn’t your regular store, but it was the most convenient, since you had planned on taking the subway home today to alleviate your aching body.

Naturally, a different grocery store meant that you were left searching for everything you could possibly need and you wandered the aisles fruitlessly. It didn’t help either that you didn’t know what you wanted to have for dinner. Nothing seemed particularly appetising in your exhausted state. All you wanted was to get home and rest.

It wasn’t until you were on your third aimless loop through the small store that all your unplanned plans fell apart and a new plan quickly formed in your head, as you nearly bumped into a sulking Bucky. He stood had been standing stock still in the middle of the aisles, seemingly staring into the void, when you first saw him. You had not expected to see him here and the expression on his face stopped you instantly. The look was all too familiar, one you had seen a long time ago and it worried you.

Bucky had always been a happy and confident guy, ready to take on the world with a smile on his face. Though that side of him had been long since buried in the past. After his time in the armed services and his untimely departure from that, his behaviour had changed drastically. He had often sported the same look he had now and it was a dagger to the heart, because you were aware that he was suffering.

Despite the changes you had seen recently, thinking that he was feeling better, getting happier, the look on his face just proved you wrong. Back then, he pushed away everyone that tried to reach out to help. Although, looking back none of you had really understood what he was going through and what he needed from you. it might have been easier for him to create the distance.

“Buck? You alright?” you spoke in a soft and gentle tone, carefully placing a hand on his forearm when it appeared that he did not notice you.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact, which only proved to you that he truly had been unaware of his surroundings. Upon seeing you, he was quick to apologise and he even tried to force a smile on his face.

“What’s going on?” You pressed when he didn’t offer any more than that. You didn’t need an answer, not really, you just wanted to keep his mind in the present. To distract him as it were.

“Nothing, sorry,” he muttered with a shake of his head, “Don’t worry.”

Him telling you not to worry caused a rather unattractive snort to pass your lips and he regarded you with a face full of confusion.

“Have you forgotten?” You began to explain, “I always worry,” you joked and he offered another weak smile, one you returned.

“I just had a meeting,” He said, hesitation clear in his voice, before he took a deep breath in, “I mean therapy, I just finished therapy,” He shuffled his feet and avoided your gaze. You remained silent and waited for him to regain his bearings, not wanting to push his buttons.

“M’Sure that can’t be easy,” you offered when he finally looked you in the eye again, he responded with a nod. You weren’t entirely sure what to say, but you knew there had to be something you could do.

The silence between the two of you stretched. Neither one seemed willing to move not did either of you know what words to speak, filling the atmosphere with awkward tension. you glanced around at the racks full of groceries, searching for something to break the ice that slowly clawed on both of your bodies when a light bulb suddenly lit, an idea forming in the the back of your mind. Back when you had just moved in together, whenever one of you had a bad day the other would cook a meal and you’d watch a movie. It wasn’t anything fancy but spending time together without any pressure from the outside world always lifted both of your spirits.

“Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll cook you dinner. You can even pick out a movie to watch,” you said with a small smile, hoping he would accept your outstretched hand.

What followed was another silence in which you could see Bucky hesitant to answer you. He shuffled his feet once again, looking anywhere but in your direction and it made you wonder if you still had any knowledge of who he was. If you could still turn the knobs and push the buttons that were once so familiar to you.

‘Only he can tell you what he needs.’

Sam’s words rang in your ears, making you realise that you had done all that you could do. You offered your help, reached out to him and made it clear that he could talk to you if something was bothering him. And now, it was all up to him if he would accept or decline.

“I promise that I will not ask you about the therapy, my offer is not about that,” you added softly, offering a genuine smile with the hope of making his decision a little easier, “I just don’t like the idea of you being alone when you’re down.”

The pain in your back was long forgotten as you watched him debate the matter inwardly, before finally agreeing. A bright smile formed on your lips as you looked at him. Perhaps your instincts weren’t all that bad after all, you thought to yourself as you began walking down the aisle with him.

When you asked him what he would like for dinner, he shyly asked if you were willing to make him your famous lasagne. Smiling, you nodded in agreement, linked your arms through his and with a new spring in your step you collected the ingredients you needed for the requested dish.

Bucky barely spoke as you collected all the things you needed, but you noticed the distant look in his eyes was slowly disappearing. This dinner wasn’t some magic solution, you knew that, but you had at least gotten him to stop his overthinking ways for a little while. You knew he’d talk eventually, and you would wait until he was ready. Which happened to be by the time that dinner was finally on the table. He managed to initiate some small talk and give out a smile or two.  

You had him laughing by the time he stood up and made his way to your front door at the end of the night. You were grateful to hear the boisterous sound. You noted that his shoulders were no longer slumped in defeat and his steps were light, as if bearing no weight at all. Progress.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said with a genuine smile, that you returned happily.

“You’re very welcome,” you said and made the spontaneous decision to pull him into a hug. You tensed for a moment until you realised that he has returned the hug without hesitation. After he lightly kissed the top of your head, he pulled back and walked out of the apartment, towards the elevator.

As he moved into the elevator and out of sight, you could not help but feel a tad lighter than you had all week. Things were looking up, even if they were still far from perfect. And perhaps you could finally get your life out of the slump it has been in for the past few years.

You closed the door and made the choice to go straight to bed. Tomorrow, Bucky would be moving into his new apartment and it would be wise to rest up and get some shut-eye.

***

The following morning you were rushing out of the door, quickly getting into your car and driving the short distance to Pietro’s place, which was now Bucky’s place too.

You were late. It was well past ten by the time you had reached the street and everyone else was already busy carrying boxes up. You were feeling guilty for sleeping through your alarm and both Wanda and Sam were certain to rub it in. It took your sleep-deprived mind a few long moments of worry before you realised that they were teasing you. Apparently the really work had only started thirty minutes prior to your hasty arrival and they were still busy bringing up the first load of boxes. You chuckled and shook your head, mentally preparing yourself for the rest of the day.

Why was it that the initial feeling of haste never truly left you on the days that you overslept? You had managed to reach your destination and no problems had risen from your tardiness. So why did you feel like you had to run through the day just to catch up? You always hated being late and having to rush and you hated even more how that feeling stuck to you. It’s not like it would change anything. Finally, you grabbed one of the boxes and started moving. Standing still wasn’t going to help.

Walking into the apartment, you placed the box on top of another one and took a moment to take in the living space. You hadn’t been here since Pietro first moved in and it had certainly underwent a bit of a transformation. The then bare walls were painted a stark white and they were covered in pictures and souvenirs of his worldly destinations were displayed on the shelves. The living room was kept neat and you wondered how long Bucky would manage to keep that up before you realised that would be Pietro’s problem. It really was a beautiful, warm and cozy place.

In a corner you spotted Steve and Maria working together on assembling a dresser, making rapid progress. They were usually a team during moves. Nobody assembled furniture as quickly as they could.

Two strong, slender arms wrapped themselves around you from behind and a kiss was placed on your cheek. You chuckled and turned to give Wanda’s brother a big hug. His dark curly hair was unruly and his slight stubble finished the look. Many women would love to run their hands through that head of hair. He smiled brightly and welcomed you, thanking you for your help.

Back in high school, he had simply been the annoying brother of your friend. But over the years, he had become one of your closest friends. He had been a year ahead of the rest in school and when he graduated, college had dragged him to the other side of the country. He had gotten a scholarship based on his accomplishments in track, and after getting his degree, it was track that had him travel all over the world.

It wasn’t until earlier this year that he had finally decided to come home and Wanda had been absolutely ecstatic. They didn’t have much family left and she was happy to have him close again. Though you had only managed to see him a handful of times since then, he seemed at least as happy to be back.

You smiled brightly as he released you, congratulating him on his new roommate, before you moved further into the apartment to find Bucky. The beautiful brunette stood in the middle of his new bedroom, amidst an already big number of boxes, looking a little lost. You chuckled upon seeing it. He looked rather cute like that. The sound that escaped your lips made him look up and he seemed relieved as he greeted you.

“You okay?” You asked with a smile.

“It’s a lot of stuff,” he said incredulously, earning himself another chuckle. You realised that after two years of living out of a suitcase, all these boxes could be overwhelming. You stepped further into the room carefully avoiding all the things that already covered the floor, coming up next to him and looked around.

“Let’s just start with organising this lot, give things a place before we get anything else,” you offered and looked into the first open box you saw,  seeing that it contained books.

You reached into the box and grabbed a few books, putting them on the shelves in the bookcase that Steve and Maria must’ve already finished. Bucky took a deep breath and followed your lead, helping you empty the first box. While the others continued to bring more boxes and unassembled furniture up, you and Bucky wasted no time and made quick work to arrange and place everything.

Conversation was light, nothing too deep, but you were happy to see his lighter side come out again. To see him smiling brightly and doing so often, it was good. And it appeared to you that you were not the only one sensing this change. Steve definitely moved a little easier in his presence and their back and forth teasing was enough to make everyone laugh.

To speed up the process of putting everything away in their respective places, Sam decided to help in arranging the furniture. Clint crouched down with him as they worked on assembling a closet. Both of them were good at these things, but you knew just how impatient they were. While piecing together the furniture, they cursed endlessly like drunken sailors, the ones you usually see in pirate movies, rowdy and obnoxiously loud.

You smiled and turned away from the sight of the working men, instead stacking the boxes with clothes and linen against the wall where his bed would later be placed. Your mind went over all that you had already done in the last two hours and what was still left to be done. Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you turned and tripped over his discarded tripod that was laying hazardously on the floor. Fortunately, Bucky was quick enough to catch you in his arms and you laughed, shaking your head over your own clumsiness.

“Some things certainly never change,” Bucky laughed with you while staring into your eyes with those beautiful blue orbs that held a twinkle in them.

His hands splayed on your back brought back memories and his close proximity made your heart skip a beat. You had your hand placed on his chest to steady yourself and with his own heartbeat thrumming underneath your fingers, you were caught up in the moment. He helped you stand up straight, but neither of you moved away and for a moment you thought of kissing him.

Of course, since the universe didn’t wish for that to happen apparently, a loud curse broke the tension and you both hurried towards the doorway. From where you were standing you could clearly see Clint rolling on the floor with laughter, while Sam angrily yelled at the closet they had been working on. In his haste to finish he had slammed the hammer down on his thumb instead of the nail. With everyone laughing at the scene that unfolded before them, Wanda instructed Sam to ice his thumb before announcing that lunch would be ready in a minute. You took a deep breath and looked up at Bucky who kinked his head, as if to say he was surprised that another moment was interrupted. You could only return the sentiments before walking to the kitchen and washing your hands.

***

When you finally returned home later that day, you were absolutely exhausted. Immediately dropping down on the couch, you couldn’t even bother to remove your coat. Instead you lazily reached for the remote and turned on the tv, ready to watch some mindless show that required zero thoughts from you.

At some point you must have dozed off, because you were suddenly jerked awake by loud knocking. A little dazed, you pushed yourself up and slowly moved towards the door, opening it just a crack. On the other side stood Bucky with a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. Slightly confused, you opened the door further and invited him inside. He made no move to step over the threshold and you stood silently at the doorway, waiting for him to speak. You were far too tired at the end of this week to take the lead here.

“I…” Bucky started nervously, “I wanted to thank you,” he looked down at his feet and you wondered what was making him uncomfortable. Following his gaze you were struck by the realisation that he wasn’t hiding his hand and suddenly you came to the conclusion that he had not done so the entire day. Your sleep deprived mind almost made a comment about it, but you luckily caught yourself in time.

“No need,” you said instead, “Happy to help.”

He nodded, looking up now and staring into your eyes. There was a storm of emotions going on in those blue eyes and you tilted your head to the side, wishing you knew what could’ve caused it. Though you weren’t given all that much time to ponder as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

You were shocked, confused and barely responded, which caused him to pull back. Instinctively you moved after his lips, but he took a step back and looked down again, leaving you hanging. That did nothing to help with the confusion. Your lips tingled and you felt a smile spread across your face. He had kissed you. It had been short, but good. At least, for you it had been.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he muttered and took another step back from you, though this time you were prepared and stopped him by grabbing the lapel of his jacket tightly in your hand.

You stepped over the threshold that separated you now and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you again. Quickly, before you lost your nerve, you kissed him back.

He quickly wrapped you in his arms and deepened the kiss. You stepped back over the threshold, pulling him gently inside of your apartment. Your hands moved from his neck to his cheek and back and breathed in his scent. His arms kept you impossibly close and he moaned into your mouth.

There was a rush of blood in your head that silenced your surroundings and you never wanted this moment to end. Your stomach was busy doing backflips and your heart was running wild inside your chest as your whole body seemed have to honed in on the moving of your lips against his. The kiss was passionate though slow, there was no rush to make it into anything more and you released just how much you had missed kissing this man.

When Bucky finally pulled back, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist, you were thoroughly out of breath. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, and another bright smile broke out on his face, one you could only mirror.

“I’ve thought about doing this all week,” Bucky confessed, placing another peck on your lips.

A giggle passed your lips as you thought the length of time you had been thinking of kissing him. Which was much longer than a week. It was kind of embarrassing, so you opted out of telling him. Now was not the time to be painfully unsexy.

“I wanna do this right,” Bucky whispered, his nose brushing your own “Can I please take you out on a date?”

You breathed out a throaty laugh and nodded with a smile. This was not how you imagined your week ending, but you certainly weren’t objecting.

***

Chapter fifteen

[daedriclorde]

Krent Mon Do Akatosh

Homecoming; Chapter 1, “Forged By Fire and Steel”

Read it here on Ao3!

Riften.

The old woman’s raspy whisper echoed in Aerisif’s ears. The word had been rebounding in her mind since she had spoken with the contact two days ago. It made the pit in her stomach, that Aerisif could normally ignore, burn and twist.

Riften.

Aerisif sighed, and shifted in her saddle. Shadowmere continued to trek along through the snow, her red eyes igniting the clouds billowing from her nostrils. When the Night Mother told Aerisif to meet the bitter crone in Dawnstar, Aerisif thought she had landed an easy contract. She didn’t even need to travel to meet the contact and learn the specifics of her target. Could anyone a frail old woman wanted dead be a worthy adversary? Aerisif would be back within a few days, at most.

A bandit had killed this woman’s only daughter, and she wanted revenge. It was a story Aerisif heard often enough. But when she asked where to find the bandit, her heart nearly stopped.

Although that had been two days past, Aerisif had delayed in embarking on this journey. She had made claims to Nazir and Babette that she needed to rest, to heal, even to test the new recruits, before she could take on the next contract. They both accepted her excuses, but Aerisif expected that the shrewd pair saw them for what they were. Excuses. But her family would not confront her with their suspicions. They trusted Aerisif, as she had proven herself to them time and time again.

The real reason Aerisif dreaded this contract was not one she would share with her newfound family, although she felt that perhaps she ought to have. After all, Nazir and Babette were all the family she had left.

For however long they, or I, last, Aerisif thought.

They would not be the first family torn from Aerisif. Her birth family was stolen from her long, long ago, as a child in the Reach. Forsworn had raided her family’s farm while she had been out foraging in the mountains. Young Aerisif returned to find her home razed, the crops torched, and her family as desiccated corpses. Fire and steel had taken away all the child had ever known.

Soft snowflakes landed on Aerisif’s hood, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she shivered. In this line of work, losing her Dark Brotherhood family was more likely than not. They had already lost most of the family when the Penitus Oculatus routed their Falkreath Sanctuary. Left as head of the family when Astrid burned, Aerisif moved the survivors to the newly discovered Dawnstar Sanctuary to rebuild. Fire and steel took most of this family, too.

The Brotherhood had been thriving in the recent months. Nazir’s first batch of recruits turned out to have a natural talent for assassination, and were able to be trusted with small contracts rather quickly. With all the unrest in Skyrim, tensions were at an all time high. Tension made for good business for the Dark Brotherhood.

They were so overwhelmed with contracts that it fell to Aerisif to see this one out. The new recruits were both out on assignment, and Nazir had his hands full training two new ones. Babette had to meet a contact in Morthal, and left the same day Aerisif met the woman in Dawnstar. So, Aerisif must travel to Riften to eliminate some damned outlaw.

Riften.

This time, a pair of piercing emerald eyes accompanied the thought. Aerisif felt her breath leave her with the image. She pulled her cloak closer around her again, but the cold she felt now was inside her.

Loss seemed to follow Aerisif everywhere she went. She had lost so many loved ones over the course of her life, that joining the Dark Brotherhood seemed natural. Aerisif felt no more.

The Dark Brotherhood was not Aerisif’s first adopted family. She remembered arriving to that world weary city of the Rift so many years ago. She had been a young woman, eager to start anew, and, as crossing Skyrim does to a traveller, low on coin. Aerisif had no real plan once she left the Reach, just to get as far away from it as she could. She had heard the trading caravans talk of the beauty of the Rift, and it was a whole hold away from her. It seemed like a fine goal.

Aerisif arrived at the Riften gates midday. Cautious, she took refuge in a grove of trees within hearing distance but out of sight of the gates. It sounded like the guards were collecting a fee from those who tried to enter the city.

Aerisif pulled out her coin purse. It had maybe, just maybe, enough for a room at the tavern, but no meal. There was no extra gold for greedy guards. Aerisif pocketed the coins and considered her options. She was too small in stature to look intimidating enough to get the guards to lay off her. But she had learned to use her size to her advantage on the cold, stoney streets of Markarth.

An orphan lived a rough life. Aerisif took refuge in a damp corner of the Warrens. She quickly learned to use her youth and innocence to guilt coin from passersby as a beggar, and this kept Aerisif fed for a number of years. Not well fed, but she had not starved to death. But time is cruel, and soon Aerisif look too grown to illicit sympathy for a child, and she found other means of collecting her coin.

Pockets are so much easier to pick as a slight, nimble figure. Aerisif could slip in and out of crowds unnoticed. She found her fingers to be quick with locks, too, and that the shadows cloaked her easily.

Aerisif discovered that she made a fair thief.

She was not without her blunders, though Aerisif often found that a sweet smile and remorseful eyes could often tempt a guard to forget what they had seen. In this too, this new stage of life, Aerisif found she could keep herself fed. And just a little better than she had as a beggar.

Behind the grove of birch trees, Aerisif sat and waited. She doubted she could smile her way out of that “visitor’s tax”. Luck must have been smiling upon her, because a trading caravan soon rumbled up the road to the city. One, two, three wagons rolled over the crest of the hill. Aerisif slipped out of sight and waited for her chance. As the third wagon rolled away from her hiding spot, she nimbly lifted herself into the back of the wagon and looked for something to cover herself with. As her hand found soft folds, she smiled again.

This wagon was full of furs. Aerisif quickly buried herself under the layers of furs, and hoped the guards would be lazy about searching the contents.

A moment later, the wagon rocked to a halt. Through the layers of furs, Aerisif heard the exchange.

“Halt, traveller. Before I left you in, you must pay the visitor’s tax.”

The Nord driving the lead wagon scoffed. “Visitor’s tax? I think not, my friend.”

The guard stiffened his tone. “Listen here, either you pay the visitor’s tax, or you can take your business elsewhere.” Aerisif held her breath. If this caravan left, her plan was in trouble.

The Nord sighed, clearly annoyed. “Then you can tell Jarl Laila Law-Giver that she can pick up her shipment in Shor’s Stone. See how pleased she is with that!”

The guard sputtered. “Right this way,” he muttered, and Aerisif heard the gates grind open.

Aerisif released her breath. Luck really was smiling on her today.

Once the last wagon crept through the city gates and she watched the guards pull them shut behind her, Aerisif slipped out of the wagon, and with a flick of her wrist, pulled the topmost fur off the pile and into her sack. She wanted to eat tonight.

“That’s a smooth move, lass,” The honeyed brogue made Aerisif jump out of her skin.

She spun around to find the source. A man with red hair, dressed in fine blue robes chuckled from the shadows. Aerisif put a hand on the hilt of her dagger.

“Now now, there’s no need for that lass. You don’t need to fear me calling the guards. But it looks to me like you could use some refinement.” He was leaning casually on a post, arms crossed, gazing lazily from the shade.

Aerisif squinted at the man and calculated. Could she trust him not to out her to the guards? She relaxed her hand from the hilt of her dagger. While on the road she had had to slit some throats to protect herself, but killing this man in the middle of the hold capitol was folly. Sighing, she approached him hesitantly.

“Refinement, you say?” Aerisif glanced around, but it seemed that there was no one nearby, and the people drifting around the market were too far away to hear or even see anything.

“Aye. It seems that you and I share a trade. Not that I would put that little stint on the same level as what I do, mind you.” Aerisif felt her blood boil and looked at the man’s face. She found a confident smirk on his face. And green eyes, clear like flawless emeralds, shining with playfulness. Aerisif quickly shook her gaze from his.

“And what is it exactly that you do?” Aerisif tried to hold herself in a way that was a confident and casual as this mans, but felt that she was not being successful.

“You could say that wealth is my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?”

Aerisif felt her stomach grumble. Yes, a taste of mead and a hot meal. She eyed the man again. She found intrigue on the man’s face and, what else? Was there more to that glint in his eye than gold?

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, and need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid.”

She eyed him calculatingly. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple. I’m going to cause a distraction and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from a strong box under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing.”Aerisif followed his gaze to the Argonian and Dark Elf in turn.

“Now, you tell me when you’re ready, and we’ll get started.”

Aerisif took a breath. Was this all happening? She hadn’t really had a plan for her new life in Riften, but starting out by thieving seemed…well, it seemed natural, really. It was what Aerisif had done most of her life now.

She turned back to the man. “I’m ready.”

The next few minutes were fuzzy in Aerisif’s memory. She remembered finding the strongbox easy to pick, but she hardly remembered how she crossed the bright, sunny market and found herself wedged between Brand-Shei’s stand and the stone half wall that encircled the market. Suddenly the silver ring was slipping into the elf’s pocket, and Aerisif stood. She realized where she was standing, and hoisted herself on the half wall, trying to look like she had casually perched there while listening to this stranger talk about…Falmerblood Elixir?

As the crowd dispersed, Aerisif slid off the wall and over to the smirking man. She found him expecting her. Aerisif told herself that her racing heart was due to the rush of committing a crime, nothing more.

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go, your payment, just as I promised.” He slid a heavy handful of gold to Aerisif, who pocketed it quickly. The man looked away, and for the first time, Aerisif saw a more serious tint to his gaze as he looked off at a corner of the town. “And the way things have been going around here, it’s a relief our plan went off without a hitch.”

Aerisif frowned. “What’s been going on?”

The man spat, “Bah. My organization’s been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there’s more where that came form…if you think you can handle it.” The playful, cocky spark had returned to the man’s green eyes.

Aerisif drew herself up tall. “I can handle it.” she smirked.

The man eyed her carefully. “Brynjolf,” he extended his hand.

She shook it. “Aerisif.”

“Aerisif…” Brynjolf seemed to roll her name around in his mouth, like he was tasting a fine mead. He turned to her. “If you can make it to the Ragged Flagon in the Ratway, we can discuss your employment with my other associates.”

And so Aerisif’s career as a member of the Thieves’ Guild began. She trained hard, working feverishly to improve her skills. She found that many in the Guild were like her, no family to speak of, came to Riften, some directly to the Theives’ Guild, to start a new life. Many of her new brethren were willing to help Aerisif build her skillset. Others, like Vex and Delvin, were willing to give her chances to prove herself.

And Aerisif thrived. She had been a fair thief in Markarth, and she became a master thief in Riften. She trusted the guild members, and they trusted her. Trusted her to handle special tasks that required a skilled hand, tasks that brought gold to their coffers and merchants to the Flagon. And when the Guild was so cruelly deceived by Mercer Frey, they trusted her to take him down, along with Brynjolf and Karliah.

And it was with Brynjolf that Aerisif became a Nightingale, and swore herself to Nocturnal. It seemed that luck truly had been smiling on her the day she arrived in Riften, albeit in the form of the Daedric Prince of Shadows.

It was with Brynjolf that she took jobs, watching each other’s backs. It was with Brynjolf that Aerisif found she could confide and trust.

And it was with Brynjolf that she fell in love. Aerisif could still remember the first time he cupped her face in his hands and their lips met. How his eyes, his sparkling emerald eyes, looked when they were filled with warmth and affection.

Those bright, emerald eyes. They undid her. And it was Brynjolf’s deft fingers, nimble with more than just locks, that undid her laces, away from nosy guild members.

They kept their affections a secret from the others. In a guild where the gold, the beds, the meals, the victories, and the losses were all shared, it was delicious to keep one thing for themselves.

Aerisif was elected to Guild Master once Mercer had been extinguished. She refused it over and over, declaring Brynjolf was better suited to it. But he and Delvin and Vex would hear none of it. It had to be her. And so Aerisif took the mantle of leading the Guild. Her new family.

One crisp autumn, she and Brynjolf were sent to pull a job in Falkreath. They were hiding in the Jerall Mountains on their escape, to avoid any of the Jarl’s men searching for the thieves that dared strike their precious town. Drunk on victory and some Black-Briar mead, they stumbled into an Imperial trap.

Surrounded by so many, they had no chance of escape. She and Brynjolf exchanged slow looks, their hands in the air and their weapons on the ground. Why were there so many Imperials here? They had not been there on their voyage west. The Imperials clamped them both in irons and pulled them separate ways. But to Aerisif’s confusion, they were not interested in their stolen goods. They just seemed to want to keep them silent, and apart.

Two days of silence later, Aerisif learned why.

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was dragged into camp, heralded by shouts and jeers from the Imperial soldiers.

They didn’t want us to ruin their trap, Aerisif realized. But then, why were they still being held? They had to get out. If the Imperials had caught Ulfric, the situation was dire.

Aerisif made a desperate attempt at escape that night. She had freed herself from her fetters, incapacitated the guard keeping watching over her cluster of prisoners, and made it all the way to where they were keeping Brynjolf before the guards caught and beat her. She could have bore the blunt of their blows, but when Brynjolf raised his head to the commotion and saw what they were doing to her, his pained gaze broke her.

Brynjolf cried out, begging, pleading, for them to stop, but all that did was earn him punishment of his own. Aerisif had never heard Brynjolf sound this way, like a wounded animal. It made her gut twist.

Aerisif had opened her mouth to shout to them to stop but never had the chance. Her breath released in a rushed sigh as a warhammer knocked her out.

When Aerisif next awoke, she was in the back of a wagon rumbling down some forested road.

“Hey, you’re awake,” one prisoner across from her spoke.

Aerisif straightened as she became aware. She glanced at her fellow prisoners. Two across from her, similarly bound as she, and one to her right. Her eyes widened when she recognized the Jarl.

If I’m in the same wagon as Ulfric Stormcloak… She left that thought unfinished, shuddering at the implications.

“Where are we? Or, where are they taking us? Where is Brynjolf?”

“I think we must be near Helgen, but I know nothing of this Brynjolf you speak of.”

“Red hair? Green eyes, wide frame? From the Rift?”

The other prisoner looked up. “Aye, I saw the man.”

Aerisif whipped in his direction. “Where is he? Where did they take him? Is he in another wagon?” She began to search around to see where there wagon was within the caravan, but found that they appeared to be the only cart of prisoners. She felt her stomach knot and her heart race.

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry…he…he did not make it. The Imperials killed him before we even left camp.”

Aerisif felt all the breath leave her body. The world was spinning. She thought she would vomit for a moment, before a solid rock replaced the knot in her gut. “Are… are you sure?” She asked in a small voice. Her eyes welled with tears, and she felt like a child again.

“I saw the Imperials do the deed with mine own eyes. I’m sorry, kinsman.”

Aerisif did not speak again for the rest of the journey. She faintly heard the other prisoners converse, something about a horse thief, Rorikstead, and the war, but she heard them as if she was far away, catching their conversation echoing through the mountains. Guilt rushed into the void inside her, venomous and sharp. It had been her idea to travel through the mountains. It had been her that opened the mead to drink while they walked. It had been Aerisif that chose to bring Brynjolf with her on the job, and her that got him killed when she tried to break them out.

If it hadn’t been for Aerisif, Brynjolf would still be alive.

Imperial shouts woke Aerisif from her blank state. They were ordered to move. She did as she was told. There was no more fight in her blood. She felt as if her life force had been drained since she had heard of her love’s death, forced by her hand. Aerisif was ready to die too.

She watched the horse thief make a break for it, and watched his body crumple from the rain of arrows that pierced him a heartbeat later. Aerisif considered following him; she was doomed for the headsman anyway, what did it matter how she died? But she found she had not the energy to run. Best to just let death come to her.

The sweet release of death was in the air, and Aerisif could just nearly taste it.

Emotionlessly, she watched the first head roll. The wind roared and the leaves on the trees shuffled. It was her turn.

Aerisif lay down on the block obediently. She closed her eyes. There was no need to watch the axe swing to her.

The earth shook and Aerisif’s eyes were jolted open. She thought she must have died already, for there was no other explanation to what she saw.

A dragon, black as midnight, was perched atop the tower above, staring down at her.

In that moment when his molten eyes met hers, Aerisif felt something she had never felt before. She felt her blood surge and rage. She felt a beast rear up and roar in her chest that had never before awoken.

Unbidden, Aerisif’s legs pushed her up from the ground and led her away from the inferno that blazed where she had lay a moment before. A tempest of fire and steel erupted around her.

She did not remember how she did it, but Aerisif survived Helgen. She recalled the other prisoner she travelled with calling her, leading her away, and blindly, she followed.

For all the hopelessness that had been festering inside her, new life sprung like green shoots in the spring. She wanted to live. Why? How dare she? When Brynjolf died she had been ready to join him. She longed to be beside him again. But instead of the resignation that dwelled complacently inside her before, the new beast demanded she continue on.

Skyrim needs you. Tamriel needs you.

In Whiterun, that beast was given a name: Dragonborn. It had a voice too, that shouted out all the rage and pain inside Aerisif: Her thu’um.

And so, Aerisif continued. She did as the Greybeards asked, she followed Delphine’s guidance. She travelled Skyrim to Sovngard in her quest to save it all. To give all others a chance at the peace she would not know. She slew dragons and draugr and dragon priests and anything else that stood in her way. Once a woman of daggers, she found the weight of a greatsword to be a natural extension of her being.

Shadowmere halted to graze on the green, tough grass, and the sudden stop jolted Aerisif back to the present.

Grass? She looked around. She had reached the plains of Whiterun Hold.

She sighed. Helgen was a lifetime ago. Sovngard was a lifetime ago. When she had returned from the after life, she felt the dragon inside her settle and tuck its head under its wings.

Rest now, it had said. You have done all that I asked.

It was not rest that Aerisif sought. Instead, she unleashed her pain through the Night Mother’s bidding. It did not satisfy her, but it kept her busy. And busy kept her alive.

Aerisif breathed in the warmer, kinder air of the plains. She pulled Shadowmere from her grazing and urged her onward.

To Riften.

[amplesalty]

Christmas 2020: Day 6 - The Preacher’s Wife (1996)

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

six years in jail!

I’m always on the lookout for more Christmas movies to add to the list as I feel like the pool of movies is infinitely smaller than when looking at Horror movies and I’ve already dealt with a good chunk of the classics, if not all of them. Which is why I was intrigued to see Radio 2 were dedicating a portion of their output to a rundown of the nations top 25 Christmas movies. Perhaps there could be a hidden gem amongst that? It kinda backs up the idea that I’ve seen pretty much the best this season has to offer given I’ve already looked at 95% of the list but yeah, there are a couple amongst them that are new to me.

Arthur Christmas (2011) A Christmas Story (1984) Die Hard (1989) Elf (2003) Gremlins (1984) The Holiday (2006) Home Alone (1990) Home Alone 2: Lost In New York (1992) How The Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) It’s a Wonderful Life (1947) Jingle All The Way (1996) Joyeux Noel (2005) Love Actually (2003) Miracle on 34th Street (1994) The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992) National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1990) Nativity! (2009) The Nightmare Before Christmas (1994) The Polar Express (2004) The Preacher’s Wife (1997) Santa Claus: The Movie (1985) The Santa Clause (1995) Scrooge (1951) Scrooged (1988) White Christmas (1954)

I certainly have some issues with this list, like Miracle 1994 over 1947? Grinch 2000?! And as much as I personally love Jingle All the Way, I don’t know if objectively it has a place among the very best, it almost feels like it’s here by default. But yeah, amongst this we have The Holiday that I’m only vaguely aware of but have never seen and the subject of today, The Preacher’s Wife. This I’d never heard of before whatsoever. Apparently it’s a remake of an older film called The Bishop’s Wife so I’m breaking my rule of not seeing the original first. I suppose I can always come back to it one day. Turns out It’s a Wonderful Life came top of the list in the end which is fair enough. I’m not sure if I could choose 1, I feel like Home Alone, Wonderful Life and Miracle are all pretty interchangeable at the top, it’s hard to narrow it to just one of them.

The title seems a bit odd to me as it’s only sort of peripherally about the wife, it’s moreso about the husband who is the eponymous preacher who oversees a church in a small town of New York City but struggles to meet the needs of his parishioners and his own family. It’s kinda like the Hollywood Dad problem I’ve covered in Jingle All the Way, only on a wider scale and honestly kind of harsher. Like, Arnie was trying his best the only way he knew how for his family. Reverend Henry Biggs here is doing the work of the Lord almighty, trying to help everyone he can right down to the troubled kids of the inner city who have nowhere else to go when their local youth centre is shut down. Sure he might be neglecting his own flock a little but this is a man who is trying to do the best for his community. It’s funny how even his own mother in law recognizes this and actually sticks up for him quite a bit. Quite a change from most media where the mother in law is quite down on the husband.

I don’t know quite what the deal if with him and his missus, like he starts giving a sermon about temptation and gives her just the absolute dirtiest look ever. Guy swings around like he’s the Dramatic Chipmunk and just stares daggers at her.

Where the title does become apt is how the movie feels like a bit of a vehicle for Whitney Houston as Julia who does a great job as part of the church’s gospel choir. I guess she needed some redemption after The Bodyguard. That film is always so well remembered for it’s soundtrack and Houston’s version of I Will Always Love You especially. That was Christmas number 1 over here in 1992 as part of a ten week stint so that ties in nicely. It’s use in Spider-man Far from Home stands out to me though, that intro was hilarious.

With the whole youth centre thing, the movie does take on an element of one of those 80s/90s kids movies like Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo when this wealthy real estate tycoon is trying to gentrify the local area and headhunt Biggs to lead his new church built within the grounds of his new residential estate, a church that comes complete with conjoining day care centre and it’s bespoke stage with studio setup to broadcast Bigg’s sermons. It’s a plotline that feels a little incidental though as, whilst the real estate man Joe Hamilton does pop up on adverts early in the movie, he doesn’t really factor into the movie and his motives aren’t known until later on. It doesn’t go nearly as far as some of those other movies where you have people barricading the streets and chaining themselves to buildings as the bulldozers roll in.

The movie does have a tendency to mix in all sorts of subplots so it can feel a bit chaotic at times. You’ve got Henry and his wife going through some marital strife, their son’s best friend having to leave for a foster home out of town, the looming threat of Hamilton closing the church, one of the local teenagers up in court on a false count of armed robbery, the church falling apart, rehearsals for the church’s nativity play that is going out on local tv…

Oh, and the emergence of an angel. Yeah, we’re going all It’s a Wonderful Life here. I think they must have been aware of the potential for comparison there since they have chosen to forego the usual use of it as their archival film of choice that people are watching around Christmas, instead opting for Miracle on 34th Street. Nice to have a bit of variety I suppose. They show the mother-in-law watching the end of the film and she’s tearing up at Susan getting her dream house. Pfft, everyone knows that Santa with the Dutch orphan girl is the real emotional tear jerker of that movie.

Only Denzel Washington as Dudley is much more creepy than Clarence ever was. Like, he’s meant to be this guy who has been in heaven for so long waiting for a chance to come back down to Earth to fulfill his duties that he’s kind of forgotten what everything is like. But it’s to a point that he seems to forget all sense of boundaries and how to behave in reasonable society as at one point he just leans in to smell this one lady. Plus people react like he’s the most handsome man to ever grace this town and there’s the growing sexual tension between him and Julia, to the point that Henry and Julia’s mother think the two of them are having an affair. Maybe she has a history of this or he’s just really paranoid and that’s what all that stuff was about earlier. Though I think Henry should be more worried about Dudley usurping his position as Father to young Jeremiah as he talks the kid through his best friend having to leave.

I was really emotionally invested in these two, they’re so cute! Seeing their story resolved was far more heart warming then anything else. Look at them holding hands!

Even if Biggs trying to get that one kid out of jail did reveal that he subscribes to the Larry David philosophy of how you can always tell if someone is being honest by looking into their eyes.

And don’t get me started on Julia. This is a school nativity, maam. Why are you upstaging all the kids with your elite singing voice? I get you want to have it go well but surely there are understudies you can send out when Mary number 1 has to leave. I didn’t get that either, it’s implied that Dudley did it as the girl suddenly complains that the doll for baby Jesus wet her and Julia finds it’s one of those dolls that pisses itself, but why would he do that? Unless this is his idea of projecting the best image of the church in order to help save it.

[ophiniaonistecua]

((Why not s’more))

She’d seen these buildings before, usually from a safe distance. Police stations were more easily hassled and molested, given the circumstances, but these places were built to operate above it all. The idea, as she heard it, was to promote a healthy relationship by handing power and authority to the new class, instead of enforcing it themselves.

She was told it was a facade of power, where dogs were trained to sit on command, while also being told that it was all on them. Simultaneously exerting control while washing their hands of responsibility. A cake that is had and eaten all at once. From a distance, such things are easier to say. Few things survive a closer analysis, and that included her own views.

It was such a rich structure, with glass and steel, and brickwork on the side. Meant to inspire the familiar, the modern, the accepting, the new.

Or so she heard. She really didn’t know much about human history.

T-Rex, however, was less appreciative of her analysis. To him, it was akin to a bank robber callously walking straight into a bank, flipping every desk to find every alarm. Admittedly, this metaphor wasn’t appropriate. He was more upset that she was beating around the bush. The outside was not the reason she was here.

“Miss Liz, I’d like to remind you that your bag would better be placed inside. Your room is ready and waiting, after all.” He said with a polite cough. “And perhaps you can dress into something less provocative? The vibrant orange and reflective strips are not complimenting your appearance, if you’ll excuse my language.”

Her crossed arms tightened as she provided him with a dismissive glare. With a chuckle he reached for her bag instead, offering to carry it. Liz provided not rebuttal, even as he entered without her. 

“Not going to hold the door!?” She shouted, finally relenting to enter the place. A wash of cooler air brought her off balance.

“You’ve shown not interest in manners. And nothing more insulting than to continue with manners when someone prefers otherwise.” T-Rex, despite being quite large, and speaking with a hefty voice, had a curious gentleness to his intonation. He chose his words carefully, or at least with more care than she was used to.

“Now then, shall we get to business?”

“What business?”

“The business of telling you where your room is, and what needs to be taken care of. Miss Liz, I can’t help but get the feeling you’re not taking this situation with the kind of seriousness I had in mind when I suggested it.” His voice sounded disappointed, as did the lowering of his brows.

“Then you shouldn’t look for recruits in a prison.” She snidely remarked, her rear bumping the door closed. Instead of heading along, she remained leaning against it.

“I can’t claim to be psychic, miss Liz. I only believe that people in prison simply need guidance. Especially with a background as your own.”

“And what if I just hoof it?”

“I’d question your logic of running while wearing your prison garment, instead of at least changing into something less suspicious. Following that, I’d wonder how interested your old friends would be in you, given that this deal wasn’t exactly done under cloak and dagger circumstances.” He placed her bag on the table and, figuring she wasn’t going to budge, waved his hand a few pictures on and besides the refridgerator.

“That one is Lilly. A little younger than you. Holds beliefs like my own, though too zealous for her own good. I requested she be moved to another district, but they insisted I fluff out my squad before making requests.” He started off, aiming at a picture of an orange-scaled lady. Liz knew that kind of build; the bulky kind, bound to try and meet human standards.”Or was it Lucy? I’m quite sure she flips a coin on that.”

“And that’s Terry. A thrill-seeker. Plenty of those each year. Similar to Lilly, with the type of parents to push him to the safer spots so he doesn’t get too hurt.” The bright orange, slender head had such a wide grin she almost felt like she’d met him before. 

“And then there’s me. But there’s nothing to be said about me. Just a big old softy who thinks that everyone has good in them.”

“Would you kill a man to save another?” Liz asked with a straight face.

“Miss Liz, if you’re asking questions like those, you’ve never considered the importance of context.” He replied with a healthy chuckle. 

“Are you going to keep calling me ‘miss Liz’ then?”

“I’d call you Elizabeth, or Lizard, but I’d rather not create any undue animosity. Respect is earned, after all.”

“But.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. She shifted from the door only to take a glass and drink from it. The open kitchen saved her the awkwardness of having to ask. “You’re in charge.”

“You believe that power comes with exceptions?”

“Wha?” 

T-Rex seemed to lose it as he covered his nose in confined snickers. Liz was not as happy, if only because she didn’t fully understand the comedy. She asked again and again, before he recovered and answered properly.

“You know, my father had a good saying to live by. The king holds not the keys, only the favor of the ones that do. At the end of the day, abusing my power for petty entertainment wouldn’t help anyone, would it? Or, how does that other saying go: 'Any man who must say I am the king is no true king?' Pah, listen to me, going on. Do tell me when I’m babbling too much, I’d rather not stink the place with an air of pompous book clubbery.” His chuckling had not ended.

By this point, Liz just gave him a cold stare. He laughed at his own jokes, he talked like some librarian who read books purely for the quotes, and seemed oblivious to his own position in life. With another sip, she stilled her mind.

“They’re out on a little stint. Groceries, I mean.” His eyes darted to the clock. “If you’re fast, you can get to your room and change. Not to imply I have anything against it. I just have the feeling you’re dressed like this to provoke.”

The yellow lady plopped her glass down with a heavy thud and shrugged. Even as T-Rex grabbed her bag and headed to the oddly placed spiral staircase, she refused to move. “What about it?”

“How about another saying? ‘You can’t bury the past you’re carrying with you?’ I’m sorry, that’s a little too direct. If you want your bag, I’ll leave it upstairs, second room on the... only wall on the upper floor.”

Her eyes peeked up a minute. The staircase went to an elevated walkway. Indeed, it’d be strange if her room was over the railing. A soft snort came from her nostrils, the only acknowledgement that T-Rex had a proper sense of humor. With a heavy steps, she moved forward. Not so much to change, moreso to get her stuff out before he got in it, and maybe put on some shoes.

And he wasn’t kidding. Ascending the stairs, she saw the rooms and nameplates. Somehow, Lilly was also labelled Lucy. On a small spinning rail. Giving it a twirl, either name ended on top, left or right. A lot of work for no gain. 

And from up here, she could enjoy the rather opulant room. Big couches, nice tables, big glass wall. This place felt more like the penthouse suite to a fine hotel than any sort of mission base. Only the briefest second did she not find this suspicious. An alliance born from bribery, is what she’d call it.

“Your room, miss Liz. There’s a short questionairre on the desk. Mostly for personal accouterments and what have you. As well as sizes for your field gear.” T-Rex leaned in close and whispered. “There’s a measuring tape and a size-conversion sheet as well.” 

“You could just check my clothes. Or whatever FBI document the parole hearing provided.” 

“It might be the FBI’s business to snoop around in your clothing labels, but not mine, miss Liz. Your bag, your key, and most importantly, your file.” 

Her eyes bulged. His hand produced a filled folder, with her name on it. It quantly mentioned “Classified” on it. It would’ve been believable if it didn’t smell of fresh ink.

“It’s not the only copy. It wouldn’t be right for me to hold onto it either. After all, if I have questions, you’re right here.”

She snatched the keys, bag and file out of his hands, juggling them between her own. He didn’t produce any particularly cute or overwhelming smile, only a simple polite one. Even cashiers put on more insulting grins than this. 

Even when she closed the door, he just kinda walked off. Her eyes trailed him, part of her hoping he’d suddenly turn into a vampire or something equally exciting. 

Subsequently she figured that the situation was just getting better. Either he was a trusting oaf, or she just found her way into a nice cozy place. She was going to play this one for every thing she could get. It could’ve been much worse....

[hazellvesque]

Some Kind Of Miracle - Chapter 2

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya’s latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette’s life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 2 - Unbelievable

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“Adrien, why were you sitting on a roof?” 

Adrien Agreste had been deep into his discussion with Nino about the latest Ultimate Mecha Strike game – so deep in fact that the sun had set behind them without either of them noticing - before they had been so rudely interrupted by Nathalie waving a paparazzi photo in his face. 

The snapshot in question had been taken a few days prior. Adrien, clad in pajama pants and a graphic tee shirt, sat perched precariously on the very top of his house. His eyes were closed and he faced the breeze, looking almost angelic with his hair and arms tossed back gleefully. It was almost as if the night sky were his natural habitat. 

Honestly, it was a good picture. Better than any of the snapshots that had been released earlier that morning in that teen magazine spread. The vain part of him wanted to get it blown up to replace that billboard that had gone up recently. He didn’t know why Nathalie sounded like she was about to faint. 

“It felt nice outside,” was his offhand response. He added a shrug and grinned at her for good measure. 

Nino Lahiffe sat a just inches away lounging in the biggest chair in the Agreste house’s living room observing the whole conversation with a curious expression. His feet sat atop the coffee table and a glass of some kind of expensive-looking sparkling juice in a glass next to him. 

He tended to raid the kitchen and take whatever he liked anytime he wanted to. Just one of the perks of being Adrien’s best friend. 

He’d been the casual witness to many an Adrien scolding, honestly it amazed him how open Mr. Agreste’s assistants were about discussing private matters around him. He was in their house all the time; perhaps they’d stopped noticing that he didn’t quite belong. 

Disputes like this were always entertaining to watch because he could tell that most of the time Adrien didn’t care about getting punished and instead just feigned guilt to make other people feel like they’d accomplished something. There was no talking that boy out of his own decisions and actions, especially not when he was in a particularly rebellious mood like he had been this past week.

“Honestly, Nathalie, he does it all the time, I don’t know how- hmmph!” Nino’s statement was cut short by a quick elbow to the ribs from Adrien.

Okay, so it was true that he snuck out and did pretty reckless things on a normal basis. But Nathalie didn’t need to know that. This just so happened to be the first time he’d gotten caught. He could have sworn he triple checked the house’s surroundings before going out, but the paparazzi had been getting more and more creative with their hiding spots lately. 

“Nice outside. Nice enough that you couldn’t walk out the front door and decided to take the shortcut out the window?” Nathalie’s voice was eerily calm. You could always tell when she was angry. The quieter she was, the more afraid you should be.

He didn’t always have to pretend to be guilty about disappointing Nathalie. Of all of his father’s assistants, she was the nicest, but she also regarded Adrien the highest and held the strictest expectations of him. Not to mention the steely cold look in her eyes that sent shivers down anyone’s spine if she looked at them the wrong way.

Adrien averted his eyes, but he still felt her gaze boring into him. “I’m sorry, Nathalie. It won’t happen again.”

“What part of it?” she asked. “The part where you were caught in public in your pajamas, the part where you were out past curfew without permission, or the part where someone managed to get a photo of you putting your safety at risk? And what would have happened if you fell? You cannot get yourself injured, we don’t have time for a hospital visit.”

Nino leaned back further in his seat, taking a long swig of his drink, looking highly entertained. 

“Understood,” Adrien apologized. “None of it will happen again. Cross my heart,” he gestured over the left side of his torso for extra measure. 

There was a long, awkward pause. Nathalie stared down at the photo in her hands again, readjusting her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose, and sighing. Adrien could have sworn he had almost heard her mutter something that sounded very colorful under her breath. 

“I just got off a conference call with your father,” she said. “After we finished discussing this, he mentioned that he may have another modeling contract for you when he gets back. You two can talk it over during your meeting on Friday. He says it’s very important.” 

“Career wise or money wise?” Nino quipped.

Nathalie glared daggers at him. “Both, Mr. Lahiffe. You should both know that Gabriel has been trying to collaborate with this company for years, long before either of you were even born. This is an incredible opportunity for the entire Agreste family, one that could get them back in the international spotlight. But if Adrien does something to tarnish his reputation before the paperwork is signed, the deal is off and we are all done for. So if I were you I’d try to keep things like this-“ she waved the photo around one last time for emphasis, “-out of the hands of people who will run to the tabloids with it.”

With that, she turned to leave the boys to their own devices.

“Wait,” Adrien called after her. He hesitated before realizing that he might as well say what he wanted; she was already mad enough as it was, she probably couldn’t get much angrier. “One more question. How much money are we talking exactly?” 

She glanced over her shoulder and made a point to stare Adrien down, as if he were the only one in the room. “Hundreds of thousands,” was her answer. “Per photograph. We don’t want to give that up, do we?”

“No, ma’am,” he shook his head. “I’ll talk more with my dad about it. I won’t let you guys down.” 

As Nathalie left, the tension in the room seemed to instantly dissipate. 

Money had never been an issue in the Agreste household – that much was obvious. This time, however, the dollar signs dancing in his head didn’t just hint at bigger rooms or fancy furniture or fast cars. They pointed big green arrows at another idea that occupied Adrien’s mind. 

His eighteenth birthday had just passed. Since the day he received his first paycheck, his father had funneled more than eighty percent of his earnings into a savings account completely inaccessible to Adrien until he turned twenty-five. The remainder had been spent on everything from video games to new clothes, never massive amounts, never enough to tempt him to make any rash financial decisions. But now, being a legal adult, every cent he made was solely his to do what he pleased. And he knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. 

“Dude,” Nino said, pulling Adrien from his thoughts. He sat rubbing at his sore ribcage, right where Adrien had hit him. “That seriously hurt! Have you been working out or something?” 

“Honestly, Nathalie, he does it all the time,” Adrien said in an awful imitation of Nino’s voice. “You can’t just say things like that! Do you want my dad to kill me?” 

“You know,” Nino said, “for an actor, you’re god awful at doing impressions.” 

“I’m not an actor, Nino.” 

Okay, technically he was. He even had his own IMDB page, which was due to no choice of his own. A couple years back, his father had suggested he branch off from the modeling and try his hand at something new. A skincare commercial here and there somehow led to a minor role in last summer’s biggest blockbuster, but that wasn’t what Adrien wanted to be known for.

He didn’t want to be known for that unfortunate stint in a singing career either. If half of his fans knew how much auto-tune went into the making of that EP he released last year, they’d be appalled. Luckily, he’d avoided getting roped into doing any kind of live performance, and he’d like to keep it that way. 

“It doesn’t matter. Did you hear Nathalie? I could make millions from this deal. That’s…unbelievable,” Adrien sighed.

Nino leaned his head back and closed his eyes wistfully. “Imagine how many upgrades you could do to your tech with that kind of money. But wait, doesn’t your family already have millions?”

“My dad has millions,” Adrien corrected. “But with this shoot, even if he split up the money a hundred different ways, I’d still end up with so much. Don’t you get it?” he lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I could get out of here.” 

Between the two of them, it had been no secret that Adrien felt a prisoner in his own home. It was part of the reasons he did dumb things like the stunt on the roof the other day. While he was here, Nathalie or any of his dad’s other dozens of assistants were constantly breathing down his neck. Security watched his every step whenever he left his bedroom. He had only just managed to bribe one of the guards to disable the cameras in his lounge room, which allowed him to have the current conversation he was holding with Nino with at least some sense of privacy.

Outside of the house was no better. Just like the person who had caught that picture of him on the roof, there were unsolicited photos of him taken every single day from the second he left the front door. He didn’t have a smidgen of privacy until he managed to get himself behind locked doors and away from paparazzi. 

None of this had ever meant to happen. “It’s just a temporary move,” Gabriel Agreste had said years ago. “You’ll be under contract for two months, and then we’ll come back home.” It was Gabriel’s desperate attempt at regaining his reputation after he’d been shunned and ridiculed on one too many Paris runways. 

Two months turned into the entire summer, which extended to fall and winter until, before he knew it, Adrien had permanently relocated to Los Angeles with home being out of sight and out of mind as far as anyone else was concerned. 

Learning to speak perfect, unaccented English had been hard. Getting used to the American attitudes surrounding him was even harder. He still missed waking up and seeing the Eiffel Tower from his window. 

Two years into LA life, a blessing and a curse came in the form of Chloe Bourgeois. As Adrien’s oldest friend and the daughter of the a Mayor who had no issue funding his daughter’s escapades, she felt entitled to fly back and forth to visit practically as often as she liked. Thankfully it mostly only happened when she was on break from school. If Adrien had to deal with her during every month of year, it might very well drive him insane. 

Having a friend from back home would have been nice, had she not become so enamored with the limelight. It was almost like she was a paparazzi magnet, happily posing for the camera wherever she went. She was meant to be a distraction from the glitz and glamour, and now she was one of Adrien’s main sources of it. 

He was a prisoner, not just in this house, but also throughout this entire city. As big as Los Angeles was, it still managed to make Adrien feel trapped. 

At least he had Nino here with him. 

“So that’s your plan, huh?” Nino asked. He was careful to sound completely neutral, which only made talking about this idea harder. “Lie low, get your contract, and hop on the next bus or plane or train out of here?” 

Even more guilt trickled in. Not only was Adrien complaining about his life – a life that any other person could barely dream of – but he almost completely disregarded that Nino was a package deal with it. Goodbye California meant goodbye Nino. 

He was torn. 

And besides, modeling was actually fun sometimes. 

So for the most part, he just dealt with his worries. He shooed away the little voice in the back of his head telling him to run. But that voice had been talking awfully loudly lately. 

“Not so fast,” Adrien said. “It’s a major decision to make, it’ll take time. Don’t worry, I’m not going to abandon you without warning.” 

“Good,” Nino laughed. “Because if Chloe drops in tomorrow and finds that you’re not here, the first person she’ll come after if me, and I do not want to be on a Bourgeois hit list.” 

Tomorrow? 

Oh. Oh no.

The realization must have been blatantly obvious on Adrien’s face, because Nino’s entire expression fell. “Adrien. Please don’t tell me you forgot. She’s probably already on her plane.” 

“She didn’t call! At least I don’t think she did!” Adrien bolted out of his chair and ran up the stairs, Nino following close at his heels. 

Most of the time Adrien kept his phone locked in his room, mainly because he didn’t want to have to deal with the constant calls from agents or the incessant social media notifications about him. If someone important needed to contact him, they had other ways. 

Unless that person was Chloe Bourgeois, which in that case, Adrien needed his phone right now. 

He was careful not to trip as he bounded his way up the four – really, Gabriel? Did this house really need to be this tall? – flights of stairs and around the corner into his bachelor-pad-esque bedroom. 

Honestly, if he wanted to, he never had to leave the four walls of this room. He had an en-suite bathroom and private kitchenette fully stocked with more food than he could possibly finish alone. Not to mention all of the gadgets and entertainment. A nuclear apocalypse could happen right outside the doors and Adrien could be so engrossed in his own little world here that he’d be none the wiser. That is, unless he decided to step out onto his private balcony, of course. 

It was huge and lonely, which is why he spent as little time in here as possible. 

He ran over to the small safe under the nightstand and quickly unlocked it. His phone screen was black, which gave him a false sense of hope. At the press of the large center button, the screen awoke displaying three missed calls and eight text messages, all from a very pissed off Chloe. 

Adrien cringed as he scrolled down, watching the amount of caps lock increase with every message. The last text had been sent five hours ago, and surprisingly, had zero punctuation whatsoever. 

‘Taking off now’ was all it said. 

Adrien could almost feel the metaphorical cartoon drop of sweat drip down his forehead. No punctuation was a very, very bad thing with Chloe. 

“She’s mad,” he said, not looking up at Nino. “And she’ll be here in,” he double checked the time, “-seven hours.” 

Nino nervously wrung his hat – which he had taken off his head – in his hands. “Remind me to be as far away from this house as possible by morning, then.” 

Adrien started pacing in circles. Part of him wanted to raid his kitchenette and start stress eating. “Nino, you have to help me. You heard what Nathalie said, I need to stay out of the press.” 

Nino nodded grimly. “And Chloe Bourgeois is a synonym for bad publicity. I know,” he signed dramatically and placed a very serious hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I guess I’ll keep an eye out for trouble while she’s here. I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity to keep your reputation in check. Because I am such a good friend.” 

Adrien couldn’t help but laugh. “What would I do without you?” 

[therevolutionhasbegun]

'The Spoils of War' Reaction Post

The best episode of Season 7 so far. I'm hoping most people have seen it, but either way, spoilers underneath the cut. :)

1. Cersei recovering belongings? When speaking with the gentleman from the Iron Bank, he mentions something about a group of people (I think?) who are good at pressuring people/recovering people's debts, to which Cersei replies there are a few things that belong to her that she will need help recovering too. I'm really curious as to what those belongings are. Are they people that have wronged her? The North itself? Other rebelling kingdoms? Or actual tangible items themselves?

2. Littlefinger/Bran So we all know to be wary of Littlefinger by now whenever he is around. What was there for him to gain by giving the dagger to Bran? Perhaps nothing, but I think what he is trying to do is act as kind and helpful as he can around the Stark kids to gain their trust, and then manipulate that trust whenever it suits his ambitions.

3. Bran/Meera Up until this point, I was pretty pissed at Bran for being so emotionless and cold. But now, I understand why. Being able to see everything and anything, relive anybody's memories, be anywhere at any time...Bran really is not Bran anymore. There is no Brandon Stark anymore, just a vessel that sees, and knows, everything. I know if it were me, I wouldn't feel like a person anymore. I would probably feel just as dead inside, too. And so my heart goes out to both him and Meera, for all that they've seen and all that they have been through, with no real happy resolution at the end of it all.

4. Arya/Sansa My inner happily-ever-after persona really wanted to see a tearful, joyous, emotional reunion between Arya and Sansa. It was the reunion that I was anticipating the most. So I was a little disappointed by the stiff and somewhat awkward reunion that was presented. But in all honesty, it made sense. Sansa and Arya were never close; they even borderline loathed each other. Being apart for so long and all the horrible ordeals they both had to go through was what fueled any type of fondness that was displayed between them. Either way, I was happy to see them together again after so long. 

5. Daenerys/Missandei It was so sweet to see them talking to one another as normal girls would about their boyfriend(s) instead of a queen talking business to her advisor. :)

6. The carvings I mean...I wasn't too impressed? Again, it just didn't make sense to me. I thought the First Men and the Children originated from beyond the Wall and then eventually made their way south? How did they get to Dragonstone? I dunno, I just thought it was a little strange and didn't really seem to fit what we know already about the history of Westeros.

7. Daenerys/Jon Jon STILL won't bend the knee. Dany has not only agreed to aid him with mining the dragon glass, she has now proclaimed that she will fight for him, for the North, and he STILL won't give her what she wants. I guess he really, truly does not trust her yet, even though she seems to have a soft spot for him. I LOVE LOVE LOVE how she used his own words against him. The same words he said to Mance when he refused to bend the knee to Stannis. You can't have your cake and eat it too, Jon. If you want the North to be so independent, then how can you expect Dany to help you? But if you submit and become ONE kingdom and work as a team, you'll have a valuable ally against the white walkers AND still be able to keep the peace with the presumable new queen whenever the war is over. I just don't get his thinking.

8. Be a fucking dragon Yes, Daenerys is in quite the predicament. She has lost a lot of valuable allies. Why? Because she’s playing the game way, way too conservatively. Tyrion and the others are good strategists, don’t get me wrong. But this just isn’t Dany’s way; it’s not what she is good at. I might have the unpopular opinion here, but Olenna’s words were sound. Being a dragon is who Dany is; she and her dragons share the same soul, the same fire. Using her dragons to attack the Red Keep and conquer Westeros does NOT make her a mad queen like her father before her. Does she enjoy killing innocents? Of course not! She truly wants to make Westeros a better place. But she won’t ever get there if she keeps listening to the sheep and doesn’t stay true to herself. It’s gotten her this far, and it will continue to carry her forward if she continues to listen to her heart and follow her intuition like she has been.

9. Arya/Brienne What an engaging, fun scene! Seeing two powerful women go up against one another like that was exhilarating. And Arya’s little sword dance at the beginning? She’s too cute. It is absolutely amazing to see how far she has come; how being a faceless man for a short stint has helped her grow in impossible ways. However, you can still see Syrio’s influences in her fighting style as well. Others around her may find it slightly scary, but I find it to be truly awesome.

10. Sansa jealous? So I’ve seen quite a few people say that the expression Sansa had upon her face while watching Arya train with Brienne is that of jealousy, my dear friend Danielle included. When I watched the scene, jealousy was the farthest from my mind. What would Sansa have to be jealous of? Combat was never her thing; she and Arya are two completely different individuals. She’s already received many compliments on being a good leader. No, what Sansa was feeling in that moment is much more complicated. I think she is troubled. Troubled by what Arya must have seen and gone through in the process of becoming such an experienced fighter. Worried about what this might mean for Arya’s future; is she on a dangerous path? And I think a slight bit of hidden pride to see that her sister is indeed a survivor and can hold her own. 

11. Davos/Jon/Missandei Oh, this scene made me so mad. Everyone under Daenerys’s sanction has been more than friendly and accommodating to Jon and Davos, maybe even a little more than necessary. They are essentially strangers, yet the people of Dragonstone trust them enough to let them in on their strategies involving conquering Westeros. Yet, Jon and Davos continue to stir the pot. What was to be gained by making Missandei question her loyalty and Dany’s motives? They want them as allies yet they still refuse to treat them as such. I just don’t understand.

12. Theon/Jon This was a reunion I was not expecting to happen so soon. I was so scared that Jon was gonna beat the shit out of Theon on the spot similar to how he pummeled Ramsay. (RIP </3) Just looking at the sadness and despair in Theon’s eyes communicates that he still hasn’t forgiven himself for the crimes he committed against the Stark family, he probably never will, and that he doesn’t really want anyone else to forgive him either. 

13. The Battle I don’t think I really need to do much explaining on how awesome this sequence was. Seeing Daenerys and Drogon in action, in battle, in Westeros was so satisfying; literally something we have all been waiting to see since season one. And I don’t think I am the only one who was intensely stressed during these scenes. If you’re like me, and love basically every character on the show, it was so hard to watch but also impossible to turn your eyes away. I was so convinced Bronn was going to die, but was relieved that he didn’t; I was so convinced that SOMEBODY major was going to die, but nobody did, at least not that we know of. Jaime’s fate is still up in the air; personally, I don’t think he will die - yet - but you never know with this show. Seeing Drogon injured was rough, but I knew slaying a dragon would not be very effective with that monstrosity of a crossbow; it is just too clumsy to maneuver and slow. Seeing Tyrion’s anguish as he watched Jaime in battle was emotional and bittersweet, but I think his loyalty to Dany will still remain regardless. The major battles on this show are my absolute favorite parts; D&D are so amazing at putting the focus on individual characters and their emotions while still capturing the bigger picture. I’ve never been one for big battle scenes; I’ve always found them to be a bit tedious and boring. But Game of Thrones is a completely different ballgame and has given me a new, engaging perspective on them.

Overall, a stunning episode, and I am excitedly looking forward to episode 5 on Sunday night.

[hateswonderland-blog]

Your life has always been malleable, soft in the hands of any who knew you well enough to play with it a little --- words of encouragement would go a long way for a man with no sense of direction, and the world seemed to know this all too well.

        There was a time, once, that you embraced change. Growth separated the survivors from the victims, the smart from the helpless; you would ride this tide of changed minds, or you would drown. This is how you learned to live, adapting to the fickle thoughts of those who bore power, those who worked for a higher cause --- you questioned not their motives, nor their newfound needs, born one moment then buried the next. Your part in this play was small; what place did you have discerning reason from rhyme? There was little to gain from such knowledge, and perhaps ignorance would help you to sleep better at night, anyway. You only drew from conversations a plan of action --- extraction, delivery, payment; rinse, repeat, start again. This was routine, a method amidst the madness, and you embraced such a life. You welcomed each job with open arms, bearing a grin as the details were explained, a map of criminal intent spread across the groundwork of a madman, and you loved every second of it. 

        Strangers knew not that the illustrious thief possessed a wife, though a few close acquaintances caught wind soon enough --- this was, perhaps, your fault, as you thought it unnecessary to hide such an important factor of your life; after all, she, too, broke the law. She, too, worked as a mercenary, leaving her own trail of ill-intent behind, a trail untraceable, invisible ( here one moment, but gone the next ) --- she gave you hope, however slim the thought, that there was happiness to be found here. There was a future here, with this woman scorned, this loaded gun; a wedding was set, and you soon found yourself settling down. There was a home now, and you learned to leave your worries at the doorstep; trust came slowly, but it came, like a late winter, or a whispered ‘I love you’.

        A few years later, your wife bore a daughter. You were twenty-four years old, still learning to grasp the reigns of this life without letting go --- you knew nothing of parenthood, nothing of being an acceptable role model for a child; your own upbringing was less than kind, though none knew of this. None knew of your abusive father, who used words as daggers, drawing blood from those he was meant to care for the most. None knew of your mother, whose best was never quite good enough --- you ran from home young, never looking back ( though you occasionally wished to, when loneliness caused memory to feel warmer than reality ). You swore to give your daughter the life that she deserved, no matter the cost; history would not repeat itself, not again.

         She begged you to leave your work behind. Too much was at risk now, or so she insisted, but what else was there for you to do? This life was the only one you knew --- this home built upon instability and theft would collapse soon enough, and though you and she would learn to adapt, your daughter would not; she would perish, death among the debris of this kingdom you built for yourself --- time would not be on her side, and you knew this. And so, despite your best wishes not to, you retired from your life of crime. Savings would only protect your family from poverty for so long --- little jobs here and there, minimum wage amounting to nothing but spare change; this was not the life you dreamt of, nor was it the life you and your family deserved.

        Your daughter was two years old when you caught wind of a silver lining, your salvation dancing in front of your eyes. Your wife grew angry, all snarling attacks and empty threats --- how could you betray her? How could you possibly choose death over your own daughter, she asked, though you still held to a familiar faith; the fates would protect you, just as they always had, for what danger did this job have that any other did not? How could this adventure end your life if none before had even come close? You promised her you would oblige, if only to appease her; then, by nightfall, you were gone, like a ghost, or the life you once knew.

        You still have nightmares of rope chafing against your wrists, of forced immobility preventing your escape ( of no end in sight, of repetition, repetition, repetition --- ). Time became but a distant dream, minutes melting into hours, or seconds, or days, weeks --- you do not remember how long you were gone, nor do you recall how you came to be here in the first place; what was it you were doing here? What have you done? Questions slurred, thoughts indiscernible, and yet you remember your wife, crystal clear, like a beam of light, or a saving grace you did not deserve. You recall the chase, the adrenaline pumping through your veins, your body learning again to run, to escape, to prove itself worthy of life.

         You remember a shot ringing in your ears, like a song too beautiful to hear again; your wife fell to her knees, body trembling, cold like a winter that should never have arrived --- crimson coated her clothing, a sea of red against a pale frame. Your body operated on auto-pilot then; to run, to escape, to return home. Your daughter was two years old, and you were her only hope for a future. You, covered in your lover’s blood ( you, mourning a loss that she still was too young to understand ).

         All criminal ties, finally, were put to rest, put down like a dog too stubborn to die --- poverty didn’t quite suit you, but you would learn to adjust. You always did, after all, though this change proved harder to swallow than most. Two jobs at once, minimum wage again amounting only to spare change, to thrift store hand-me-downs, to handmade toys and dolls --- frequently, you dreamt of death, of giving in to this deeply rooted desire for nothingness, but what would become of your daughter? Who would care for her? None knew her the way you did, and none bore the responsibility that rested heavy upon your shoulders --- this was your child, your own flesh and blood, and you would learn to survive for her. You would learn to change once more, if only to ensure her survival.

           Your daughter was seven years old when a past employer reappeared in your life, promising you prosperity if only you cooperated one last time; your assistance would prove most beneficial, and the payment would be enough to bring your family from rags to riches in no time. Despite the temptation, you insisted upon staying behind; you weren’t going to abandon family, not again. Still, though, they shared the details of the mission, and the location was a familiar one ( one that still, to this day, haunts your mind, phantom pains of rope against your wrists, of your lover’s blood staining your skin, of repetition, repetition, repetition --- ).  Reluctantly, you agree to participate. 

            Naivety always was your downfall. Trust did not exist, but hope --- for wealth, for glory, for fame --- did. Perhaps you hoped for the prosperity promised to you; perhaps you did this to ensure a cushioned future for your young daughter. Whatever your reasoning, these walls all came crashing down as your partner made their deceit clear; once more, you were held captive, though change grew while you did not; this stint proved much more violent, and still, you wear the scars of your mistakes ( in fingers calloused, a faded trail of red threaded across your throat, in repetition, repetition, repetition --- ).

            Upon your return home, you found your daughter taken from you; for cause of neglect, or abandonment, or a father too stubborn to care. Again, loneliness enveloped you, false sympathy coming from those who were never expected to care in the first place --- finally, you were alone once more, just as you were meant to be. Though unspoken, you knew that they wished for your return; the illustrious thief, the madman notorious for caring only for riches and mayhem --- you would lose your mind for amusement no more; with encouragement from an employer, you relocated to New York City. This decision, perhaps, was a moment of weakness; with so much loss, you chose to cling to this false sense of security, of safety. You began to see a psychiatrist, and thus began your descent, once more, down a rabbit hole of mistakes, of trauma, of mental illness you were too stubborn to acknowledge.

             You lived this way for so long. You took your medication, busied yourself with minimum wage occupations, with pointless hobbies; you were lost, a life with no sense of direction --- were you meant to regress to what you once were? Who was left to get hurt now, you wondered, left alone with all of your mistakes and scars --- what did you have left to lose? You were older now, and unbeknownst to you, things have changed, you have changed; would your former occupation again welcome you with open arms, or were you destined only for poverty? Only for spare change and a pocket full of dashed dreams?

              Your life has always been malleable, soft in the hands of any who knew you well enough to play with it a little --- words of encouragement would go a long way for a man with no sense of direction, and the world seemed to know this all too well.  Fighting to regain custody, finding steady employment, reliving your traumas over, and over, and over again ( repetition, repetition, repetition --- ); steady streams of opinions flooded your mind, stacking upon themselves in rows as tall as the sky --- you accepted only a few pieces of advice, though one seemed to stick out the most in your mind. The thought of steady employment, shining like a beam of light, a saving grace; you knew exactly where to go, too.

              Finally, after so much time spent wandering, hopelessly falling deeper into your own mind, you possessed a sense of direction; you would redeem yourself as the acclaimed mercenary you once were. You would prove yourself worthy of this life, no matter the price. There was only one thing you have ever known yourself to be good at, and it could not be found in retail jobs, or desk jobs, or pitiful little nine to five occupations --- you thrived off of change, unpredictability ( instability, a trembling of motive ). You would live this way once more, no matter the consequences.

[the-empires-weapon]

Feverish Pt. 1

“CANNONBALL!”

Alexei ducks back and sputters as Mako leaps into the pool, spraying a good amount of water their way. They laugh and shake out their damp hair as Mako rises from the pool. “I thought I told you to warn me when you did that!”

“I did! By shouting ‘cannonball’,” she teases as she leans back on the water and sighs. “I’m so glad we got a vacation, even if it is at a little resort. Not a beach, but still awesome.”

“You’re welcome, Mako,” Alexei teases as they sit back in their poolside chair again. “At least this way we don’t have the rest of the planet on our backs. No nobles.”

“Hey, you did what you could. Better than nothing,” Mako says. She suddenly laughs. “Did you ever think we’d be here? Because that last stint on the Aurora almost had me doubting.”

“Nah,” Alexei chuckles. “I figured we’d get here eventually. I don’t die easy.”

Mako laughs again, and flips over to paddle to the other end of the pool. Alexei grins ear-to-ear; with Gault gone on one of his schemes and the resort paid out to just the crew, it was pretty quiet, and only the staff was around to really bother them. Plus, they were on the other side of the planet from the stuffy-ass nobles - a win-win, they think as they hear a familiar beeping and look down to their holopad. They pick it up and activate it, though it’s only after punching in their familiar password that they realize.

“Hey, Mako - could you come read this?” Alexei shouts to her and rises from their chair to meet her at the edge of the pool. “My cybernetics are still out - I think it’s mail for us.”

“We really got to get that fixed for you,” Mako points out as she takes the pad and starts skimming over it. Slowly, Mako’s expression goes from casual to stern, almost serious.

Alexei frowns. “What is it?”

“It’s from the Huntmaster . . . we’ve been requested to meet on the ship Spirit of Vengeance and meet with Mandalore the Vindicated. Mandalore!” Mako looks up at them and clutches the holopad to her chest. “You do know about Mandalore the Vindicated, right?”

“Mako, unlike you, I didn’t take history lessons in preschool.”

“Yeesh, that’s harsh . . . but accurate. Mandalore the Vindicated’s been in the position for the last fifteen years, and harbored a decent relationship with the Empire for the past decade. He’s the man that pulls the strings, so he’s the reason the Hunt even happened. He was a Champion himself,” Mako adds. She pauses, frowning, before handing the holopad back. “He wants to meet us, as soon as we’re able.”

“We got coordinates?”

“Yep, and ironically enough, he’s hovering in space a little less than a day away,” Mako gives an awkward chuckle. “I mean . . . if it’s that close-”

“Then we have time enough to make a good impression,” Alexei gets up from the water’s edge and starts marching away. “Pack your things, Mako; we’ve got a Mandalore to meet.”

“. . . but we’ve only been here for a few days,” they hear Mako mumble. It doesn’t matter.

They had a feeling this wasn’t something to just overlook.

***

And, of course, they had been right. At least this time being right didn’t come with a gun to the back of their neck.

This time, Mako’s sputtering as they walk through the rain and trees. “We went from Alderaan,” she complains, “To this.”

“Would you have rather rejected him?”

“No, but Christ, Alex.”

The Mandalorian encampment is far away from Kaas City, hidden under the protection of tall cliffs and sparse forestry, and Alexei feels like walking into it would be trespassing. They’re no Mandalorian - they’re not used to sharing space with others, not like this. They can see men bumping shoulders in solid armor, butting heads with helmets tough enough to scratch and scrape, but not break. The durasteel covering their body feels flismy in comparison.

The truth was, being on Dromund Kaas was better than being back at that little resort, regardless of what Mako said. For some reason, it feels . . . right. Mandalore had given them their task, and when he did something about it settled a stone in the pit of their belly, above the apex of their legs. It felt like a coal, or like a hook had been buried inside their skin, pulling them. It made their legs move on their own - and so they didn’t resist it, not like it sometimes felt they did when the Force grabbed them and flung them in a direction. This time, it felt so right, they followed.

Still, there are a couple of men standing around a campfire in front of the collection of tents, and even just sizing them up, Alexei holds up a hand to motion Mako to stay back. Slowly, they approach, hands up and open as the men notice their presence.

“Easy,” they say. One of the men scoffs.

“This is a camp for warriors, not hikers,” he snaps. “You aren’t welcome here.” They huff and scowl.

“I said, easy,” they growl back. “I’m here at Mandalore’s request.”

“And you are?”

A man on the other side of the fire from them scoffs. “More warrior than you, Jogo.”

“You’re one to judge, areu’tal!”

“She’s done more than you have. She’s Grand Champion of the Hunt,” the man says. Alexei turns to him . . . and immediately feels their cheeks go red. He’s handsome. A well-tamed mop of blond hair, polished armor, a well-built face with cheek-markings they can’t read at this distance. Either way, he’s nicer to look at than most men they’ve run into. A tangle suddenly builds in their chest, and without thinking they nearly punch themselves in the sternum to get it out.

“‘They’,” they croak. When the man turns to look at them, they drop their eyes - his stare was intense - and continues. “I go by ‘they’. Not ‘she’.”

Instead of laughing or mocking, the man just nods, and looks back to the one named Jogo. “Alright, then. They’re Champion. Not some hiker.”

Jogo rolls his eyes and bites back, “Being Champion doesn’t make her one of us.”

Torian offers him a much-more pointed look, like daggers, and turns back to step around the fire, until they’re face to face. “Never mind him,” he says while he offers his hand. “It’s an honor, Champion.”

This close, they can better see his face. The fuzz from his lower lip down his chin, the arcs and lines on his cheeks that appear to be scars, and - hells be damned - twin blue eyes that seem brighter than any flame in this camp. Alexei swallows, and takes his hand in a shake. It occurs to them, perhaps too late and with a fair amount of guilt, how young he is.

“It’s good to meet you, kid. What’s your name?”

The grip on their hand tightens. “Torian Cadera. Not a kid.”

“Oh,” their face bursts into reds again. “S-Sorry. Not a great estimator of age.”

“No worries. Turned eighteen a few months ago - but you look a few years older.”

The coal in their belly gives a flash of warmth, and nearly stops them from answering. They swallow it down. “Twenty-three. Almost twenty-four.”

“Explains a lot,” he answers. He grips their hand for a moment longer, before finally letting go. There’s a flash in those blue eyes of his, like a breach of thought, or perhaps confidence. A Mandalorion heat resides there, and the gears of strategy. The hook of their calling.

“Here to claim one of our beasts?”

Their hands drop their sides, and slide into fists. They close their eyes. The coal in their belly seems to strike heat up into their ribcage, and fill their chest.

“I’ll know what it is when I find it,” they answer.

“I get it,” he says darkly. “The sire of the brood.”

“. . . yes,” they answer, before thinking. “Akure. The monster whose starved for centuries.”

His voice drops to a dark murmur. When they peer open their eyes, he’s stepped a little closer, for their conversation to be private. “They say,” he continues, “That you can hear its heartbeat in the walls. Nobody’s seen it - but it’s there.”

An irrational pull settles into their arms, and makes their fingers twitch. They meet his eyes like making sparks.

“I’m here to claim its heart.”

Torian nods, and never lets their gaze go. The moment is trapped with magnetism, with the pull of his eyes on theirs and the tug in their belly straining in every direction. The heat in their ribs never dies down; their heart thuds against the wall of their chest. Their spine snaps straight, and they raise their chin, looking openly into his face, and . . .

“Better warriors than you have tried and failed,” somebody snaps, and Alexei leaps back like wildfire. The other man - Jogo - they’d forgotten he was there. He scowls at the both, and crosses his arms. “They’ve never returned.  You’ll be the same.”

Alexei gives a “tch”, and looks back to Torian. “Then I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“If there’s a bottom,” Torian says, “It’s there. Good hunting.”

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 51)

*Hello again!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warning: language

Just when Tigerlily was believing that Neverland may actually may not be so bad reality had to come knocking at her door. More accurately it pulled her off her path and motioned for her to be silent with a knife pressed to her throat. Why was this the preferred method of getting someone’s attention in this realm?

“Evening, Pan,” she regarded the dangerously thin and sickeningly pale boy threatening her, “Glad to see your stint with your mother hasn’t changed you too terribly.”

“You knew.” he growled. “All this time you knew about her. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I knew you didn’t care about your parents and I thought she was barred easily enough from this realm that she shouldn’t have been a problem. If I had mentioned that I knew who your mother was, would you have wanted to know?”

“When it’s one of the powerful forces in the realms, yes!” he pressed the flat of his dagger harder against her throat.

“This isn’t about your mother. Not entirely.” She had been watching over this boy for years she could tell when something was bothering him. He still had his quirks even after so long. “She told you something or said something. Something happened over there that you can’t forget. What?”

He regarded her for a moment before easing the blade away and sheathing it once more. He paced on the trail trying how best to convey what was weighing on his mind. “Pan, you were my godchild but perhaps something like this is easier to talk to with someone you have more trust in. Y/N just went back to camp if you’re--”

“No.” Pan snapped. His fists clenched and unclenched and with it the wind picked up. “She can’t know about this.”

“About what?”

“You worked with the Black Fairy for years. Did you know who Y/N was before she came to Neverland?”

“Did I know Y/N?”

“Yes. Did you ever see her or did the fairy mention her before you met her back in Tortuga?”

“Of course not. What use would she have had for your Lost Girl before she became so?”

“That’s what I thought but what she said...Y/N can’t be…” he leaned back against a tree rubbing at his temples.

“What did she tell you about Y/N? Is she in some kind of danger?”

“Just swear to me that you nor that woman knew anything about Y/N before she came to Neverland.”

“On my life I have no idea about the Black Fairy knowing anything about your Lost Girl while I worked for her.” Tigerlily promised.

Pan nodded and without another word left back in the direction of the camp.

“Fiona, what have you done to your son?” she muttered to herself and wandered back to her cave.

~~~

The next morning after Peter’s return was hectic. With so many new children on the island from the Black Fairy’s mines we were beside ourselves over what to do with them. They all seemed like good kids but so did Isaac and Rufio when they first got here. It was impossible to tell if the fairy had any sway over them still. In the end Peter decided to send them all away. It was too much new blood all at once and it came from an unreliable source. Many of the children begged to stay, one little boy named Jamahl more than the others. Still Peter was firm in his decision.

Since I was the one that had come up with the idea to liberate the children from the mines it was now my job to drop them off in another realm to live. I visited quite a few realms that day dropping a number of kids off at different lands and realms. Through it all the little boy Jamahl refused to go. We had stopped in Agrabah at the site of what looked to be the ruins of some war from years ago.

“Listen kid,” I turned to him, “I cannot take you back to Neverland. Peter said that all you kids from the mines needed to leave. So if you could just run along and make yourself a life in one of these realms it would be much appreciated.”

“But I want to be a Lost Boy! I want to have adventures on Neverland with Just Pan.” he whined.

“You can have adventures here.” I gestured to the wide sand dunes of the desert. “Agrabah is a great place for adventure.”

“This is Agrabah?” Jamahl looked around with new awe, “Just Pan told us about a giant scorpion he fought while visiting here.”

“See. Fun, adventure, deadly creatures around every corner. Can I go now?”

“I don’t know.” Jamahl looked back at the city on the horizon.

I sighed and reached for a discarded shield among the many broken and fallen weapons scattered around. “You ever try sledding?”

“Sledding?”

“Yeah.” I set the shield down on the top of a sand dune and motioned for him to sit. “I used to do this years ago before I came to Neverland. Of course that was with snow and not sand but it’s still the same.”

“What do you do.” he asked as he made himself comfortable in the shield.

“You sled.” I gave the back of the shield a small kick and he started sliding down the dune gaining speed as he did. I heard him give a loud cheer from where he stopped at the bottom. I got a shield of my own and took off after him.

“That was so much fun!” he cheered as we skidded to a halt.

“Told ya.” I ruffled his hair, “Just because it isn’t Neverland doesn’t mean it’s not fun. You wouldn’t have liked Neverland all that much either. Especially when Peter gets mad. Agrabah and all the adventures you’re sure to go on here will be much better.”

He cocked his head to the side staring at me for an uncomfortably long amount of time. “Okay kid, you’re creeping me out. What do you want?”

“If it’s so bad, why are you going back?”

“Well it’s not terrible and it is my home. All my friends and family are there. Ben, Nick, Devin, Felix, and the rest of my brothers.”

“And Just Pan?”

“Him too. He’s my best friend. I can’t just leave him.”

“A best friend? What’s the difference between a friend and a best friend?”

“Well, a friend is someone you can have fun with and trust. A best friend is that and so much more. A best friend can tell when you’re upset without having to say a word. A best friend is someone you would kill for or die for because you’re so close.”

“And they kiss?”

“What?”

“Well, you kissed Just Pan but not the others. Do best friends do that too?”

“Not exactly. Peter is my best friend but he’s also something a little more too.”

“You like him, don’t you.” The kid teased.

I gave the kid a kick to the rump. “You young sir have officially used up all your time talking with me. I have to get going.” I withdrew a bean from my pouch, “If I drop this are you going to try and follow or are you actually going to stay?”

Jamahl looked back at the city and down at the shield he was struggling to hold in his stumpy fingers. He stared back up at me and nodded. “I think I’m gonna stay.”

“Good.” I dropped the bean, “Have a nice life.”

I was swept through the portal and landed back in Neverland. The sun was still high in the sky. Training must be finishing up.

Maybe I could finally stay in one place for a while. No more surprise fairy mothers or portals or pirates or whatever big annoying danger looming on the horizon. Right now I wanted to focus on having a somewhat peaceful rest of my day.

Stretched out on the sand a few feet away was Tigerlily. I walked up and sat down next to her. “Well hello, back already I see.” she smirked.

“Should have been back sooner. Most of the kids went without a fuss except for one. Every time I made a portal to leave he kept jumping in at the last second. Had to go to three different realms before I was able to shake him in Agrabah. Nice enough kid, in another time he would have made a decent Lost Boy.” I stretched out next to her. “What about here? The boys kill Isaac yet?”

“Not that I’m aware. Then again if I go anywhere near your camp Pan will string me up in those cages.”

“True.” I felt a familiar chill drift across my skin. “Speak of the devil…” I turned over and there was Peter stalking towards me.

“I suppose that’s my cue to go.” Tigerlily mumbled something else under her breath.

She got up and gave Peter a stern look before leaving. What was that about? If it bothered Peter he didn’t show it.

“Hey there, chief,” I got up, “I thought you weren’t going to be using unnecessary magic until you had restored your energy. Three weeks starving in the Black fairy’s lair left you worse for wear and we both know it.”

“I do feel better though.”

“Oh really? Well enough to say, play the Piper and try to find the Truest Believer tonight?”

“About that, the Piper is now dead when it comes to finding the Truest Believer.”

“Why?” One of the things I know he loves is leaving the island to find recruits and play the Piper. “What reason could you have to give that up?”

“My shadow is more than capable of finding believers and bringing them to the island. Besides, our latest recruit via the pipes yielded Isaac. Need I say more?”

“Speaking of which, why isn’t he dead?” I asked.

“He’s leverage in case that damned fairy comes around again. He has insider knowledge that’s more recent then Tigerlily’s. He could be of some use.”

“He tried to kill me. I mean so has Felix a handful of times but that was all in good fun. You’ve killed boys for less.”

“How about as your leader you shouldn’t be questioning me so much?”

I rolled my eyes and looped my arms around his neck. “I can question you all I want. I earned that right.”

“By being brave and bloodthirsty?” he grinned pulling me closer.

“No, by sleeping with you.” I mirrored his smirk.

“You shouldn’t sell yourself so short. But now that you’ve brought it up,” He kissed me hotly. His tongue caressing mine.

“Wait a second, wait a second,” I pulled back. Peter gave a low whine and instead went to nuzzling my neck. “Why exactly did you come out to find me?”

“I’ll tell you after.” he murmured claiming my lips again.

“Peter Pan, you tell me what is going on.” I demanded between kisses.

“Come on, I’m feeling better enough for this. Don’t take this away from me.” he pulled me down until we collapsed on the sand.

“Peter,” I warned.

“Y/N,” he mimicked mockingly. “Fine. I came looking for you when I felt your presence on the island again to give you this.” He held up a leather cuff like the ones he wore but embedded into it was what looked to be like a small glowing amber.

“What’s this?”

“Seeing as how we’ve had such bad luck with necklaces I thought this might be a safer option in terms of jewelry.” he slid the cuff over my wrist.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it jewelry but this is a very pretty stone.” I ran my fingers over it, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it…” he pulled me between his legs so I was relaxing against his chest looking over the sea. He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck.

Maybe another time I would have asked why his libido seemed to have died within seconds but I wanted to soak in the peaceful moment. Why couldn’t we live like this? No lives on the line or regular death. While I know I would get bored if life didn’t have any of the adventures I’m used to a part of me wants to stay in this one moment. Peter and I laying on a beach on a warm sunny day with no one else in sight and no worries.

We might have stayed out there all afternoon if it wasn’t for the fact that we got hungry and I was still not letting Peter use his magic unless it was completely necessary. So reluctantly we left our picturesque moment and went back to camp where the boys were shooting arrows into the sky in a game of bravery. It seemed incredibly stupid and a waste of arrows so naturally I had to go be a part of it.

“Has the princess come to play with the common folk?” Felix teased when he saw me saunter up to the ring of boys.

“She has and she’s ready to prove you’re all cowards.” I leaned on Devin, “That being said I am going to use you as a human shield if I think the arrow is going to hit me.”

“I’m honored,” Devin shrugged me off. “Enough chatting! Nick, shoot the arrow.”

Nick cocked his bow up to the sky and let loose an arrow that disappeared in the sun. Now it was just a case of who would stay in the ring the longest. Some of the newer boys bailed out after they couldn’t see the arrow anymore, then some of the others until I saw it coming back down and jumped back. I didn’t get hit but it did land where I was standing a moment earlier. The only one left in the ring was Felix who was looking down on the rest of us with superiority.

“Another loss to add to your collection.” Felix picked up the arrow, “No sense breaking tradition, eh?”

“One of these days I am going to make you choke on your arrogance.” I spat, “One day, Felix!”

“Yep, just not today...or tomorrow or any day in the likely and near future. Maybe give it another decade.” He tossed the arrow to me.

“Felix,”

“Yes?”

“You’re a dick.”

“Yes.”

I gave the arrow back to Nick and he launched it into the sky again. We kept on with our little game for a few rounds before the arrow drove into Devin’s foot. He was spewing profanities while Ben pulled it out again. The rest of us couldn’t help we were laughing too hard.

Soon evening fell and the boys started making the bonfire for the night. I noticed Peter’s shadow flying overhead in a mad dash away from the light. Off on another night to find a new boy to bring to the island. It certainly wasn’t as friendly looking as a group of raucous boys but it was a lot safer for us than the Pied Piper gambit was.

“You look like you’re thinking really hard about something.” Ben strode over to me, “Can practically see the smoke coming out your ears.”

“Har har, you’re so hilarious.” I elbowed him, “How’s Devin doing?”

“He’ll live.” Ben shrugged.

“Oh no, what a shame.”

“I can hear you!” Devin shouted from his log.

“Shut up target foot!” I shouted back. “You’re not a part of this conversation.”

“Been a trying couple of days. How you holding up?” Ben asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N, we’ve been friends for years. You’re my sister. Also, you almost died not long ago.”

“Like that isn’t a common day occurrence.”

“Y/N…”

“Really, I’m fine. Just looking forward to some peace around here for once.”

“If you ever do need to talk though,”

“I know you’ll be there for me.” I wrapped an arm around him in a sort of half-hug. “I’m gonna take a walk, care to join me?”

“Sure,” Ben and I left and ended up strolling one of the beaches.

“So, Pan’s using the shadow again?” Ben noted when I told him Peter wouldn’t be leaving the island to personally collect boys anymore.

“Yeah, if all goes well we should get a new boy tonight.” I nodded.

“Let’s just hope this new boy is the one he’s searching for.”

“That would be nice.” I stared up at the sky and saw the stars blinking in the sky. Two shined bright than the others. Second star to the right.

I thought back to that night on the boat when Peter explained the other pathway to Neverland. How he used to fly everywhere like the wind was a stallion. I’m going to have to take him up on that offer for a flight around Neverland one of these days when his strength is back.

“Looks like the shadow’s brought us a new recruit.” Ben pointed through the darkness of the sky. It was hard to see at first. Inky blackness carrying a dot of pure white I almost mistook them for a shooting star.

“So it has,” I watched as the shadow got closer and closer until suddenly the boy they had with them dropped like a rock from the sky. “Oh well that’s unfortunate.” the body hit the water and I winced. That had to have hurt. The shadow kept flying seemingly unaware their companion had taken an unexpected dip.

I kicked off my boots and shrugged off my cloak. “What are you doing?” Ben asked.

“If that turns out to be the boy we need and he drowns out there before we can get his heart then Peter is going to kill me.” I rushed into the icy water. “I’ll be right back.”

I swam out to where I saw the body fall and dove down into the ice cold water until I felt my hand brush something. I latched onto what felt like a hand and started swimming back for the surface. “Son of a bitch this water is freezing.” I muttered as I tried my best to swim back to shore with the dead weight of another person weighing me down.

It took forever but I finally got back to shore. My limbs were shaking from the cold and I stripped out of my drenched clothes and beckoning Ben for his dry and warm shirt. I quickly slipped it on and looked down at who I had saved. Any hope of it being the boy we were looking for was immediately destroyed when I saw that it wasn’t even a boy. The shadow had brought a girl.

“Is that a…”

“It’s a girl Ben, you know what those look like.” I leaned close and realized she wasn’t breathing, “Perfect, she’s not breathing. Ben, start doing those chest pressing things.”

“On it,” he started the compressions, “When I say now, pinch her nose and give two breaths into her mouth...now!”

I pinched her nose and gave two quick puffs into her mouth.

After a few more compressions and a second breath she moved and started coughing up water. “There you go, let it out,” Ben turned her to her side as she retched.

“Ugh...what happened?” she peered at us with wide brown eyes. Her long dirty blonde hair was plastered against her head.

I moved a wet lock away from her face and wrapped my cloak around her. “You had a dreadful fall my dear. Not to worry, you’re safe now.”

Her eyes focused on me and I was struck with how pretty she was. She looked like a porcelain doll. “Am I...am I in Neverland?”

“Yes. Come on,” I helped her to her feet, “Let’s get you warmed up. Ben, go on ahead and find some fresh clothes for her. I doubt she wants to stay in these cold things.”

“Thank you,” She whispered. Ben looked between the two of us before turning and taking off into the jungle.

“I don’t know what happened. I was flying with that shadow and suddenly it just let go of me.”

“Well it is Peter’s shadow, I would only figure it was as big of an ass as its owner.” We started walking into the jungle and I had to keep her steady as she stumbled over the roots and rocks.

“So little lady, I’m guessing you have a name?” I turned to her.

“Yes, how rude,” she became flustered as if forgetting to immediately introduce herself after nearly drowning was the epitome of bad grace, “I’m Wendy. Wendy Darling.”

“Wendy Darling,” A fitting name for a pretty little face, “Well Darling, let me officially welcome you to Neverland. I’m Y/N.”

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[biofunmy]

Kawhi Leonard or Kevin Durant: Who Is Free Agency’s Biggest Prize?

Given an improbable choice, which golden hoop phenom would you prefer: Kevin Durant or Kawhi Leonard?

Like an eclipse of the moon, the N.B.A. playoffs this season offer an unusual crossing of shadows. Two of the league’s five best players will become free agents on July 1, and no one other than an agent or favorite uncle has a clue where they might wash ashore.

Most attention has focused on Durant, that preternaturally talented seven-foot forward possessed of a feathery touch and a hawk’s eye for a cutting teammate. He has won consecutive championships with the Golden State Warriors, and the chatter is that he might decamp to the New York Knicks and try to reanimate a long ago flatlined team.

The encoded assumption is that Durant is the pick of a fine free agent litter.

Now Kawhi Leonard has shouldered his way into that conversation. He already had tossed up an improbable falling out of bounds game-winning shot, snared one-handed rebounds and wrapped Giannis Antetokounmpo, the Milwaukee Bucks’ transcendent star, in an iron-claw defensive embrace. Then on Thursday night, limping and no longer airborne, he unpacked his every move, scoring 35 points on an assortment of floaters and jumpers and put backs. He also dished nine assists and pulled down seven rebounds to give the Toronto Raptors a three-games-to-two lead in its Eastern Conference finals series.

As Leonard, 27, is two years and nine months younger than Durant, does he offer better value?

I put this how-many-angels-dance-on-the-head-of-a-pin question – Leonard or Durant – to basketball lifer Clarence Gaines. He was scouting swami for the Chicago Bulls during their glory days and was vice president of player personnel during Phil Jackson’s Knicks tenure. Before that sets you to muttering darkly, recall that Gaines insisted on drafting a Latvian unicorn by the name of Kristaps Porzingis.

Gaines was polite enough to offer only a hint of a chuckle at my question.

“So you’re bored?” he asked me. “If you can get either one of them you take them yesterday, today or tomorrow.”

O.K., but …

Gaines saw that I was not getting off the telephone and so offered more. To draw the comparative measure of those stars who loom as Himalayan peaks next to their contemporaries, you must dive into arcana. You begin with comparative statistics, which are impressive if perhaps not decisive.

Leonard’s playoff road this year is paved with gilded statistics. He has averaged 31 points and 8.4 rebounds a game during a run that has taken his team three rounds into the playoffs into a taut battle with the Milwaukee Bucks. He is shooting 52 percent from the field — and his performance only swelled as he dived into the crucible of the playoffs.

A counterpoint is in order: Durant pulled his calf muscle in the Warriors’ last series, and so he sat out the conference final. Gone is not forgotten. Before his injury, he was averaging 34 points – the highest playoff average of his career — and five assists per game, and shooting 41 percent from beyond the 3-point line. He sunk a dagger deep into his team’s toughest competitor so far, the Houston Rockets. And he’s a savvy defender.

In other words, he’s not bad.

Both men remain startlingly calm in the game’s frenzied eye. In a game against the Bucks this past Tuesday, Leonard did not pile up points and rebounds, but he gave the distinct impression that performance was the result of intelligent design. He does not possess the improvisational shooting soul of a Stephen Curry or Kyrie Irving, but he reads a game’s rhythms like a book.

The Bucks in that Tuesday game kept closing on him like a Venus Flytrap whenever he feinted toward the hole. So he pounded the ball and waited for the defenders to descend and whipped the ball to teammates who in turn hit others cutting to the basket. Toronto’s coach Nick Nurse termed these Leonard’s “hockey assists,” meaning smart passes that lead to assists in turn.

On defense, he crouched low and extended those giant mitts of his. He has put in stints covering Antetokounmpo, and it’s safe to guess the Greek’s dreams are now bewitched by visions of Leonard.

Like many basketball men, the basketball man Gaines’s mind runs to minutes played and durability and usage, which is to say how much stress-filled time the stars spend with the ball in their hands. The grandest stars run year after year deep into the playoffs and over the course of their careers will wind up playing entire extra seasons-worth of games.

LeBron James has played 46,235 regular season minutes – and another 10,049 minutes in the playoffs, or nearly one-fifth of his career. Durant has played 31,305 regular season minutes and another 5,586 in the playoffs.

Leonard’s workload has been somewhat lighter. He has accumulated 14,404 minutes in the regular season and another 3,523 in the playoffs.

Injuries are another measure, and reflect the wages of a cumulative wearing down. Durant has missed more than a dozen games per season in the last few years. Leonard unexpectedly missed most of last season with a quad strain, the mystery of which was compounded by Leonard’s diffidence and refusal to discuss that nature of that injury. He occupies that area between taciturn and mum.

“You see muscle and tendon strains, those are overuse injuries,” Gaines said. “You are more susceptible to that with age.”

Which brings us to the actuarial charts. NBAminer.com crunched data and discovered that a basketball player’s prime is 29 years old, that point where physical talent and the ability to see and dissect a game arrive at a handsome crossroads. Many players slip side rather quickly after that and begin the descent into athletic old age.

That might cause a general manager or two to double-clench at the notion of showering hundreds of millions of dollars on Durant, 30. Against that parsimonious impulse however, we should balance another statistical reality: The very best, those truly worth of the overused term superstar, tend to enjoy longer peaks and far milder downward slopes.

So which one … ?

Gaines smartly declined to take my bait. Me, I’d take the seven-footer who can twirl like a ballet dancer and hit 30 footers over undersized opponents. But if I were Knicks management, and the phlegmatic Leonard gets on the phone, I’d agree to take the lunch meeting and I’d pick up the check too.

Sahred From Source link Sports

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