#steps away from the drawing tablet shaking and covered in blood

[brainworm-blitz]

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Stab Me In The Front Part 3: The Redemption Of Ransom Drysdale.

Intro: It’s the Public Launch of Harlan’s book and SIP have pulled all the stops out. Once again there’s a clash of wills between Katie and Ransom, but this one is firmly a score draw…

Warnings: Bad language. Mentions of rape and violence.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Huge thanks to @angrybirdcr​ for the banner!

Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

November 2015

Fiasco.

That was the only word to describe the operation in Dubrovnik

The computer banks they were working on exploded as soon as Sam and Rhodey tried to extract any information. Thrown backwards, stunned, they luckily escaped any severe damage thanks to their armour but it didn’t stop Steve from worrying.

"You okay?" he asked, stepping forward as they both straightened up.

The movement saved the Captain’s life. There was no pop of breaking glass or crack of gunfire as alll the windows in the room had been blown out in the explosion, and no doubt the gun had a silencer. The only sound alerting any of them to the fact something had happened was Steve's pained grunt as he went to his knees.

Sam dropped with him, forcing him below the level of the window sill as he tried to stand again.

"Don't move," he ordered, as his hand pressed to Steve’s back, blood seeping out through his fingers.

Natasha sent three bullets speeding on their way before Rhodey tore past, shattering what was left of the window on his way out.

"Sam," Steve protested, trying to get up, but Sam pushed further, shaking his head.

"They're fine," he said firmly, "they've got this. Just stay down until I can tell how bad this is."

Natasha walked over, kneeling down. “Cap, you need evac?" she asked, but Steve shook his head firmly.

"I'm okay," he panted.

Natasha glanced over at Sam and he nodded to her as she started to talk into the coms.

"Evans, get in here with a couple of those compression bandages. Cap's been hit."

Reluctantly, Steve settled under Sam’s hands, face drawn with pain and concentration, completely focused on his team as ever.  Sam kept his hand pressed against his back trying to stop the bleeding.

“That bullet should have killed you.” Natasha said grimly as she looked at the trajectory. “If you hadn’t moved…”

“Thanks Romanoff…” his said between gritted teeth, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“What I’m trying to say…” She repeated patiently. “Is that this was a set up…whoever he is, he’s got a hell of a grudge.”

Steve groaned again. Not least because of the agony in his back from the wound but also the realisation that he had been so stupid. They should have spotted this was as set up right from the start. Fucking Crossbones and his stupid fucking hockey mask…why would he want to target an old warehouse of all places?

And he’d made the decision to go in shorthanded as well. Katie was busy prepping the ‘Colour of Revenge’ launch which was due to take place in little under a week, Vision and Wanda had remained at base, neither of them particularly ready for a field operation, Wanda still working on channelling her powers and Vision…well, he was still ridiculously conspicuous. And, as they’d initially decided it was recon only, Steve had pulled Natasha, Rhodey and Sam in on the job along with a couple of the support staff, thinking it would be a quick in and out to gather intel on what it is Crossbones is intending on stealing next.

Rhodey’s voice crackled over the connection. "Um, guys?" He sounded oddly grave. "We've got civilians."

Steve didn't wait for the bandages. He twisted out from under Sam’s grip and bolted for the doors, barking instructions to the support team, ignoring Sam’s calls as he ran.

“You all need to get back inside!” Rhodey was instructing as Steve emerged from the building, voice loud from the speakers on his suit “This is not a drill. For your safety, step inside."

“It’s Captain America…” Steve heard someone say as he began to stride forward, Sam and Natasha hot in his heels,

“No sign…”  Rhodey turned to him. “You alright?”

“Perfectly.” Steve said, his mouth thin before he turned to the crowd. Thankfully, at that point the local authorities had arrived having been called by the support team, and Steve pushed through the throng of people to speak to them.

“How is he really?” Rhodey asked, looking at Natasha then Sam.

“Being stubborn…” Sam said, scanning the surroundings as the civilians reluctantly began trickling indoors, directed by the Police on Steve’s instructions. 

Ironically it was the suddenly widened eyes of the bystanders around him that was the only warning they got as to what was coming. Sam just managed to spin round extending his wings to shield Natasha from the shot as another one bounced off Rhodey’s suit.

“Take cover!” Rhodey said as he took off, followed by Sam. The pair scanning for a shooter.

The screams and various yells from the public rang out all over the area and it was then that Steve felt himself run cold. One of the bystanders was down, blood seeping from a wound in his abdomen. As he watched the medics moved in Steve tapped Evans on the shoulder.

“Keep the emergency crews covered” he instructed, looking up to see Sam and Rhodey circling the sky. "Rhodey, Sam report," 

"No sign of anyone Cap" Sam announced wearily, "He must have taken that last shot and gone.”

With a frustrated groan Steve spun back towards the Emergency relief to coordinate with their chief with regards to a clear up.

**** "You know, when a man gets shot, he's supposed to accept medical assistance before running back into a fight," Katie looked at Steve as he walked down the ramp of the jet. “Why are you not on a gurney?” “Because my legs work.”

“Steve…” she sighed gently, “I’ve been so worried.” “Which is why I told them not to call you.” he looked at her softly.

“Yeah, not gonna fly.” she shook her head “That’s not the deal and you know it. You better not have shouted at Sam too much.” “Define too much.” Sam quipped as he walked past and Steve rolled his eyes before he turned to the man.

“We need to…” he only got 3 words into his sentence before Katie shut him down.

“No, you need medical.” she said, in a tone that meant it was not up for debate. Steve glanced down at her and gave a resigned sigh, and then winced involuntarily at the movement. “Come on” she said gently, nudging her self under his arm as she guided him away from the jet and across the landing pad, through to the facility. Once inside she pushed the button for the elevator.

“You don’t have to put on a brave face in front of me.” she looked at him and immediately his body language changed.

“I know.” he said softly “But it ain’t the first time I’ve been shot. It tends to happen.” Katie glared at him as he looked down at her, eyebrow raised slightly “Yeah, and the last time I nearly lost you.” “I’m fine.” he insisted, his face softening as she stared at him, green eyes alight with worry. “You know, I still have an old bullet…” “Yeah, yeah, it’s embedded too deep near your spine to be easily removed.” she said, “I know, you told me that when we first started hanging out. Remember? It kept setting off the metal detector in Tony's lab.” Steve gave a huff of laughter, instantly regretting it as the movement jostled his wound.

“Tony was pissed because he couldn’t figure out what was doing it.” Katie watched him “I think you took pity on him after a month as he was threatening to have them all ripped out and replaced.”

“See, I did have a sense of humour back then after all.” Steve chuckled a little as the elevator arrived, immediately stopping as another sharp pain shot up his back.

“I never said otherwise.” Katie smiled, bustling him into the elevator when it opened, slapping the button for the medical floor. As the elevator doors shut, Steve leaned his shoulder and head against the wall. Now that they were alone and away from any of the staff that had been bustling about Katie knew he’d give in and sure enough, he took a deep breath and gave a small cry of pain. She moved behind him and started undoing the buckles of his harness, letting the heavy straps slide forward over his shoulders and fall to the floor.

"Sam would be joking about this for years if he knew." Steve mumbled as Katie started working on his gloves. "You taking my clothes off in the elevator."

"Not the first time.” she replied calmly, pulling off the second glove and sweeping up the tangled mess of items from the floor. The doors opened and she took her place back under his arm.

"Come on, let's get you fixed up before you heal over that bullet entirely."

Peggy had told Katie once about how she had dug a bullet out from Steve’s thigh during the War with no morphine as the supply was so limited and, as he needed about 4 times the dose for it to do anything, he had insisted they saved it for the others. Now, he didn’t refuse the pain killers or the anaesthetic as the medics put him under to remove the bullet, although he probably would have done given half a chance, which thankfully he wasn’t. They were done in under an hour and he was left to recover in one of the rooms. Katie took a call from Tony, assuring him that Steve was ok and settled in a chair by his side, flicking through the tablet which held the final details of the organisation for the book launch.

It was an hour or so later when she was half way through putting the finishing touches to her speech that a slightly slurred mumble from the bed to her right took her attention.

"Hey pretty girl."

Katie smiled.

"You probably say that to all the ladies," she teased, reaching out to take his hand. He smiled at her touch and something tender stirred in his unguarded eyes.

"Just the one I'm married to," he countered, eyelids fluttering as he fought off the effects of the drug. Then he frowned. "Don't suppose you can stop the walls from wobbling?"

Katie felt her lips twitch with amusement as she stood up and reached to turn the IV drip containing his anaesthetic down a touch. Steve’s eyes almost immediately began to focus as his powerful metabolism worked to clear up the drugs in his system. He shifted uncomfortably and tried to sit up, but Katie’s hand on his chest stopped him at once.

"Lie down, Badass," she ordered firmly. "Even you don't get over a bullet to the back that easily."

With a sigh, he lay back, eyes intent on her face, bringing up his hand to cover her left on his chest, his fingers gently skating over the rings that adorned her finger. "You okay?" 

“I am now you’re awake.” she smiled “This is the second time you’ve been shot on me.” “Sorry, I’ll try not to make it so awful for you next time.” he quipped.

“Err, I’d rather there wasn’t a next time full stop, thanks.” Katie looked back at him and he smiled back at her before he nodded to the tablet that was resting on the bed by his side

“What you working on?” “My speech for the launch. Just about done.” “So you’re not winging?” He asked and she chuckled.

“Too much to say, although I’ll probably end up improvising some of it.” she shrugged. “And that is another reason you need to make sure you’re properly healed.”

“I’ll be right as rain in a day or so, I promise.”

“Good, because I can’t have my soldier unable to dance with me now can I?”

Steve smiled at his wife and reached up with his hand, to gently brush her face “No, we can’t.”

***** True to his word, thanks to the serum Steve was back on his feet the next day, but was instructed to take it slow for a while, which was easier said than done when you had the constant energy and drive he did. However, one stern gaze from Katie when he offered to help her set up for the launch was enough to make him retreat to their quarters, hands up in surrender, Sam’s loud guffaws at the way he’d literally quivered under his wife’s gaze like some sort of naughty kid echoing in his ears.

Now, he was stood in The Rainbow Rooms, simply admiring his wife as she moved around. She was dressed in a stunning floor length midnight blue lace dress, embellished with beading and detail. The plunge neckline gave him a perfect view of her cleavage (and everyone else for that matter, not that Steve cared, she was his, he knew that) and it hugged all of her perfect curves and pooled on the floor around her high heel clad feet. She’d blown him away when she’d emerged from the room before, hair elegantly twisted up, make up immaculately applied and that flash of scarlet lipstick she wore had almost sent him over the edge.

The fact she looked utterly stunning was one thing, but the other was that it never ceased to amaze Steve how at home she was at big events like this. He watched her, a swell of pride in his chest as she milled around with Tony and her Chief Editor, a nice man that Steve liked called David Jones, welcoming people to the launch. She introduced Steve to Harlan, the author, who he had instantly liked and it had left him completely puzzled about how a man like that had such an insufferable shit as a grandson. Mind you, he hadn’t been overly enamoured with Ransom’s parents to be fair. Linda seemed far too full of herself and as for his father, a grey haired weasel of a man called Richard…well, the way his eyes had blatantly travelled over Katie had set Steve’s teeth on edge. Katie hadn’t missed the way Steve’s arm had curled protectively round her waist and his lips had brushed softly against her temple in a display of gentle possessiveness and she’d simply grinned up at him and flashed him a wink, letting him know he was well and truly busted. But did he care? Not one damned iota.

As more guests arrived Katie excused herself to go and speak to the Compare for the evening, checking her timings for when her speech would be taking place, which was when Tony’s attention was drawn to Evans who was manning the door. There was a strict guest list, and it looked like he was arguing with someone who was trying to get in. Excusing himself from his current conversation he strode over.

“Evans?” Tony asked as he drew up besides the man.

“Mr Stark, this man is trying to gain entry…”

“I’m telling you, Harlan is my grandfather…” “Your grandfather could be the King of England, Sir.” Evans responded drily “You’re not on the guest list so I can’t let you in…” “This is bullshit!”

“Sorry, who did you say you are?” Tony asked, knowing full well who he was after Katie had told him all about her encounter with him in Boston. He looked Ransom up and down, taking in his long black coat which he wore open over an expensive suit, blue and black striped woollen scarf draped round his neck. But it was his face that really drew Tony’s attention. Katie had been right, he did have an uncanny resemblance to Spangles. Differences were there, but still…

“Ransom Drysdale.” Ransom responded, his teeth grit together.

“Oh, you’re the mush whose ass my sister kicked in Boston!” Tony nodded, raising an eyebrow “What you doing here?” “This is my Grandfathers’ book launch.” Ransom glared back at Tony, his jaw twitching.  “Well last I heard your grandfather approved the guest list and you’re not on it. At least I don’t think you are.” Tony made to move and took the clipboard off Evans, glancing at the names “Nope, don’t see anything down here for Felonius Gru…”

“You mean Felonius Hugh.” a voice spoke and both Tony and Evans wheeled round to see Katie stood there hands on her hips. Ransom gave a snort as he looked back at her “What are you doing here?” “I was in the area.” He shrugged.

Katie took a deep breath and stared at him, the last time she had seen him he had been on the floor getting his coat defiled by a dog. As the image stirred in her memory she smirked a little before she sighed and glanced around. There were too many people here, too many reporters to make as scene and she didn’t want the night to be overshadowed by some spoilt shit of a man who she had no doubt would get fairly loud if this little stand-off continued.

“Let him in.” She said to Tony and Evans.

Tony looked at her “You sure Kiddo?” “Yeah.” She nodded, her eyes not moving from Ransom’s.

“Your funeral.” Tony said, stepping back. Evans did the same and Ransom strode past them both, an infuriatingly smug look plastered on his harsh features.

“Cloak room is over there.” she directed him to her right.

“Thanks.” he muttered. She paused to look at him, frowning. He rolled his eyes. “What?”

“You, I didn’t know you had manners.” “I’m not a complete heathen.” he shot back, removing his coat.

“Could have fooled me.” she shrugged, “By the way, I’d kinda like my reputation to be unsullied after tonight so please try not to demand all the staff call you Hugh, it won’t look good on me or my company if they realise I’ve allowed in a complete douchebag.” With that she turned and headed back into the main room, making straight for Steve who was stood chatting to Wanda and slipped her arms round him from behind, underneath his blue tux. He glanced down at her and smiled.

“Hey, was wondering where you had gotten to.”

“We had a gate-crasher.” she said.

“Gate-crasher?” he instantly spun round “Why didn’t you come get me?” “Because Tony, Evans and I handled it…well, sorta.” “Sorta?” he frowned even further.

“I let him in.” “Why would you do that?”

“Because he would cause a scene if he wasn’t admitted, plus he’s full of shit anyway as we well know.” “We well know? Just who…” Steve trailed off as he looked around the room and spotted Ransom strolling in like he owned the place “Oh hell, no!”

With that he set off walking towards the man, his strides purposeful. He was fuming at the out and out audacity that this utter, utter prick had shown in turning up, especially after everything he had said and done in Boston, not to mention the fact he had dared to grab Katie that day when she was leaving his Grandfather’s house.

“You’ve got some nerve.” he spat.

“Hey, look, don’t rip another one of my shirts.” Ransom said, lazily “This wasn’t a cheap one either.” “Your shirt is going to be the least of your worries, trust me.” Steve snarled, his hands falling to the buckle of his belt.

“Steve.” Katie gently grabbed his arm, feeling the furious energy radiating off him in waves. “Please Soldier, don’t cause a fuss. The press are here and, I’ve worked so hard for tonight.” Steve took a deep breath and looked at his wife. Her face was pleading with him. Fuck, she was right. He didn’t want to ruin what she’d spent so long preparing for, not when it meant something so personal.

“Fine.” he said, a little gruffly. He glared at Ransom and took a step forward so that he was eye to eye with the man “But just for the record, you so much as lay one finger on my wife again, I will rip you limb from limb.” There was a silence as Ransom’s face slipped ever so slightly before he recovered and held his hands up.

“Understood.” he said.

Steve’s eyes held the man’s gaze for a few more seconds before he looked down to Katie, his expression and face softening as she looked at him with those eyes he would never tire of seeing. “I’m going to get a drink, you want one sweetheart?”

“Gin and Tonic, please. I’ll come over in a minute.” she said. He took a deep breath, not entirely happy she was staying to talk to the self-absorbed asshole but he nodded. Dropping a kiss to her cheek he shot Ransom one last glare before he headed off to the bar.

"You’re doing it wrong," Ransom said, shaking his head as he watched Steve walk away.

"Doing what wrong?" Katie frowned, turning to him.

"Marriage," he answered shortly, looking at her. "You should be fighting about the colour of your drapes or his latest affair that you’re desperate to ignore or something."

“Well if that doesn't say something about your parents…" Katie trailed off.

Ransom snorted “My parents are all kinds of fucked up Doll, trust me.” he took a deep breath

Katie sighed “Look, I’m only letting you stay because I know what a scene you’d have caused otherwise, not to mention how it would make your Grandfather feel…” Ransom shook his head, dropping his gaze slightly before he looked back at her “I’m not here to cause trouble and I genuinely was in the area. It’s just, well, this would be the first of his launches I’ve missed in years.” “Oh my God you do have a heart.” She said, looking at him.

“Don’t tell everyone.” He said with a shrug, “Listen, the last time we met, I wasn’t… well, I guess, you rubbed me up the wrong way…” he trailed off somewhat lamely, shrugging. “That’s about as much of an apology as I’m gonna get isn’t it?” Katie said after a pause. “I wasn’t apologising.” Ransom sniffed. “Simply stating facts.”

“Oh go fuck yourself with a cactus.” Katie shook her head causing Ransom to throw his head back in laughter. And it was genuine laughter too, Katie was surprised to see. His eyes crinkled up and his entire body shook. She waited for him to calm down before she looked at him, a faint smile on her face. “Here was me thinking you’d actually shown some remorse!”

“Well, to be fair, you left me on the ground where the dog pissed on my coat and left a knife in my tyre.” Ransom’s laughter died down and he looked at her, his eyebrow raised.

“Then we’re even.” Katie shrugged. She nodded to where Ransom’s Grandfather was stood observing them and Ransom followed her gaze. The old man took a deep breath and gave him a questioning look.

“Suppose I best go explain why I’m here.” Ransom sighed, and Katie was surprised to find he was actually coming across as slightly nervous. His hands were shoved in his trouser pockets but she could see from the way his shoulders had slumped slightly, and his arms were twitching which made her think that that he was balling and un-balling his fists. Maybe there was a slightly softer side hidden under that brisk exterior after all.

“You want my advice?” She looked at him.

“Not really but something tells me you’re gonna give it me anyway.” he said, his eyes turning back to her.

“Try being honest.” Katie suggested, her tone slightly softer. “Tell your Granddad you’re here for him. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Ransom snorted but didn’t reply. Giving her one more appraising look and a small jerk of a nod he headed off to join his family before Katie made her way to Steve who was waiting for her at the bar. **** When the time came, Katie took to the stage, welcoming everyone and inviting Harlan to say a few words. The old man accepted, smiling and spoke for a few moments about the book, his inspirations, and how honoured he was that the profits were being donated to such a worthwhile cause. There had been a few shared looks amongst the rest of his family, Ransom had noticed, much to his amusement, but he knew they’d save face and pretend they actually gave a shit about the people the money was going to help when all the time they were just thinking of their bank balances.

When his grandfather stepped down, he watched as Katie stepped forward, her insufferable husband watching her carefully, all doe eyed and so evidently in love… frankly it made him want to barf.

But then she started talking.

“Most of you here will know that I was missing last year as result of a mission gone wrong” Katie spoke, looking out across the audience. “In reality, I was…” She took a deep breath, before she licked her lips. “I was held captive and tortured for information on what the Avengers were doing. And when the usual methods of torture didn’t work, they moved on to trying other things. And given the charities we are supporting tonight, I’m sure you can all guess what those other things were.”

Shit. 

Suddenly her reaction to being grabbed by him outside the house made perfect sense. Hell, what was it he was feeling all of a sudden? Was that guilt?

 No, Ransom Drysdale didn’t do guilt…

“I was subjected to an ordeal that no one should have to suffer.” Katie continued, speaking clearly and calmly “But sadly, the figures speak for themselves. I won’t bore you with statistics but it truly is frightening. And something else I found frightening is that I didn’t even know about half the charities that exist to help people who find themselves subjected to the same ordeal. I was lucky. I have an amazing support network of friends, family, an amazing substitute father in my brother and a loving, wonderful husband, or fiancée as he was at the time, who I wouldn’t have coped without. To all of you, and Tony and Steve, I would never have gotten through any of this without your constant support and encouragement, and I love you all from the bottom of my heart.”

A small round of applause and mumblings spread across the room and Ransom cast his eyes over to the Captain who was stood not far from the stage, his eyes shining as he glanced up at his wife a look of sheer pride and adoration on his face.

Yep. Utterly sickening. But yet…what was that? Was he moved? 

No, Ransom Drysdale didn’t do sentiment…

“But the point is, not everyone is that lucky, which is why I wanted to do something positive, have something good come out out of what happened to me. Giving money to these causes is one thing but the most important way of ensuring people get the support that they need is to make the world aware they exist. By Mr Thrombey agreeing to let us use his book to create awareness, well this is the kind of publicity that money can’t buy, and for that I thank you sincerely Harlan.” She looked directly at his grandfather, who raised his glass in her direction, flashing the woman a smile.

“And now, because I know this will be repeated on various press platforms, I want to speak directly to anyone who is dealing with the after effects of rape, sexual assault or sexual violence. Be it having happened to you or someone you know. You probably feel broken, alone, like no one understands, maybe you blame yourself, or maybe you just don’t know what to do to help a person you love or care about deal with their trauma. These support networks exist for you, to help you, to lend an ear when you think no one else will listen or understand, to share your experiences with others going through the same thing. The first step is always the hardest, but sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life. Tip toe if you gotta, but take the step. Please, don’t suffer in silence. Thank you.”

She finished and the room erupted into applause and Ransom glanced at his Grandfather, before he too started clapping.

**** “Was it ok?” Katie whispered to Steve as he gently helped her down the steps again, the applause ringing around the room.

“Ok?” Steve looked at her, his eyes shining with emotion “Honey, you were amazing. I’m so, so Goddamned proud of you.” he pressed a kiss to her temple, his arm pulling her closer as the Compare once again took to the stand to announce the rest of the evening’s activities. There was an auction to be held to raise more funds, then the band would start, food would be available, and then the DJ would see the evening out.

After a hug from her friends, Katie took off to talk to a few of the reporters that were around and it felt like she had hardly spent any time with Steve before the DJ started signalling they were into the last hour of the night. That was when Harlan found her to come and bid her goodbye. She thanked him again, shook hands with all of his family, before she found herself face to face with Ransom.

“It was a, err, good speech.” He offered and she smiled, shrugging a little.

“Thank you.” She nodded, taking the praise for what it was.

“I erm, I had no idea about…” He gestured with his hands, a faint flush on his face

“Why would you? You don’t know me.”

“No but, if I had I wouldn’t, well, I wouldn’t have said what I did to you outside my grandfather’s.”

“Wouldn’t you?” She asked, curiously.

“No.” he said, sincerely “I get why you reacted like you did now. I’m sorry.” “Ok so this is an apology, just so we’re on the same page?”

“Yes, it’s an apology.” Ransom rolled his eyes.

“Well then I accept it.” She nodded. “Burying the hatchet huh?” “Or in this case knife” He drawled and she laughed “Preferably not in my tyre this time. Or my back come to think of it.” “I only stab people in the front” Katie quipped and he shook his head with a smirk.

“I don’t doubt it. Goodnight Mrs Rogers.” he said, holding out his hand. Katie looked at it for a moment before she took it, his grip surprisingly gentle.

“Goodnight Mr Drysdale.” “Call me Ransom.” he said, and with a last wink he headed off after his family.

“Weird.” Katie mumbled to herself, before she felt two arms circle her waist and a soft pair of lips pressing a kiss to her neck.

“He gone?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, he was…surprisingly nice” She mused, turning to face him “Apologised for his behaviour.” Steve snorted. “Like I said, weird.” Katie shrugged.“Anyway, is it time to dance yet?”

Steve laughed and allowed her to lead him out onto the dancefloor where he took her in his arms, the pair of the swaying to a fairly upbeat song.

“You know, I did some digging.” Steve said, as he revolved them both across the space

“Yeah?”

“The resemblance between us got me curious.”

“You’re nothing like him” Katie said “trust me.” “No, I know but looks…” Steve shrugged “Anyway, I had FRIDAY do some research and it turns out that there’s a Rogers way back on his mother’s line.”

“So you could actually be related?” Katie grinned.

“It’s possible. It would make me like his great, great uncle or something, maybe.” Steve mused as he twirled her round “But trust me when I say this, that’s one thread I really aint going to pull on!”

Katie laughed as the music slowed down and the opening bars to John Legend ‘You And I’ struck up. Steve smiled and pulled her closer, one large hand clasped around hers, the other on the bottom of her back.

“It reminds me of you this song.” he murmured as she lay her head on his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…the fact you try on every single outfit you own before you decide what to wear.” “I do not.” she protested. At that he pulled back to look down at her and she looked up at him, “Ok, maybe I can be a little indecisive sometimes…” He chuckled and she moved back so she was pressed against him, as they gently swayed.

“If your mirror won’t make it any clearer I’ll be the one to let you know, Out of all of the girls, you’re my one and only girl,  aint no body in the world tonight, All of the stars, you make the shine like they were ours, Aint nobody in the world but you and I… You stop the room when we walk in, spot lights on, everybody’s staring, tell all of these boys they’re wasting their time stop standing in line, coz you’re all mine…” “Stevie…” she whispered and he looked down at her, blushing as he realised he’d been singing the words softly to her. She smiled up at him and pulled his face down to hers for a soft kiss. “Love you Soldier.” she whispered against his lips.

“Love you too baby girl…” he murmured back, before pressing his lips to hers for a deeper kiss.

“Wanna get out of here?” she looked up at him cheekily. “And leave your own gala?” he feigned shock and she smirked. “It’s my party, I’ll leave if I wanna.”

He didn’t need asking twice. Quickly and silently they headed to the cloakroom. Steve helped her into her jacket and then took her hand and led her out.

**** It was a few days later when the package arrived for her at the tower. Her secretary brought it in and Katie thanked her, forgetting all about it until she came back from lunch. Opening the box she frowned as she pulled out an envelope and a smaller box. Deciding to go with the smaller box as curiosity was getting the best of her she pulled off the lid and had to fight the loud laugh that was threatening to bubble from her chest. It was her knife, the one she’d thrown into Ransom’s tyre. Picking up the envelope she opened it and her mouth dropped open at the cheque that fluttered down onto the desk. It was for a total of Fifty Thousand Dollars, and was made out to her charity. After she stared at the numbers and the signature for a moment, she turned her attention to the note held in her right hand. The writing was actually fairly neat, but she would expect nothing less from the man who had sent it.

“I just wanted to say thank you for being part of something that pissed off my shithead family no end. Took a leaf out of your book and thought I’d put some of my trust fund to good use. It would have been slightly more but I had to replace a tyre. I was tempted to keep the knife as a souvenir but it’s quite a nice one so figured you might want it back.

Regards, Ransom

P.s. if you tell anyone I’m actually a decent person, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

She read it and re-read it about 50 times, smiling to herself before she stood up and handed the cheque to her secretary, instructing her to have it sent to finance for the Charity Fund. She sank back into her chair, pondering something for a moment before she leaned forward and tapped at her keyboard top open up a blank webpage, biting her lip and smiling as she did. ****

“Hugh, there’s a package for you in the study.”

“Thanks Franny.” Ransom bustled over to his cupboard, grabbing his packet of cookies and frowning “This is the last one.” “I’ll make sure they’re added to the food order.” she replied. He gave her a nod before he walked out and down the hallway.

The box was fairly large. Grabbing a letter opener, his mouth full as he chewed, he slit carefully down the tape on the top and folded back the sides. He hastily swallowed, coughing slightly as he pulled out the new Burberry camel coat that was inside. Slipping it on it was a perfect fit, good quality too. Shrugging it off and draping it over the back of the chair he glanced back in the box and let out a laugh at the 4 packets of Biscoff in the bottom, and pulled out the note attached to one of them, before sitting down and reading.

“Thank you for your very kind donation, Mr Drysdale, rest assured it will be put to good use for the charity. I’m also pleased you sent me my knife back, Steve says I have an unhealthy attachment to my weapons so leaving it buried in your tyre was a real wrench. I hope the coat fits, sorry about the whole kicking your ass and the dog piss, but they really are exceptional judges of character.

Katie.

P.s Do us all a favour and have someone fix the holes in your sweaters …or even better just buy some new ones for fucks sake, hobo chic went out of fashion about 10 years ago.”

He read and reread the note again, laughing as he did so, glancing at the frayed cuff of his light blue sweater before he stood up, stuck the note into his back pocket with a smile and picked up the red packets of his favourite snack.

“Franny!” He called as he walked back into the hall “Scratch the cookies off the list...”

*****

Part 4

**Original Posting**

[southsidestory]

Caged

RATING: Explicit

FANDOM: Hunger Games

SHIP: Odesta

WARNINGS: Rape/non-con, drug use, forced sex work

SUMMARY: Annie’s Victory Tour brings her to the Capitol, with Finnick at her side. He did his job as her mentor when he got her out of the arena, but he can’t look after her anymore. All he can do is play the part Snow has given him. It’s almost simple now, posing for the cameras and obeying his patrons, all with a smile on his face. Pretending is so easy that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. But Annie might be able to remind him. 

Read on AO3

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With his lips closed, Dionysus looks plain by Capitol standards. Pasty skin, undyed and free of tattoos. Short brown hair, black shoes, dark suit. Colorless, except for the trio of yellow tablets in his palm. My throat itches to swallow down the promise they hold, but I have two questions that need answering.

First: “Will I be able to fuck?”

The dealer laughs, revealing a mouth full of gold and gems. “Like a damn rabbit,” Dionysus says.

Second: “I want to feel nothing, but a good nothing. Can this do that?”

Sapphires flash on his eye teeth. “You’ll see nirvana,” he promises.

I don’t know what that is, or where it might be, but any place would be better than this one.

.

.

Red. That’s all I see, at first. Waves and folds of the color spilling down the length of Annie’s skirt. Six feet of fabric fans out behind her, but the top of the dress is spare, sheer wisps that cling to her breasts and shoulders and throat.

“Inspired,” says Sabina. “Her stylist has an eye for drama.”

Her stylist will be lucky to have eyes at all when I’m done with him.

I take a flute of turquoise champagne from a passing Avox’s tray. It tastes like turpentine and sugar, the medicine that District Four mothers force down their children’s sore throats. I drink three glasses in ten minutes. Red still bleeds along the edges of my vision, and no matter where I turn, there’s Annie. Trussed up for Capitol appetites, tribute all over again. When I reach for another glass Sabina touches her too-long nails to my wrist. Tap, tap: bad dog. She kisses me, tongue sour blue slick, and I imagine what a senator’s wife might look like if three weeping mouths opened in the middle of her chest.

Something tugs at my shirt sleeve, jealous but gentle. Annie, drowning in all that District One silk.

“I need you,” she says. Splattered droplets dot her left cheek, a constellation of freckles that shine crimson-wet in the low light.

“Everyone needs me tonight.”

Sabina laughs and Annie pulls away, so I know I've said the wrong thing. That’s what happens when I put pills in my mouth; nothing but mistakes come out.

I say, “Teenage girls,” and give my date a knowing smile. Let her read what she wants into that.

Sabina twines her fingers around my arm and leans in close, smug and conspiratorial. “My daughter’s at that age now. It’s all me, me, me! And they want everything immediately. Nothing pleases them…”

How this is any different from the rest of the Capitol I can’t guess, but I let her go on, nodding and humming my sympathy where appropriate. Oh yes, they’re selfish little brats. Ungrateful, never satisfied. When Sabina pauses to sample a canapé I say how much I hate to leave her for even a moment, but I am Annie’s mentor. Duty calls and all that.

Sabina frowns prettily. “I hope you're this dedicated in all of your pursuits.”

She should know the answer to that already. This isn’t our first date. Still, I feed her a stock innuendo about finishing the things I start.

“Go on then, but be back soon!”

I find my tribute talking to the light crew. A woman with tattooed vines climbing the side of her shaved head shows Annie how to hold a sheet of foil. It’s a clever way to hide from the cameras and I wish I’d thought of it first. Too late for that, because Annie turns her silver shield, and then there’s a lens blinking closer to my well-lit face.

“Perfect,” says Vines. “You’re a natural.”

Annie shakes her head. “No. He’s just an easy target.”

I duck into the bright circle of the light crew’s equipment before the cameras can focus. The heat feels artificial, claustrophobic, like the solar beds my stylist makes me visit. Annie returns the foil to Vines and thanks her for the lesson. I can’t breathe again until there’s ten feet between me and the clicking insect sound of mechanical eyes.

“I thought you were busy,” Annie says. Her voice is so light and casual that, if I didn’t know her, I’d have no idea that she’s annoyed.

“I shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

Annie shrugs. “You never mean anything you say in the Capitol.”

Sometimes I forget how much she sees, this girl who’s turned my world upside down in six months. “Where are your tokens?”

Annie grasps at the place over her heart where two sea glass pendants always rest. She looks mildly surprised to catch only empty air between her fingers. “Vibius wouldn’t let me wear them. Said the colors...” She shakes her head, the way you would to get water out of your ears after swimming. “I’m hungry.”

But when I follow her to a banquet table she doesn’t eat a bite. Instead, she stacks gingerbread cubes around a pink chocolate fountain.

“Who’s your date?” she asks.

“Senator Wexler’s wife,” I say.

Annie never looks up, too busy skewering blueberries on toothpicks. She sticks them in the topmost layer of her curtain wall, like heads on neighboring spikes. Two by two by two. Then she says, “Doesn’t the senator mind?”

“Only that he couldn’t come with us.”

Annie tips over the fountain, and chocolate bursts through her gingerbread dam. It creeps along the aisle of white cloth and drips onto the floor. Part of me wants to scold her, because some Avox will have to clean all this up after the party. I don’t, though, because I know how everything shifts after the Games. You might leave the arena, but it comes with you all the same. Alliances replace friendships. Sleep never really comes easy again, because too many things are still awake in the dark. Survival is tangled up with fighting, hurting, killing, and sometimes you need small destructions just to breathe.

“Dance with me,” Annie says.

The train on that fucking dress is longer than she is. “How could I, with you in that?”

I laugh. Everything and nothing seems funny at the same time. Annie jumps a little when I finger one of the slivers of silk covering her chest. Vibius didn’t leave much to the imagination, so I can see the shape of her. Small teardrop breasts, narrow shoulders, long waist. Her nipples peak beneath the fabric.

Somewhere in my periphery a camera flashes.

“Stop,” Annie says, and I want to shake her. That word doesn’t mean anything in this city. A victor should understand the rules by now.

I trace her collarbone. We’re too far away for Sabina to see us, but even if she does it won’t matter. This is what they want me to be.

The preps painted Annie’s lips too, and it makes her look like a working girl. Ripe apple mouth ready to be plucked. If I could I’d spit on a napkin and wipe it all away, same as my mother used to do to get dirt off my face.

She leans into my touch and asks, “Why are you with that woman?”

“Because she can afford my company.”

Annie’s red, red mouth frowns, but I simply smile and step away, tell her to eat something and enjoy the party.

Sabina welcomes me with a soft hello peck to my cheek. I turn it into more, the kind of wet, deep kiss that decent folk back home wouldn’t dream of doing in public. But that’s how I like it, even if I can hear the cameras snapping behind and beside and in front of me. Pretending is so easy that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

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These sounds are almost lost beneath the snap of handcuffs closing: footsteps, a full skirt whispering across the floor, the creak of hinges.

The manacles lock around my wrists, pulling my arms taut, stretching until my shoulders lift from the bed and I can feel the blades angling outward. Like clipped wings opening, Sabina said, the first time she bought me. A caged bird poised to take flight. Now she leans forward and bites my neck, just hard enough to mark. It’s always hard enough to mark with Sabina, whether she uses teeth or nails or the back of her hand.

I hear feather-light fabric brushing the carpet, then see something in the gap between door and frame. The briefest flash of red silk. There, then gone.

Sabina strikes me hard on the cheek. Pain vibrates through my jaw and up the side of my face. Stars burst behind my eyes, then in front of them, but I don’t feel distant or dizzy. Everything becomes sharper, brighter. Needles made of sunlight prick my vision, highlighting it all with stinging intensity. If I ever come down I’m going to kill Dionysus for selling me those three little pills the color of daffodils. He promised oblivion but gave me this instead. With every blow the room grows brighter, until all I see is Sabina, haloed in white.

Her mouth closes over me, warm and soft, drawing out all the things I don’t want to give. Then she’s straddling my lap, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. Ten welts spring beneath her touch, bright as pink ribbons down my chest. It’s winter everywhere but between her legs, and there she’s fever hot. Cold snakes down my throat, chokes and burrows inside me until it’s snowing under my skin.

“Finnick,” she hisses. I grip the bedposts and snap my hips up to meet her. I’m shaking from the chill air, the pleasure where a warm body takes mine in and the pain everywhere else. I don’t stop, not until she arches and trembles, mouth open on a whiny cry.

One beat, two, and she climbs off. Leaves me aching, tied up, and filthy while she saunters to the bathroom to refresh herself.

The haze clears, unfreezes, and I remember where I’ve seen red silk tonight.

.

.

I scrub until the scratch marks on my chest reopen and the water blushes down the drain, washing away smudged makeup and sweat, fresh blood and Sabina’s come. Not mine, and even though I’m half-hard, I’m mostly thankful. Dates are always worse when a client makes me finish. Steam fills the shower stall, wet and suffocating. Flash-bulbs go off behind my closed eyelids and all I can hear is the endless snapping of camera shutters. I sit on the tile floor, head between my knees, until the water grows cold.

After I get out of the shower and dry off, I pull on the tight blue pants from my date with Sabina and go to Annie’s room. I don’t knock, and when I step inside she jumps. Her dress is curled up in the corner, wilting. All those red folds remind me of a rose, so I turn away. Free of make-up, Annie’s face shines brown and clean. Dark waves fall limply around her cheeks, weighted and damp. By the way she holds the robe over her breasts I can tell she’s not wearing much underneath.

Good. I hope she feels naked. Exposed and vulnerable, like I do.

“You watched us.”

Annie sits on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up close to her body. She whispers an apology I can’t stand to hear.

“Don’t,” I say. She flinches and grasps the sea glass tokens around her neck. Her eyes dart away, focusing on some point along the baseboard.

“Look at me.” I kneel on the floor before her, too close to be ignored. “You didn’t have any trouble looking before.”

The only small mercy I can find is that Annie left before Sabina actually fucked me. But she saw me handcuffed to the bed, and that’s bad enough.

Annie bites her bottom lip, and for a moment all I can see is this same skittish girl, more innocent and less broken, on a different train, blushing under my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “When I saw you leaving with that woman—I didn’t really think, I just wanted to know what was so special about her. So I followed you.”

I thought she wanted to see me, and I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. It’s a good thing that she didn’t want a peep show, that she ran off before she saw the main event. A good thing—but it still pisses me off.

I wrap my hands around her calves and slide down, thumbs grazing the soft skin of her inner ankles.

“Finnick?” Her lips linger on the sound, not quite closing over the question she’s made of my name.

“Open your legs,” I tell her. Because whatever she’s asking, this is the only answer I have to give.

Annie’s breath hitches. She trembles all the way down to her toes, but she’s warm, my girl. I brought her home and that makes Annie mine. She belongs to me in the same way I belong to my sponsors.

When she doesn’t move, I kiss the inside of her right knee, flicking my tongue over a new scar there—a pretty pink thing that’s cropped up since her Games—until her legs shake and unlock. Just as she falls open and willing below the waist, Annie clutches the collar of her robe even more tightly, keeping it closed to me.

Eighteen isn’t so young, I remind myself. Not here, not in this place.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and that’s all I need.

Beads of moisture cling to the dark curls between her legs. She smells like the Capitol, flowers and spun sugar, but when I put my mouth there all I taste is salt and wet and girl. Her hands scramble for purchase, first on the covers, then in my hair, and she pulls with more strength than I expected. Not as sharply as Sabina, but enough to smart. That’s been done to me so many times that I know it means more and now and harder—though by the way Annie’s thumb brushes over my cheek, I think it might also mean please.

No, eighteen isn’t too young for this, but I might be.

I can feel her looking: eyes on me, on my body, on the things I’m doing. Just like before, when she peeked into that bedroom and watched Sabina getting her money’s worth, and it stirs something ugly and angry in the pit of my stomach. So I pull away, let my mouth part from her with a goodbye kiss cruel enough to make her whine and tug on my hair, to say my name again. No question this time, just a soft plea.

I’m sick of being on my knees, and really, there’s no reason I can’t do what I want. No reason at all. When I stand, Annie’s eyes go to my chest, flickering across the stripes Sabina’s fingernails left behind. I strip off my pants, and her gaze lowers, lingers.

Beneath the robe I find her pliant and panting. Skin damp, nipples hard, breath coming fast and shallow. Greedy, grasping, her touch falls with selfish hunger, and in this Annie isn’t unlike my other lovers. Long legs wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her. She’s warm and wet, whimpering in a way that might sound pitiful if it wasn’t making me so hard. I press against her, teasing. Those little mewling noises grow stronger, tighten together into a full-throated moan.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask.

Annie shakes her head, then says, “Almost, once, but…”

Her eyes go distant, and she’s about to slip away from me. Retreat to some inner place where her district partner still lives and loves, but I’m not going to let her mind wander, not now when our bodies are tangled up together. I kiss her, our first, and that’s so backwards that I almost laugh.

Beneath my mouth Annie takes a deep, gasping breath. Then she peppers kisses everywhere she can reach. My brow, both cheeks, the tip of my nose. My lips, again and again. The curve from shoulder to neck and the hollow between my collarbones. When her quick tongue darts out to trace the shell of my ear, I shudder. The drugs must have finally worn off, because I feel myself warming for the first time tonight. “Finnick,” she whispers. “I love you—”

I can’t stand to hear that, not from Annie. So I kiss her quiet, slip a hand between her thighs, and slide two fingers inside of her.

“You’re wetter than home,” I say, and it’s true. More so when I curl my fingers, beckoning her forward—closer to me, closer to coming. “Were you like this in the ballroom, when I touched you?”

“Yes?” It comes out a question, eager but unsure. Annie’s not fluent in pillow talk, and something about that sends a jolt through me. All at once I want her, need to fuck her like I’ll die if I don’t. Under me she’s subtle curves and rocking warmth. Open legs, cradling my hips as I push inside—and then I feel her. Tight, slick heat, stretched around my cock, gripping me, pulling me in.

Annie whimpers, but whether that sound is pained or pleased I’m not sure, can’t tell and barely care. “Yes,” she says, even though I never asked. Why didn’t I ask?

In the beginning I go gentle and steady. Then I slow our rhythm, stretch out the slide of skin on skin, and tell her to beg. Love me becomes have me, you can have me becomes fuck me.

For a moment all I can feel are handcuffs snapping closed, grabbing fingers and greedy cunt. I’m angry all over again but still aching, and Annie knows, because her hands untangle from my hair and dart down to cover her ears. But I catch her wrists, drag them over her head and let my weight do the rest.

I spread her arms apart, wide as they’ll go. Pinned, she’s a butterfly behind glass, pretty and splayed. Annie must like being caged better than I do, because soon she shivers beneath me, coming and crying at once. Back arched, small breasts thrust forward, toes curled and legs taut; she’s lovely like this and so tight it almost hurts.

On the low tide of our touch she says those three unwanted words, passes them from her mouth to mine like a hard candy secret.

“Don’t,” I say.

The camera loves me too. I’m sick to death of love.

But then my climax creeps up on me, sharp and sweet, and I can’t think anymore. There’s nothing but Annie beneath me, her body tight and wet around mine.

In the soft moment right after, I feel something new. A warmth, quiet and gentle, as Annie looks up at me with heavy-lidded green eyes. That love she promised is raw and open as a wound.

It’s terrifying. And tempting, which is the scariest part of all.

The knot around her throat unties easily, and I take a green sea glass token with me when I go. It’s all she has left of the boy who loved her, who died at her side. Stealing it is cruel, but I don’t do it out of spite or jealousy. The reason is simple: my patrons always pay, and Annie is no exception.

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[sliptohk]

Prompt #10: Avail

Each heavy footprint sank into the soft earth as Cordial moved, though there was little he could do about the obvious path he left in his wake. There was simply too much of him to keep from leaving that telltale trail with each heavy step. Still, he made the effort to at least be silent as the towering Hellsguard made his way through the small settlement to the wooden cage freshly erected near the outpost's barracks.

The conditions were what he had expected, muddy earth churned up from the work they had done to build the impromptu prison without much care for the health of the captives within. A lone Keeper woman, her face still covered with sticky blood as she sat in a daze against the far side of it. Strands of her fuchsia locks sticking to those trails even as a faint rain peppered her. Even when he stood there in the low light of evening, she hardly reacted to the looming shadow he cast upon her, save for an unfocused shift of her gaze.

The loud bodyguards within had called her a bandit, leaping soundlessly from the trees to try and make off with a bundle of medicine before a pair of arrows had sent her crashing to the forest floor. But why would she do something so desperate? A sour taste lingered in his mouth as he gripped the iron lock and began to twist it slowly, his other hand coming to wrap about it to deafen the inevitable sound to come. Thick muscle strained as he worked, face tightening with a snarl of effort that set the black-inked tattoos on his bearded face into terrifying cuts and slashing lines, not relenting until the grinding snap of the latch announced his success.

He had to stoop to enter, his hair brushing the top of that cage as he moved to her side to lift her frail shape up into his arms. Stifled sounds of protest coming as his hand came away wet with blood from the poorly bandaged wounds across her back, forcing him to adjust the bundle to rest across his broad chest as he emerged to begin trodding off into the wood. They would come if they wished, there was nothing he could do about that at his size save move faster until coming across a suitable place to pause.

Laying out his bedroll, he carefully positioned the wounded miqo'te upon it with a hand upon her forehead to feel that worrying heat of fever wracking her. With a deep breath, he rested his hands on her back to let the comforting wash of healing aether run across the woman. Slender as most miqo'te he had met, but with the clear signs of starvation as he saw each rib down her back where her tunic had been torn away to crudely treat her wounds. In time, she seemed to rest easier, breaths coming slower and deeper though without change to that concerning temperature as he washed the dried blood from her body.

The top of his pack pulled open to pull free that medicine she had risked her life for, drawing forth a prepared tablet to slip between her lips, before packing his things once again and lifting her up.

"East."

He barely heard the word escaping her, as quiet and sluggish as the tone had been, though the slitted blue eyes looking back up at him held a look of approval as he adjusted his steps. Fears of a trail behind him were soothed as she guided him to streams and rocky earth to traipse along in a winding path through the wood, catching the faint scent of woodsmoke before he came across a collection of several small huts. Two Keepers held spears, but as they struggled to their feet to raise them the answer to his question became obvious.

Ensuring his companion was secure first, he raised a hand to them with a rumbling call, "Peace. Your wounded kin guided me here."

After an exchanged look, the guards attempted to drop back to the earth in a crouch, though shaking legs failed to keep them from sinking to their backsides upon the ground, "Cause trouble and we... we'll strike you..."

A grunt of his agreement, before he moved toward the scent of smoke where it seemed the rest of the family had gathered into a miserable bundle of furs and sickly, wasted forms. Lowering the unnamed woman to the bedding alongside her kin, he pulled free that tin once more to begin portioning out the remedy. There was no argument from them as he held them out as he so often saw among the cities, not mad scrabble to be the first to receive treatment. They helped forward their youngest and eldest until each had received that desparately needed cure and the huntresses took their turns at last. Slipping back out to the guards, Cordial lifted them both, one to each arm, to carry back despite the arguments the proud warriors rose in response. A tablet bought a short silence, but only when he drew his shield and sword and lumbered out to stand watch did they finally relent entirely.

His eye caught on an unbutchered dodo nearby, likely several days old and already swarming with flies, but a few cuts saw the meat still fresh. Stoking the flames, he began to prepare the kill for the ill huntresses within, taking the occasional pause to check on his newly claimed charges and bringing fresh water to force them to drink. It was days before the strongest of them managed to recover enough to hunt once again, a welcome change given his own ineptitude among the unfamiliar locale of the Shroud. And another sennight before the last of their fevers broke and he was satisfied the wounded huntress had recovered enough to cease his daily attentions.

The departure took longer than expected, each of them wishing to voice their personal thanks and offer gifts of carved wooden charms, choice cuts of meats, or finely tanned leathers. He waved off most, save for provisions enough to reach the next town and several new beads to string into his hair.

[overobsessivewhumper]

Mr. Hughes new Pet

The same amount of people wanted the next part to be about Gavin and Mutt, as Mr. Hughes and Mutt, so in the end, i just wrote the on that inspired me more in the moment. sorry, it got a little bit long...

Previous part that plays in the future

Content warning: modern slavery, abuse of a minor (Not in a sexual way though), mention of blood

Tag list: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @burtlederp @im-not-rare-im-rarr

@comfortforthepain @18-toe-beans @haro-whumps @deluxewhump @kungpao-giffy @draganies

43002612’s blindfold got removed roughly, letting him look out of the back of the truck at the two men who had put him in it at the facility. Trying to make as much noise as possible from behind the ball-gag  covering his mouth he tried to shake the men’s hands off of him. He had nothing left to lose. At least  not with these two. He’d already been sold to some sick bastard, and there was nothing he could do about.

43002612 decided he might as well make it as hard as possible for them to transport him.

“Shut the fuck up, stupid brat!” One of the men, the one with the lighter hair of the two, grabbed his bound hands, and threw him to the ground outside the truck.

Despite his tied wrists and ankles, 43002612 tries to get up and run away. Like hell he’s going to belong to some sick person that bought him!

43002612 doesn’t get far, tripping over the cuffs around his ankles. He hits the concrete floor hard enough to get the wind knocked out of him. But that doesn’t stop him. He uses his bound wrists to pull himself further away from his two handlers. A hand grabs his ankle and pulls him back. 43002612 claws at the ground, trying to get hold on the stone. Another pair of hands grabs him and flips him onto his back.

“That’s quite enough out of you! Annoying little shit.” 43002612 glares up at his handlers and attempts to yell back at them, but it comes out muffled. Squirming about, he tries to get his ankle out of the vice-like grip it is in. The man that threw him out of the truck and is holding his ankle groans.

“Fine! You brought this upon yourself!” He begins to drag 43002612 towards the door of the big, expensive looking house by his ankle. 43002612 continues squirming and screaming his throat raw. To no avail. The grip doesn’t even loosen slightly. 43002612 gets dragged up the few steps to the front door of the house, hitting his head on one of the steps. Hard enough for him to stop squirming for a moment. The doorbell gets rung, and the three of them wait for a response. Even 43002612 goes silent. A cold feeling of dread and fear grip him. Now there’s no more getting out of this. He’s officially becoming a Pet with a… a Master. 43002612 fights against the rising nausea, not wanting to get sick whilst having a ball-gag in.

A voice comes though the intercom above the doorbell.  The voice sounds smooth and controlled, but has a sort of gruffness to it. “Who’s this?”

The handler not holding 43002612’s ankle replies.

“We’ve got a delivery for you sir. The Pet with the obedience issues.” A laugh comes through the intercom. A surprisingly warm and kind sounding laugh. Maybe his master wouldn’t be so bad?

43002612 shakes that thought. He didn’t want to be owned by anyone, no matter how nice they may be! Then the door opens.

“Well that’s great!” The man that bought 43002612 was tall and broad and looked about in his early forties, with chestnut hair and a grin on his face. “Why don’t you bring it in?”

43002612 gets roughly dragged over the threshold into the grand and fancy entrance. 43002612 dully notes that the floor is made of rather expensive looking wood boards. His ankle gets dropped and 43002612 pulls himself up into a sitting position. The man, 43002612’s new master, signed something on a tablet the darker haired of the two handlers is holding out, before turning to 43002612.

“Goodness, it’s so small! In theory I knew its size, but I didn’t realize how small it’d be in reality.”

“Well, it’s only like… how old is it?” He turns to the second handler, who checks something on the tablet he is still holding.

“Fourteen.”

“Yeah. So he might still grow a bit… And we are not taking that thing back with us again! You already signed for it.”43002612’s new owner laughs.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t not want this precious little Pet cause of something like that!”

43002612 glares, not liking to be called little, precious or a Pet by some guy that bought him.

When the two handlers leave, 43002612 contemplates attempting to escape through the door. Then he remembers that his hands and legs are tied, and that he’d never get out like that. He decides that he’ll have to wait for a more fitting opportunity.

Once the door is locked, the man comes back to 43002612 and crouches down.

“My name is Jaden Hughes. But you will call me Master, or Master Hughes if I’m in a good mood.” He unfastens the ball-gag from 43002612’s face. 43002612 takes the opportunity to spit in his face.

“I’m not going to call you anything like that you sick bastard!” 43002612 was getting ready to start ranting about other things he was no way going to do, but before he could get them out, Mr. Hughes had clasped his hand over his mouth.

“They where right then. You are a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckle to himself. 43002612 feels a pang of hatred for the man. Glaring, he bites his owners hand, hard enough to leave teeth marks. Mr. Hughes jerks his hand back and gets up. 43002612 almost laughs.

That is until a swift kick aimed at his ribs lands, knocking the wind out of him, and makes him tip over onto his side.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to bite the hand that feeds you?” He rubs his hand where 43002612 bit him.

Glaring, 43002612 tries to stand up, but Mr. Hughes shoves him over and quickly pins him against the floor. He grabs 43002612’s face roughly, swiftly shoving the ball-gag back into his mouth.

“That’s going back on again.” Standing up, he grabs 43002612 by his hair, not slowing down to accommodate to the smaller man’s slower pace due to his tied legs, leaving 43002612 having to try to keep up by stumbling after him haphazardly. 43002612 goes as fast as he can, but the hand in his hair still yanks him along, a sharp pain accompanying this rough action. 43002612 tries to shove his owner away, but between the hair pulling and his bound hands, this doesn’t work out as well as he imagined.

The hand suddenly lets go, and 43002612 drops to the ground.

“Walk, or I push you down.” Mr. Hughes points to the stairs in front of 43002612. He doesn’t want to do what this psycho wants him to do, especially if what he wants him to go down a stairs that leads somewhere into the dark, but does he really want to risk getting pushed down the stairs?

Not really. So he gets up, glares at the man almost twice his size hovering next to him and carefully starts to hobble down the stairs, not wanting to trip over the cuffs on his ankles. Behind him his owner huffs.

“You’re being awfully slow you know? I don’t like having to wait.” 43002612 turns to glare at him, mumbling what should be “How the hell am I supposed to go faster?!” into his gag.

“Don’t make me push you. A fragile Pet like you wouldn’t do well falling down the stairs.” Still glaring, 43002612 hobbled on, going even slower than before.

43002612 thought he was getting away with it until he got pushed down the last few steps, hitting the floor with a dull thud. But there was nothing dull about the pain that flares up his right side upon contact. 43002612 groans through the ball-gag. Mr. Hughes grins down at him.

“Oops.”

43002612 glares at him, putting as much resentment and disgust into it as he can muster. Before he can do much more then glare, 43002612 is grabbed by the hair again, and yanked backwards into a room.

The room is rather bland, not much more then an empty cellar room except for a few chests towards the left wall upon first glance. But 43002612 understood what this dim lit room was. A room specifically made to cause pain. Disgust and fear gripped 43002612. Mr. Hughes let go of his hair once he was towards the middle of the room. Without paying 43002612 any attention, he locked the heavy door and then moved to the chests, seeming to look for something.

“Now first off, little mutt, there are strict rules in this house.” He doesn’t turn to talk to 43002612. He removes a leather whip from the chest, inspects is, before putting it back. 43002612 feels a small pang of relief. He’s never been whipped before, and didn’t feel like finding out just how it feels all too soon. “As I told you, you will always refer to me as Master. Always. I own you.” His owner pulls a cane from the chest, letting out a please hum before walking back to 43002612. “You will listen to my every word and do what I demand of you. Your purpose in life is to serve me, your master!”

43002612 stands up, glaring at his owner. Like hell he was going to listen to a word he tells him.

“And you will not stand unless I allow you to.” A quick arm movement from Mr. Hughes brings the cane across 43002612’s left cheek. In no way was he using all his strength, but it was more then hard enough to snap 43002612’s head to the side, make him stumble a bit and fall backwards. The pain is sharp and hot, radiating from the initial area of contact out across his cheekbone and jaw. Another stroke of the cane gets aimed at him, 43002612 blocks it from hitting his face with his bound arms. It’s harder then the last one, hard enough to draw blood. 43002612 bites down hard on the ball-gag.

“And you will not bite me. Or spit at me.” Two more equally hard strokes land across his upper arm and shoulder. 43002612 tries to squirm out of the way. His arms get grabbed roughly and pulled out of the way. “Look at me.” 43002612 squeezes his eyes close tighter.

“I said, look at me!” The bigger man’s hand slaps him across the cheek before grabbing his properties face. 43002612 opens his eyes almost automatically.

“That’s more like it, mutt.” His fingers dig into 43002612’s face. “Look at you. So young and stupid. You think you know pain, don’t you? But you don’t.” He presses his thumb into the welt forming on his Pet’s cheek. 43002612 writhes away from the unwanted touch.  “I’ll show you.” He leans in closer. “Not because I’m cruel. No. Because I’m going to make you better.” 43002612 lets out a noise most like a growl.

He gets up and swings the cane at the air a few times.

“You’re a Pet, and highly likely not very intelligent, so I’ll run why you’re being punished past you once again.” He circles 43002612 like a mighty bird of pray would a small, helpless mouse.

“Spitting at your Master is bad.” The cane comes down across 43002612’s naked thigh, twice across each. 43002612 lets out a muffled groan, pulling his legs up to his chest. Despite looking older then most of the handlers 43002612 has had, Mr. Hughes strokes had a far worse bite to them then anything the unwilling Pet had ever experienced. The handlers weren’t supposed to leave marks, this man was obviously planning to leave as many as possible.

“Biting your Master is very bad.” The next strokes come hard and fast across the entirety of 43002612’s back, alternating between lower and upper back. 43002612 doesn’t bother to count them, only tries to wriggle out of the way.

“Talking back to your Master is also very bad.” Mr. Hughes next attack shows no sign of actually going for one specific part of 43002612, striking any part of him that shows exposed and vulnerable skin. 43002612 attempts to move out of the reach of the cane strokes, trying to stand up. But Mr. Hughes makes short work or his futile attempt by kicking him in the chest.

“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay down, pathetic thing.” As another storm of sharp, fast blows rain down on 43002612, he can only curl up and try to cover his face the best he can with his cuffed wrists. The constant new sources of pain blossoming across 43002612’s legs, back and arms are like nothing he’s had to experience before. The pain is intense and dominant, replacing any clear thought 43002612 could have mustered. Tears stung in the corner or his eyes, threatening to role down his cheeks. 43002612 didn’t want to give the sick bastard the satisfaction of crying, but it was all just… so much!

Long after the pain had become way too much for the small unwilling Pet, Mr. Hughes stopped. He crouched down next to his Pet, wiping the blood off the cane on the corner of 43002612’s shorts.

43002612 is trembling hard, a couple of silent tears running down his cheeks as he groans and whimpers into his gag. Mr. Hughes gently lets his hand slip into 43002612’s curls, combing through them.

“Shhh… I know Pet. I know it hurts. Shhh…” He wipes the tears off his cheeks with his thumb. 43002612 glares at him, trying to keep the pain from showing on his face. “Oh don’t look at me like that, mutt. You had to be punished. You where being very bad.” 43002612 mumble into the ball-gag how much he hates his new Master, focusing on glaring harder rather then the intense pain occupying almost any part of him that hadn’t been covered. Mr. Hughes sighs.

“I think I know what you need. Some time alone to think about how bad you’ve been.” He on does the cuffs on 43002612’s wrists, moves his arms behind his back and puts them back on there. He drags 43002612 to the far wall, manhandling him into a kneeling position. 43002612 tries to move away, but feels to weak. And when his owner lifts his bound arms up behind him to attach them to a hook in the wall, he can do nothing but vocalise his discomfort by groaning loudly into the gag. The position strains his arms and shoulders.

“Now, don’t squirm about too much, or you’ll dislocate your shoulders.” Mr. Hughes laughs warmly, and strokes 43002612’s cheek. 43002612 tries to move away, but jerks his arms. The strain on his arms becomes worse, and he stops moving instantly, looking anywhere but his new owner.

“Now why don’t you have a long hard think about how the things you did were very, very bad. And if you behave when I come back, I might even untie you an let you have a rest. Maybe even something to drink or eat.” He smiles, ruffles 43002612’s hair almost affectionately, then leaves, switching the light off and locking the heavy iron door behind him.

43002612 shifts a little bit, trying to get more comfortable. With no success. The strain on his arms only seems to get worse. A few more silent tears slip across his cheeks, dropping onto the concrete floor in front of him. He can’t see the bloody welts covering his skin, but he can feel them more then well enough. He can even feel the blood running across his skin from some of them, can feel it pooling at the hem of his shorts.

43002612 stares off into the darkness. He has to get out of here, that much is for sure. 43002612 knows he’ll get out. He’s determined to do so. He won’t succumb to this sick bastards wills. He’ll find a way to slip away, and then he’ll run and he’ll run and he’ll never look back. He’s heard from older Pets at the facility, one’s which chose to become Pets, how hard life was out there. But 43002612 knows he could cope. He would manage. Because he’s determined and never gives up. And having a hard life is a small price to pay for freedom and being able to belong only to yourself.

43002612 squeezes his eyes shut and smiles. He won’t be stuck here long. This is only a temporary pitstop on his road to freedom. It won’t be long. Soon he’ll be free of people owning him, free of all the pain and punishment, free of these cuffs.

Soon, he’ll be free.

[omnivorousshipper]

Hobbs and Shaw: The Tigress

This was a request by @ihavesthings

Summary: When Sam wakes up in an unknown place, surrounded by unknown people, she expects either her Dad or Deckard to rescue her. But it’s someone else who comes to her rescue.

Warnings: kidnapping of a child, child in danger

“God damnit! Where the flying fuck is he!? Fucker should have been here already!” An angrily spat out somewhere further in the room. Sam let out a tiny whimper as the shattering of glass followed the man’s outburst. The man luckily sounded too far away from her, as she heard his angry footsteps echo off the walls of the room they were in. 

Sam tried to wiggle back in her chair, but the thick, rough ropes tying her down held her securely in place and dug into her wrists and ankles. The ropes kept her arms and legs immobile, and bits of it were coiled around her chest, restricting her breathing. A few tears slipped down from the blindfold that was tied too tight around her head. She could feel them travel down her face and right over the duct tape covering her mouth. The tears finally dripped off her chin and fell into the unknown, making Sam realize who helpless she was. 

She had no idea where she was. She had no idea who the men in the room were. She had no idea why she was there. She had been waiting outside her school for her dad, when a car had driven up close to her, and a man had grabbed her. She had tried to scream, but a sharp pain in her arm had stopped her and made her world go black. When she woke up next, she couldn’t see anything or say anything she could only hear the strange men around her talking.

Dad, Deck, anyone! Please! I just want to go home, Sam thought desperately, as more tears started escaping her eyes that she had screwed shut under the blindfold. She couldn’t help her muffled sobs as she shook in her bonds.

“Hey! Someone shut the brat up!” The same man from earlier yelled.

Sam flinched back instinctively.

“Hey, man. Cool it. She can’t do much. She’s just scared,” another man closer to her said. “Has Hobbs not called back yet?”

“No! Fucker should have called by now!” The first man hissed back, a loud hollow bang sounding through the room. “If he wants to see his kid alive, he better do it soon.”

Her violent sobs caused Sam to shake. Dad! Please help! I want to go home! Please, somebody help me!

The men kept talking back and forth, but Sam couldn’t hear any of it over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Her breath was getting quicker, and even though she was taking more and more, it felt as if she wasn’t getting enough air. Her heart was beating too fast; so fast, Sam swore it felt like it was about to beat right out of her chest. The darkness around her seemed to be closing in on her, and emphasizing the ropes around her. They seemed to get tighter and tighter as she wiggled against them, a futile attempt to loosen them. There was a continuous stream of tears running down her face, soaking the blindfold.

Suddenly, a hand was on her shoulder, and Sam screamed. 

Dad! Deck! Help me!

“Hey! Hey! Calm down!”

Even though the man was shouting, Sam couldn’t hear him. Fear and adrenaline were coursing through her, the only one thought going through her head. 

They’re going to kill me!

 “Someone shut her up!” A voice screeched, only barely being noticed by Sam, who cried harder and tried to shout through her gag.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. We need you to calm down,” another voice said next to her, the hand on her shoulder rubbing up and down her arm, trying to sooth her. Instead, it had the opposite effect, causing her to try and move away from the offending appendage. She tried to voice her disgust, but to no avail as her gag kept her mostly quiet.

“Fucking hell! First Hobbs doesn’t contact us, now his brat is freaking out! I knew we shouldn’t have taken this job-” the shouting man started to rave, but was suddenly interrupted by a loud bang. “What was that?!”

Several more bangs followed and Sam felt her heart stop as she recognized those bangs to be gunshots. She was frozen as fear as they started to get closer and the men who were in the room with her started to panic.

“Is that Hobbs?”

“Can’t be! He shouldn’t know where we are!”

“What about the guy he’s with, Shaw?”

“Can’t be him either, he was with Hobbs last time we checked.”

“Then who the hell-”

Gunshots rang out through the room, cutting off the loud conversation the men had been having. Sam whimpered out, scared of not being able to move and hide like she wanted to. Fear kept her from trying to wiggle the ropes loose, too scared of drawing attention to herself. 

The gunshots stopped suddenly, and the room seemed to be completely frozen as Sam could hear a set of footsteps coming closer. Each step was a sharp click against concrete that reverberated off the walls. Every click was like a gunshot in itself as they got closer and nobody said anything for several long moments. As the person seemed to finally step into the room, a voice called out.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you lot? Kidnapping a child. Makes me sick,” a British woman spat. Sam’s ears perked up. Was this new person here to help her?

“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you and your boys need to leave before I shoot the girl,” the man who had been shouting from earlier said. As he finished, the cold barrel of a gun pressed itself against Sam’s temple and made her shake harder.

Please, I don’t know who you are, but please save me!

All she could do was strain her ears for the woman’s response as the gun stayed pressed against the side of her head, even when she tried to move it away.

“You call yourself a man? I’ve seen neutered mutts with more bollocks than you. You’ll pay for taking her, you absolute piece of shite,” the woman hissed out, venom practically dripping from her voice. 

“And what are you going to do about it, you old broad? One false move, and I blow her brains out-”

A gunshot rang out, silencing the man’s threats. The gun was jerked away from Sam’s head and it felt like she could finally take a breath as the cold steel disappeared. There was a loud thud right next to Sam and then the clattering of the gun as it hit the floor as well. 

“Anybody else?” The woman asked, a hint of smugness seeping into her voice. After a beat of silence, she continued. “No? Good.”

The clicking of heels started again and drew closer to where Sam was still tied up. Sam tried to stop her shaking, but was not able to. Images and ideas of what this new person had in store for her was too much for Sam. What if the woman was going to do the same thing the man had done? Try to use her to get to her dad? 

These thoughts kept swirling through Sam’s head as she listened to the woman come closer. Suddenly, there was a hand on her’s, and Sam was flinching back harshly.

“Shh, love. It’s all right. I’m here to help you,” the woman said, her voice much softer and kinder compared to earlier. She sounded like a teacher Sam had in elementary school, an older lady who loved talking about her children and grandchildren. “Now, let's get these things off of you.”

Sam could feel the woman’s steady and warm fingers pull the tape from her mouth, taking care to minimize the pain. As soon as the gag was gone, Sam was gulping down air.

“That’s it, darling. Deep breaths,” the woman hummed and rubbed Sam’s back. With her other hand, she untied the blindfold and pulled it away from Sam’s face. 

Blinking, Sam was met with a dim room that looked to be in some sort of basement. All around her were at least a dozen men wearing suits, standing still with their hands behind their backs as they simply stared at Sam and the woman. Sam could not help but shrink back from the intimidating scene. 

“It’s all right, dear. Those hulking brutes are mine. They won’t hurt you,” the woman said, her tone reassuring.

Sam finally turned to the woman for the first time, and blinked as she took the woman’s face in. 

~~~

“Hey, Deck. Whatcha lookin’ at?” Sam asked, jumping on the couch to sit next to Deckard, who was scrolling through his tablet. 

“Just through some family pictures,” he said. Without thinking, he moved the tablet to one hand, and lifted his free arm, allowing Sam to slip under it and cuddling into his side. Bringing his arm back down, he held the tablet so Sam could look at it with him. “My family can get pretty absent minded, so it’s always been my responsibility to keep the family photos organized.”

“Really? That’s really cool! What’s your family like?” Sam asked, staring at the tablet in wonder. The picture on the screen showed a much younger Deckard wearing a swimsuit and sitting on the edge of a pool with his feet dangling into the water. He was smiling at the camera and was holding up a gold medal that was hanging around his neck. 

“A bunch of reckless fools, who only occasionally get a good idea in their heads,” Deckard chuckled. 

“All of them?” Sam questioned, looking up at Deckard with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, all right. Mum isn’t too bad. It’s mainly my little brother and sister,” Deckard admitted with a soft smile. “Here. Let me see if I can’t show you a picture of them. Mum insisted we get an updated family picture.”

Sam watched patiently as Deckard searched through his pictures and found the right one. When he did, it was a picture of two men and two women. Deckard, Hattie, and the other man, who must be Deckard’s brother, stood around an older woman who was sitting, all wearing formal clothes and giving the camera subtle smiles. 

“So, you already know who Hattie is-”

“The hot spy lady,” Sam interjected.

“Yes, her,” Deckard laughed. “And the guy with the road burns is Owen, my little brother.”

“What happened?” Sam leaned closer to the tablet, trying to see his scars better.

“A bad accident. He’s better now,” Deckard said simply, his voice not giving his thoughts away. “And the lovely woman who’s doing her best Queen Victoria impression is my mum, Magdalene.”

~~~

Looking at the woman, Sam blinked at her, not believing it was the same woman from the photo. 

“Are you Magdalene Shaw?” She blurted out and immediately cringed. She didn’t want to seem rude to her rescuer by asking stupid questions. Instead of reprimanding her, the older woman smiled kindly at her, showing her perfect teeth.

“Yes, I am. And you must be Samantha Hobbs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam nodded back shyly.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, love,” Magdalene said softly as she brought out a knife and swiftly started cutting through the ropes tying Sam down. “Don’t much like formalities. Takes too much time from all the fun things we could be doing in life.”

As she said that, the last coil of rope snapped, freeing Sam. She massaged her wrists, which had been rubbed raw from her struggling against the ropes. Looking up at Magdalene, Sam could see her staring intensely at her hurt wrists.

“I’m fine,” Sam quietly said, not meeting the older woman’s eyes.

“Even so, dear, I would like to have you looked at. Make sure nothing happened,” Magdalene responded, voice just as quiet as she gently lifted Sam’s chin and looked her in the eyes.

As Sam stared into Magdalene’s light blue eyes, she could see that they were full of concern and love. And for the first time since she was kidnapped, Sam felt herself relaxing and feeling truly safe. Hesitantly, Sam nodded back and gave the older woman a small smile. 

“Good. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Without thinking, Sam took Magdalene’s offered hand, and slowly slid out of the chair and took slow steps since she had been forced to sit for so long.

“Samantha, love. Would you mind doing something for me?”

Looking up at Magdalene, Sam gave her a nod.

“Could you close your eyes? I don’t want you to see some…” she paused for a second, trying to find the right words. “... unpleasant sights.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. She clutched onto the woman’s hand and pressed herself up against her. Tucking her face against Magdalene’s side, Sam screwed her eyes shut and trusted the older woman to lead her to safety. “I just want to go home.”

“I know, love. I know.”

As Magdalene led them through the place Sam had been held captive, Sam could not help but feel hypnotized by her voice as she kept a steady stream of conversation going. She was going on about the places she had visited just recently: Rome, Paris, Berlin, and some cities Sam had never even heard about. Even though all of her stories sounded interesting, Sam could not muster up much energy to ask her many questions. But, it seemed as if Magdalene understood that, and talked enough for both of them.

When they finally made it to several cars parked outside, Magdalene ushered Sam into the backseat and scooted in next to her. And without hesitation, Sam was pushed up against Magdalene’s side again, feeling exhausted. It felt as if everything had gone out of her, and now she just felt numb. All she wanted to do was sleep, but first she needed to know something.

“Magdalene?” Sam quietly caught her attention.

“Yes, love?”

“Are my dad and Deck coming?”

“Of course,” Magdalene smiled down at her, and wrapped an arm around her. “You should have heard both of them. Like two angry bears looking for their cub. You’re one special little girl for having both of them looking after you.”

“They’re pretty awesome, aren’t they?” Sam smiled and cuddled closer. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“You won’t have to wait too long, love. They’re on their way to meet us as we speak.”

Sam smiled, already imagining the crushing hug her dad was going to give her. Letting her head settle more against Magdalene’s side, Sam could feel herself slipping into sleep. Blinking her eyes open, she tried to stay awake long enough to ask Magdalene one last question.

“Magdalene?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Would it be okay if I called you grandma?”

Biting her lip, Sam waited for a long moment, and when the older woman said nothing, Sam pulled back and looked up at her. 

She was expecting a look of shock and abhorrence from the woman because of her request. But, instead, Sam’s eyes grew big when she saw the older woman looking at her with watery eyes. Suddenly, she was pulling Sam into a hug.

Sam was stunned by the action, but was soon hugging her back, feeling truly loved.

“Of course you can call me grandma, love. I’d be honored,” Magdalene whispered into Sam’s hair, her voice nearly cracking. They stayed like that for several minutes, but soon, Sam’s eyes were growing heavy again and she started to sag against Magdalene. Feeling this, Magdalene gently tucked Sam into her side, never once letting her go.

Finally slipping into a peaceful sleep, Sam could not help the smile that stayed on her face as she snuggled closer to her new grandmother. 

[luminashdawnwing]

Stemming the Tide

This takes place before the fall of N’Zoth, whenever individual players feel it should have taken place. Co-written with Jaskian (@kharrisdawndancer), in which Luminash and Jaskian do their part to fight the Old God!

The halls of Ny’alotha stood empty. The joint Alliance-Horde expedition of more military-minded individuals had already pushed through, clearing the great entry hall of the Waking City, their front line pushing deeper into N’Zoth’s vision. It was both a spear aimed at the Old God’s heart, and a shield against its forces. Just as this bulwark could be overwhelmed, however, so too could the defenders of Azeroth in the physical world. It was this dilemma that had led Jaskian and Luminash to this point as they stepped into N’Zoth’s dream from the sands of Uldum.

Luminash gazed around the open space, his shoulders tense and brows furrowed, "I do not know what I was expecting, but this is something else entirely."

Jaskian 's gaze was caught below them on the half-hidden runes and words that shimmered on the stone. "Agreed. Disconcerting to say the least." She stood back up, letting her gaze slide over the walls and the various eyes, “I didn't think it would be so.. confined. I feel like we're inside something. I thought it would be more open.”

On nearly every surface, the smooth dark stone unnatural in its slick and angular perfection, eerie glowing eyes watched, moving, pupils dilating and contracting as they took in the vast open chamber.

Luminash focused on the eyes as well, jaw tense, "I thought so, too. Perhaps we are inside something, though. A building, a temple? Either way, I believe it is...watching."

“I wonder if it can process all it sees in real time, or if it needs to sift through all the visions. How does it know where to focus?” After a pause, she continued, “I am not sure we should stay still too long.” With an incantation, her companion elemental materialized, even in this place beyond.

“We should move, then.” Luminash adds, “This antechamber should be clear, from what I've gathered, but I do not like this feeling of being watched."

“Left or right?”

Luminash looks up and around as he steps forward, looking to the forking paths, platforms of that unnatural stone suspended over an abyss below with no apparent supports, "Ah, right I suppose. It looks as if there is some sort of exit across whatever this room is." He pointed, in the distance, to a path upward, an eerie orange light at the top, flanked by two massive obelisks, their eyes burning in their intensity.

The pair began to walk in silence, keeping each other always within arms reach, unnerved by the oppressive darkness around them, pierced only by the ever-present, ever-watching eyes.

Stepping onto the path over the abyss, Jaskian broke the silence, “Do you think it changes? The way the walkway is constructed makes me wonder if it isn't a fixed path, but maybe one that can be reconfigured…”

Curiosity drawing her nearer to the edge, Jasian peered over into the darkness below. She swallowed hard as her stomach turned, “...Oh.”

Far below, writhing in the darkness were tentacles of monumental size, pathways and obelisks stretching down into a sickly fog, where shifting shadows spoke of more horrors.

Joining her at the edge, Luminash replied, “You may be right about these paths. It would not surprise me. The Void and its possibilities... Nothing is constant, and I would be surprised if this place is.” Peering over beside her, he shuddered, "What...is this place, really?"

The pair turned from the edge and forged forward, leaving the question to linger.

“This place makes me feel...oily,” Jaskian finally said once they were far from the lip of the writhing abyss below.

Luminash nodded in agreement, "That is the best way I can think of to describe how the Void felt on Argus, too. There is just something so fundamentally...wrong here. It is outside all natural order. I am not afraid to admit, I...do not like it.”

“I would be worried if you did,” Jaskian replied, shaking her head.

Managing a slight laugh, Luminash answered, "Fair enough."

As they moved deeper into the chamber, they passed a high arch, the door within it closed tightly. As they moved, Jaskian continued to watch the eyes dotting the obelisks, “It's interesting the eyes seem to be on a single plane in this atrium. None face directly on the sides.”

Luminash followed her gaze, thoughtful, “Ah, you are right. So there may be blind spots…”

Nearing the door, Luminash stepped away from their path and reached out to glide a gloved hand across its surface. It was altogether too smooth, and he recoiled, shuddering. Jaskian watched him, looking between him and the massive structure, “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere this way.”

Luminash shook his head, "It seems so. Part of me wonders if there is anything beyond this door, or if it is simply here to trap the unsuspecting." He nodded, "Yes, back to it."

“What makes you say that?” Jaskian asked as they resumed their trek.

“If this place is truly just an extension of N'Zoth's will, why would he create a closed door? The eyes watch, and he could simply...open it up, could he not? It is closed, so it is safe, until it...isn't.”

“Perhaps it's just not used at the moment,” Jaskian posited, “A different configuration.” She continued, musing as the passed by more of those ever-starting eyes, “I wonder if we inscribed our runes on the pillars holding the eyes, but on sides that the eyes aren't on?”

Luminash smiled, eager for a change of topic, "Ah, that is a good idea! The blind spots could be played to our advantage. The less of this place..." He gestured around them, "Seeps out into Azeroth, the better."

“Agreed.”

The path towards the opposite end of the hall continued, winding over the fogged abyss below. Luminash craned his neck to gaze up into the haze above while Jaskian focused on the structure of the antechamber itself, and the rune-carved stone tablets that lined this stretch of walkway, suspended in auras of that now-familiar orange glow.

“These paths seem like tight quarters for some of the creatures I have associated with this place,” Jaskian ventured.

“It makes one wonder how many mortals have thrown their lot in... Reports from those who are holding the line deeper in seem to indicate that this place is somehow home to a number of cultists.” Luminash said in response, stopping to examine one set of the tablets.

Jaskian shook her head a little. "There are always cultists, but I never understand how they come to think that way." Looking ahead into the vast open chamber beyond the hall, she continued, “I have to admit, I thought it would feel more ... organic. Less geometrical.”

Luminash took in the carved stones before them with a sad sigh, "An excellent question. How the madness and nothingness can be a solution to their ills I will never understand. I am glad for that." Following her gaze, he too mused on the geometry of the place, “Perhaps once we are outside this...temple? Maybe then it will have that...organic nature.”

Past the tablets, and nearing the long stairway leading to the exit, Jaskian pointed once more over the edge, “There's something pouring over there. Can you see?” She peered over, resting her hands on the ledge of the platform.

Approaching the lip, Luminash joined her and peered over as best he could, “It looks like... I want to say lava, but it is far too swift. Blood? But it emits light.” He shook his head, "Whatever it is, it is not right."

Sure enough, rushing into a torrent in the gulf below the chamber was an iridescent flow of red-orange fluid, of unknown source towards an unknown destination. Seeing it, Jaskian shivered and scrubbed a hand over her sleeve to get the feel of the stone off her hand.

When the floating walkway rejoined what seemed, at least, to be solid stone beneath the elves’ feet, they noticed a strange shrine, torches of unnatural flame set under sloping stone overhangs covered in unintelligible runes. Above it all was a massive eye, its gaze fixed on the shrine below.

Observing the arrangement, Jaskian wondered aloud, “That gaze is only scanning right below it. Do you think there's something over there?”

Luminash peered up at the eye, "If this is, in fact, a temple, there may have been before it was emptied. It makes me think of...judgment. A great gaze burning down from above."

“Mm. Maybe a station for reflections.”

Whatever it had been, both elves gave it a wide berth as they moved further into the room, passing by channels in the floor, filled with the strange red-orange fluid that had been dropping into the deep, foggy reaches of the Waking City.

“I take it back. I think I prefer the geometric to the...organic,” Jaskian grimaced as she stepped over one of the channels.

As they finally reached the far end of the temple chamber, and the foot of the stairs, Luminash pointed at an apparently inaccessible platform, complete with stairs and altar, rising from the creeping fog, "You are looking more and more right about...configuration. How many halls are there around us that we cannot see?” Swallowing hard, he added nervously, “How actually empty is this place?”

“I'm not sure. But it's eerie.” She pondered a moment, “Going along with your previous comment, could it be a trap? Luring us deeper in?”

“Or it could be both.”

Jaskian pursed her lips again, ears pinning back slightly in her discomfort, “Do you have reports on how long it's been cleared in this area?”

“It's been some time,” Luminash replied, with some hesitation, his frayed nerves showing, “The line has pushed further, out of this structure to my understanding. I only know that much, I am afraid. The details have been...hazy.” He shivered and glanced over his shoulder, "Which hardly surprises me, coming out of here."

Beginning to scale the steps, the oppressive atmosphere had begun to take its toll. Jaskian admitted in a hushed voice, “I don't like how the perspectives seem to shift. I suppose that's the point, but I will have nightmares, I'm certain.”

"I do not doubt I will, as well,” Luminash agreed, “This was not meant for us to see." He took a deep breath to calm his mind, “Ah, the sooner we are out of here, the better." He unconsciously edged closer to Jaskian as one of the spined tendrils far below made a sudden movement, shadows flickering up from below.

At last approaching the grand entryway they had spotted as they entered the Waking City, Luminash and Jaskian stopped. He pointed to the two obelisks, larger than any other in the antechamber, “The blind spots here,” he said as he moved between them, out of the gaze of the piercing eyes, “These will be suitable, do you think?”

Jaskian joined him with a nod, “There is power coming from deeper inside, and many eyes here. Perhaps an arterial route into the deeper city? If we ward against the Void here, it may buy our defenders outside the time they need.” Luminash nodded in response, “And those within can put a stop to this. We shall buy them that time. Here,” he pointed again at the obelisks, “We make our stand. This is the culmination of our work, and there can be no half measures.”

“Shall we, then? We should work fast, though.”

Luminash nodded and began to prepare the tools for the task. He dropped his satchel on the ground at his feet and, kneeling down, pulled out a box. Within are crystalline foci with cores of Azerite, the scrolls transcribed from Nazmir - he looked upon these with a special pride, the memories of all those lost hanging upon them - and another scroll with the reverse-engineered sigil of Void warding inscribed upon it, a mark of Jaskian’s brilliance.

Standing again, Luminash turned to Jaskian, “The foci should provide enough power to leave a mark on these obelisks without exhausting ourselves, and with the right sigil, we can hopefully make quick work of it.”

“Will the Azerite combust?” Jaskian asked, tracing a finger across the box, mind already working on the complications she might have.

“If too much power is channeled too quickly, there is the risk, but they should be secure.”

“All right,” she nodded, “Shall we split up to make it go faster, or would it be best to spot for each other?”

Luminash places his hand over hers, "I would feel better if we were to keep an eye on each other. I am certain it will be accomplished well, however." He smiled reassuringly.

Jaskian smiled back, squeezing his hand with a nod, "I think it would be best, too. Get to work then. I'll help." She motioned and her elemental companion silently moved to keep sentinel for them, its watery form a lonely figure in the empty hall between the mages and the heart of Ny’alotha beyond.

Luminash pulled a focus from the box, and unfurled the scroll with the Void warding sigil. Turning towards one of the obelisks, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, "Very well, then."

“You worked directly on this before,” Jaskian reassured, “You know what needs to be done.” As Luminash set to work, she picked up the box, unwilling to leave it unattended, even alone.

Luminash scanned the scroll, eyes following every line and flourish. He closed his eyes, then, and opened himself as a conduit of power, channeling it through the Azerite focus, a beam of blue-gold light surging towards the stone as his body became a vessel. He guided the focus as one would a pen, slowly tracing out the curves of the rune in his mind, eyes still closed in concentration, "Thank you, Jaskian." When he spoke, there was something otherworldly in his voice, an echo of power drawn from someplace beyond.

“Always, Luminash,” Jaskian replied warmly, though still wary of their surroundings.

As he neared the halfway point in forming the rune, Luminash began to falter, the Azerite focus surging and crackling with the channeled power. He gritted his teeth and continued, "Almost there. This should work..."

Jaskian glanced down to the box in her arms, feeling the thrum of the energy resonating within the other foci. She shifted on her feet, the uneasiness of the place settling on her and her own nerves taut, "You don't have to finish all at once, Luminash. Take your time if you need."

As he engraved the final element of the sigil on the obelisk, Luminash abruptly threw the now-overloaded focus to the side, where it sparked brightly and then lay depleted. He let out a heavy breath, the power flowing through him dissipating, "And one is done."

He slumped forward, resting hands on his knees and shaking his head, “I should have listened. I went too quickly, and nearly lost it. I suppose that is a lesson learned, but everything about where we are is... It is making this more difficult than it ought to be.”

“No, I understand. It is difficult to feel focused,” she murmured, glancing back to her elemental guarding the way.

Luminash took her hand again and gave it a slight squeeze, "Your patience surpasses mine most days, so you should have little trouble. We are here together, though, and ought not be anxious too much." He managed a little laugh, “Or so I say after nearly burning out the focus."

“You are sometimes excitable. It's part of why I love you.” Jaskian smiled warmly at him, not letting himself sit in his momentary brooding.

Luminash pushed himself back up and leaned over to kiss her cheek, "Only sometimes excitable? That's generous, isn't it?" He smiled more genuinely then.

“It's really quite charming and I'd never want you to be self-conscious of it. You're at your most brilliant then, too.” Jaskian leaned into the kiss, her nerves settled somewhat by the reaffirmation of their presence together.

She took a deep breath, then, and passed Luminash the second focus, “I feel more confident with you finishing them. Your fine control is better than mine and I haven't worked with Azerite nearly as thoroughly.”

Luminash took the focus and turned towards the other obelisk with a nod, "Alright. As long as you stay right here, I'll do just as you ask." He managed a last bit of playfulness before once more centering himself and beginning to form the sigil, brimming anew with arcane power.

“It's always nice when you listen to me without fighting it,” Jaskian teased back, but then let him concentrate, eyes still roving the area and alert for threats.

Although he did not open his eyes or break the formation of the rune, directing the beam of Azerite with as much precision as he could, Luminash still cracked a smile at her teasing remark. His work continued, moving more slowly this time, less power forcing itself through the focus, but still leaving blue-gold traces etched into the obelisk.

The final lines lighting up on the slick stone and the sigil humming with power, Luminash completed the carving of the rune much more neatly this time, the Azerite focus not sparking, sputtering, or otherwise failing as he eased off the flow of magic. He opened his eyes and beamed at Jaskian.

She breathed out and smiled in return. "We should tell the others what we've learned."

Luminash nodded, clearly exhausted, "And let them know that, until this whole vision comes crashing down, they might just have been bought some time."

“I think...I would like to leave now,” Jaskian replied, a smirk on her face.

Luminash laughs, a wave of relief washing over him, "Oh, I thought you'd never ask! The sooner we are home, the sooner I can scrub this...this wrongness off, after all."

Jaskian threw the bag over her back and led the way, her elemental leaving its vigil as the mages wound their way back through the empty halls of Ny’alotha. Behind them were their marks, surging with power, a dam against the torrent of the Void, a stone in the stream, carved to stem the tide, to buy Azeroth even a few moments more time, lest the walls of reality crash down too soon.

[kat-hawke]

Qwor wgah za kaaxth

(Following [Open Doorways] These events run in tandem with [Darkened Woods, Darkened Vale], which provides Alyssa’s point of view.)

The assault on the Vale of Eternal Blossoms had heightened since her last visit. The Old God’s influence spread wider and likely deeper, the count of eyes and gaping maws had increased tenfold. Tendrils of various sizes twisted and restricted the landscape, armies of N’Zoth were now embedded across the landscape, torment camps and ritual sites peppered the Vale.

Lingering on the rocky overlook from the secret mountain pass Kat looked upon the land below as Pandaren, Horde, and Alliance forces all clashed with the twisted minions in the clearing between the Shrines. For now, neither side gained any ground, the Golden Pagoda appeared to be the choke point that the denizens of Azeroth couldn’t seem to pass.

‘Gul'kafh an'shel. Yoq'al shn ky ywaq nuul.’ The dark whisper clawed at her mind as she watched the horrors below.

Eyes squeezed shut with an groan of discomfort, fingers pinching the inner corners and rolling softly as if hoping to relieve a headache which did not exist. Whispers and illusions had grown stronger over the last couple weeks but Kat continued to ignore the warnings. Shaking her head with a heavy breath she slipped the dark leather hood over her head and began her descent along the mountain edge.

The pull of the void grew with each step she took, feeling as if the massive eyes protruding from the patches of dark flesh within the valley were staring right through her soul. For the first time since Kat had flung her into the wall Alyssa spoke up.

"This makes it harder to preserve the power you've put into the dagger."  

Kat could feel the subtle tugs of the woman within the dagger working to preserve both sanity and soul.

"I have faith in your strength." Spoken without sarcasm, in a hardly recognizable sincere tone as she leapt across a weathered crack in the narrow stone path.

It took a moment before Alyssa responded, having been caught off guard. “Thank you. Work quickly. I will hold off the worst of it.”

"Quickly is the idea, but we'll see.” Her gaze scanned the burial grounds as she came to a halt on a small outcrop, crouching low in hopes of remaining undetected. “There's a lot more here than before. I'd say stay put, but."

"I wouldn't listen if I was there in person."

Slowly Kat nodded beneath the hood, muttering a soft ‘exactly’ under her breath before continuing the descent. Shadows shifted with life as they were pulled over the Director’s figure like a cloak, keeping to the outskirts of the burial grounds all the same as she speculated the larger Faceless would see right through her magic.

Pausing for a moment she quickly scanned the area, spotting on the far end a set of three ancient pandaren souls which had been pulled into this realm by the two k’thir who worked to twist the center most soul. Dispatching them wouldn’t be a problem, but the increased number of beheaders and faceless since the last excursion were a problem. 

Eyes narrowed as she pieced together a plan to move, her thoughts interrupted by a whisper that dragged across the mind like nails on a chalkboard.

‘Nothing you do is beyond my sight.’

Immediately Kat snapped her gaze to the left, finding the source of the insidious whisper. A single orange eye floating in the air, staring the director down, seeing straight through her shadowy stealth.

“Shit.”

With the single curse uttered she let a knife fly, the blade finding its mark in the center of the eye. With a piercing shrill the orb shriveled inward on itself until evaporating in a cloud of red and black smoke. The sound of its demise altering the forces around. Black beady eyes and helmet covered visages all turning to the Director’s position.

A tone of annoyance hung on her breath as the cloak of shadows was cast aside. Gloved fingers collecting the mechanical hilts from either hip. Thumbs flicked against the switches at the top of each, snapped the wrists to spin the hilts over as they unfolded for a second before fingers pulled them whole again. The blade within springing from the hidden position to unfold to the full extent with a click.

The first enemy charged; one of the human beheaders, the sword scrapping along the stones as it gained speed. Closing it raised the weapon overhead, bringing the sword down where the Director stood. A skillful pivot on one leg evaded the attack, using the momentum to dart forward in a low stance and drag her own blade across the beheader’s knee. Metal scrapped against metal as the attack proved ineffective. 

Her opponent swung a second time, bringing the sword around in one hand as it turned to face her. The opportunity to strike was slim but Kat took it, lifting one of her own swords to catch the attack. The folding blades couldn’t withstand a direct parry against the larger blade and Kat knew it, angling her’s so the barbed guard of the blade would catch.

As the weapons sung in their collision she capitalized on the kinetic energy, forcing the beheader’s arm up and over as she ducked beneath. The second sword lunging upward where the plate armor ceased to exist under the arm. Dark, almost black blood spewed from the wound as the blade receded from it’s strike, the Director stepping away in the half spin and shoving the opponent away. The larger form crashed to the ground with a heavy thump, starting to push itself up no sooner than it had hit the stones.

Both swords were held in one hand as fingers swept over the azerite stone that hung around the neck, drawing the stored energy into the palm, the euphoric sensation coursing through the Director’s very core. Fingers curled inward as the arm reached outward towards the struggling foe, the blast of fire singeing the glove as it snuffed out the twisted minion.

With a cant of the head her attention turned to the next set of approaching challengers, tossing the sword back to the hand before moving in. Sounds of blades colliding filled the air, magical discharge after discharge scared the surrounding landscape and armor of herself and foe alike. 

After several long moments she stood victorious over the half dozen bodies, panting heavily as she scanned the area for any further threats but none were to be found.

‘For every one you cut down a dozen more will take their place.’

The booming voice caught her off guard, causing her to stagger where she stood, boots shuffling on the stone to maintain her balance. Eyes shutting for a moment as the nose wrinkled up, ignoring the voice despite the urge to respond. Slowly her gaze lifted to the obsidian well the followers had constructed. A red hue radiated from within as a large stone tablet hovered in the air above, flanked by shattered pieces of tables on either side.

There was something beckoning Kat towards the well, tugging invisible strings she couldn’t help but follow. One foot in front of the other she moved closer, incoherent whispers flicking against the hears with each step she took. The brief moment of respite from fighting let her guard drop, distracted by the urge to investigate the potential power stored within the well.

The moment of mental fixation came to an abrupt end as the massive arm of a faceless dominator crashed into her side, sending the Director’s tumbling across the stones, swords knocked from her hands and sliding to either side. Dazed and disoriented Kat tried rushing to her feet, head still spinning from the blow as she staggered to a stand. Seeing double of the foe that rushed she tried to discharge another blast of azerite, choosing the wrong target from the two and missing completely.

Wasting the small window of opportunity the faceless came crashing down upon her. The three “fingers” of the largest hand wrapping firmly around her head, the leather hood doing little in the way of protection as it was torn from the armor. Like a vice the tentacles constricted around the skull and upper body, screams of pain muffled against the dark flesh. The monstrous creature flaying her mind within it’s grasp, speaking in the guttural tongue.

‘Sk'shuul agth vorzz N'Zoth naggwa'fssh.’

Writhing within the creatures grasp she choked and struggled for air, the challenge greater as her mind was assaulted. Memories pulled apart and reconstructed in horrific visions. One hand anxiously patted around the belt, searching for another blade, anything to try and free herself with.

A screech one could only associate with anger came from the faceless being as it slammed the Director into the ground within it’s hold. The resulting shock wave knocking the air from her lungs and clouding the mind. The overwhelming sensation of the void pouring into her thoughts tore through her very core, the body naturally rejecting the invasion.

‘Gul'kafh an'qov N'Zoth.’

Reality shattered as Kat’s vision was flooded with a vision of the Sleeping City. Dark obsidian and red hues twisted into view, wicked temples and obelisks stretching as far as the eye could see. Devotees and acolytes moving through the chiseled streets. Massive maws opened from the rivers of blood, countless minions of the Old God pouring from the open hole.

‘KYTH ag'xig yyg'far IIQAATH ONGG!’

Sanity began to crumble as her physical form curled up in the pain. Screams were drowned out by the creatures hold as the vision within continued to twist and grow. Sinister eyes now focusing on her within the mental space, the feeling of loss becoming overwhelming with each passing second. Fear set in as hopelessness washed over the breaking psyche.

A desperate plea was made, one final act before accepting the end. The azerite crystal on her neck was nearly depleted, unsure if enough energy remained to break the strong grasp of the faceless. Drawing upon what little she could find without physically reaching the vision slowed, buying precious seconds of clarity that couldn’t go to waste.

Without hesitation one hand reached across the waist to the dagger sheathed on the thigh. Breaking it free with a swift tug and sinking it into the pulsating arm of the faceless beast. It was a high risk move that put Alyssa directly in harm’s way, a risk she was willing to take if it meant survival.

Another round of ear piercing shrills emanated from the dominator as it dropped the Director against the solid ground and stumbled backwards. The other arm of the creature was nothing more than a single tendril which proved unable to grasp the dagger for removal, not that it could anyway.

Sucking in a deep breath as she clenched the leather at her chest Kat laid on the stone and shifted her gaze to the dagger. It’s glow growing brighter as it siphoned the life force from the faceless, a fleeting moment of panic for the warlock within crossed the Director’s mind as she watched the creature crash to the ground in a shriveled and colorless husk.

Pushing herself to her feet as she panted Kat stumbled her way towards the fallen creature, sounds of footsteps behind her prompting her attention to shift over the shoulder. A sigh of defeat rolled over the lips as she spotted another group of beheaders making their way down from the upper level of the burial ground.

As quickly as her feet would allow Kat scrambled for the soul-bound weapon, tugging it free from the withered flesh of the faceless and attempting to draw power from the blade itself. She was met with resistance as the warlock within refused to let her have the dark energy which had been siphoned.

"No.  You're out of balance, you can't have this." Alyssa’s voice quickly called out.

Spinning around the face approaching foes Kat growled beneath her breath, panic gracing her tone. "Fucks sake, now is not the time to be greedy!"

"It's not greed, this thing is pure void and insanity, you can't have this in your current state."

Beheaders were only a few steps away, the Director shouting aloud and within their telepathic connection as her eyes widened in alarm. "Alyssa!"

Whatever the warlock had said in response was lost as Kat focused solely on the power that was relinquished to her. Greedily she absorbed everything, forcing every once of energy back across the blade as it swept across the air. Each foot moved to carry the motion to completion, the amount of power that arced across the arm seared pain that reached her core, a deafening scream was let out but did little to ease the pain.

A wave of dark matter cut through the air where the dagger trailed, rushing forward in a large sweeping arc. The volatile strike cleaved the beheaders in half at the waist, moving through the foes until it reached the torment cells beyond. Unfortunately for the innocent pandaren hostages within, the cells gave way to the blast, resulting in the prisoners also sheared in two.

Weak and drained Kat collapsed to the ground again, catching herself on the hands and knees as the dagger clattered to the ground beside her. Vision blurred as she fought to catch her breath, bile lurching upward and spewing on the stones as she coughed. The left arm was completely numb, remnants of the void burns smoldering on the destroyed leather.

Heaving a few more breaths she looked to the dagger beside her, the pale glow of the soul within was much dimmer now than it had ever been before. “No...” Was all she could manage to get out, just barely above a whisper as a shaking hand reached for the hilt of the blade.

Sitting back on her haunches she pulled the dagger into her lap, staring with worry to the faint glow of the engravings. Swallowing hard between her heavy breaths she reluctantly asks, “Alyssa?”

"Here," Alyssa replies almost immediately, though a bit exhausted. "Over?"

Kat’s head rolled back with a weak smile as a faint feeling of relief washed away the previously held concern. “Yeah, let’s just get what we came for.”

"Thank goodness," some clear relief in her tone as well. "That got bad.  I could use a top up if you find anything uncorrupted to stab."

"Doubtful.” Kat’s gaze shifted to the cleaved Pandaren on the other side of the field. “Just make do."

Pushing herself to stand as Alyssa responded with a simple ‘I'm good at that.’ Kat took a moment to regain her bearings, moving slowly at first as her body raced to catch up in its current condition. Collecting the swords she had lost in the scuffle they were folded inward and the hilts were returned to the clips on the belt.

Attention turned then to the ancient pandaren souls she had come for, making her way to the disturbed graves were the golden incorporeal forms hung in the air over head. Drawing the Gilnean dagger again she sunk it into the heart of a soul, watching with hunger as it was drained.

[ @alyssa-ward​ ] [ Slight relevance: @simplysoriya​ ]

(Chapter I: Dark Secrets) ( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] [pt.VI] )

[gredandforge01]

Bucky Barnes: Hurt [pt.2]

Part 1 | Part 2

PLOT: After you wake up, you find yourself surrounded by the superheroes you’ve grown to love already. When one of those superheros offer to take you in, can you really refuse their offer?

•••

Opening my eyes, I am met with a dull light. I groan and turn my head trying to move away from the light but it was no use.With a sigh, I finally decide to open my eyes, the ceiling light shining down on me. Moving to a sitting position, I swing my feet off the edge and slowly stand up. My foot was fine now?

My bones crack as I stretch, I feel well-rested.I move to the door and open it, people fly past me with clipboards and other things. Someone walks towards me and smiles, "hey there. I see you've woken up. Feel good?" The same girl with red hair says.

"Um, yeah, pretty good actually." I yawn, she laughs and helps me to a large room with seats. Everyone sat around a large table.The women helps me take a seat next to her and the guy who had the wings. I look around and realise where I was in the avengers tower. "Oh my God." It slipped from my mouth, I didn't mean it too. The women with red hair turns to me and gives a questioning look.

"What's wrong honey?" She asks, leaning into the table more to get a better look at me.

"I'm at the avengers place..." She smiles at me and nods, finding my expression amusing. "Holy shit." I mutter, she laughs louder.

Suddenly, a man walks in, thick as hell. He takes a seat opposite me. His features were sharp, defined jawline, light stubble along it, his eyes piercing blue, his hair was a shoulder length dark chocolate brown. He wore a red long sleeved shirt.

He lifts his head and looks at me, my eyes widen and I remove my stare. He chuckles quietly, his voice was deep and husky. Oh God, why am I falling for a stranger?

"What'd you do with my father?" I ask, I remember him being there last night.

"We put him where he belongs, it's clear he was doing stuff to you, only God knows what you went through." The man with wings last night says, taking the fork full of bacon. "I'm Sam." He extends his hand over the table, I reach up and grab it.

"Y/n." I smile at him as I retract my arm, placing it around my fork to eat, I was starving, quite literally. As the bacon hits my mouth, I moan out loud. Everyone around me turns, I gulp.

"Good?" The women ask. I laugh nervously and nod.The man in front of me smiles, looking down at his food. He was so beautiful.

"My name is Natasha, but you can call me Nat." The women says, swallowing her food. I turn to her and sees about to put my hand out, she laughs and pulls me too her, making us hug. "I don't hug many people, you should feel lucky." I laugh at her and continue to eat our breakfast.

Once we finished, Nat leads me to the shower and hands me some spare clothes to where. I wash away all the dirt, dried blood and other disgusting shit off me. Once I step out, I dry my hair with the towel and put the clothes on. I step out of the bathroom, after cleaning up after myself, something I've learnt to always do or I'd get bashed. No, y/n, stop thinking about that. You're safe here. Lost in thought, I bump into someone, they catch me before I fell and helps me up again. "I'm sorry, I should have watched where I was going." I say and look up the see Mr gorgeous.

He smiles a warm smile at me, "that's alright. Umm- Tony wanted me to lead you to the medical area to get some vitamins." His voice was so deep, so manly. I squeak out an ‘okay’ and follow him. "So y/n, right?" He asks, looking back at me briefly.

"Yeah." I say, mesmerized at how he walks for some reason. "Or y/n/n." 

He smiles at it before continuing, "well y/n/n, Tony wanted me to ask you a few questions."

"Sure."

"He asked if you've been through this before. The beatings, I mean. Sorry, I tried to make it nice." He mumbles the last part as I tense at his question.

"Almost my whole life, it started when I was about 4 to 5, I was in my room drawing when my dad came in and started yelling at me saying I was the reason why they were broke all the time, why my mum had turned to drugs so that she could get some relief, why my dad turned to alcohol to forget about the day he had. Now I'm 23, I wasn't allowed to leave home, couldn't get a job or a career. I had to stay with them as their slave as they put it one time." I finish, a few tears stain my cheeks.

The man turns to me, "you won't ever have to put up with that ever again, I promise." He says with a sad smile, I return it.

When we walk into the room Tony gets me to sit on the bed where they do a basic check up."Okay, well, we're giving you vitamins so your health will go up quickly." Tony says more to himself than me, turning to get something. He hands me 2 tablets, I eye them curiously. Tony hands me the bottle and I see its vitamin tablets. I swallow them and thank them.

That night I was with Natasha, we were talking about our pasts, although I had nothing really to talk about. "Well, I think I might go to bed. Oh shit, do you have a bed?"

I shake my head, "she can sleep with me." Mr gorgeous says.

Natasha nods."I would but Bruce is there so it'll be awkward." She laughs.

After saying our goodbyes, Mr gorgeous leads me to his room. His room was clean, a queen bed in the middle of the room with old fashioned looking sheets. A wardrobe was to the side of the room, another door probably leading to the bathroom to the other side of the room. A ceiling to floor window covered up the whole wall opposite the bed where you look out and see the woods. He hands me a pillows and a thick blanket. I go and set up on the floor but he stops me, "that's for me. Sorry, I shouldn't have gotten you to hold it."

"What, no, I'll sleep on the floor. It's fine." I protest. He shakes his head at me, smiling.

"Nope, not happening."

"Too bad." I smile, sitting on the floor. He walks over and lifts me up with ease, he sets me on the bed and walks over to the bed. I get a glimpse of his arm, it was a metal arm. "How'd that happen?" I ask curious.

"How what happened?" He looks at me confused.

"Your arm. I mean, you don't have to tell me-"

"When I fell off the train back in the 40s, HYDRA gave me serum before though when they were experimenting on me when they captured me. I survived, by they brainwashed me, I got out of it almost a year ago and came to live here with the avengers to get me back on track." He says like he could talk to me about anything, then, realisation hits me.

"Your James Buchanan Barnes?" I say a little too loudly. He chuckles.

“You can call me Bucky." He simply says and I yawn, "now sleep." 

"I still don't want you sleeping on the floor." I mumble, he sighs and stands up moving to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers.

"Share the bed then." I blush at his words and slowly get under the covers. I face towards him, not wanting to hurt the bullet wound on my ribs. He also faces me and closes his eyes.

He was beautiful, I had to admit. His breathes were slow and calming and I find peace in it, finding myself falling asleep a lot quicker. Maybe sleeping with him on the same bed wasn't that bad.

[runningwithhellhounds]

Pidge is fourteen. She and Keith are pressed against the Garrison wall, both a little breathless despite not having moved for half an hour. The memoir is taking place on the other side of the wall, outside, beautiful day. They can hear everything. This is the first time she's alone with Keith. It's funny how a sentiment brings you closer instantly; a tragedy to call this all-consuming loss a sentiment.

''I could sneak you in, at the end,'' Keith offers, seventeen and blood simmering.

''No. I don't want to see his face,'' she says and immediately feels horrible.

She draws a forever sign in the dry soil and it intensifies her pure agony like she thought it would. She stretches her long socks further past her ankles, hair still long and tied into low buns. She doesn't feel like herself. Her brother was a half of her self-definition.

''It is now appropriate to pause for a moment to reflect on the huge impact the crew will continue to have on humanity’s aspirations. We extend our deepest sympathy to everyone inspired by their spirit.''

Dust is rising from where Keith is thumping his fists on the ground with a devastating frequency. His eyes are clenched.

''Hey,'' she says, lowly. Collecting ignition to continue, firestarter petroleum oozy. But Keith says, ''Yeah.''

He splays his hands on the ground. Looks up, continues looking up. It's too bright for that to be comfortable. She fixates on the bruises on his knuckles and the blood around his fingernail.

''You have blood on your fingernail,'' she says. Keith brings his hands up, stoic and turmoiling at the same time. ''Right thumb,'' she says.

They have come up with a post-mortem communication code, okay? Matt said if one of them died and became a ghost, they would knock three glasses over. It's so so horrible. Keith lays a hand atop of her head.

''Perhaps this is the nature of heroism. Striving to achieve something that is beyond our ability. Even being the best doesn’t protect you from errors. Perhaps that in itself honours space and space exploration.''

Keith clenches his fists again. He had said Shiro would never. He’s too good for errors.

''I guess,'' she swallows, ''I guess we are the only ones who—'' The only ones with this erroneous feeling. This fucking mistaken grief. ''Who believe in them more than that,'' she finishes.

''Well, that's awkward,'' Keith jokes. They smile at each other, vaporous.

''We will now play a special song – the last song recommendation Matthew Holt sent to our station on Earth. Panic Vertigo by The Wrecks.''

Oh no, she thinks. Her mind spills into a stream of no no no, when Keith growls: ''Let's get the fuck away.''

He's already dusting off. He doesn't offer a hand and Pidge is grateful.

At fourteen, the Garrison is holding a memoir for the lost crew and Pidge’s hands feel unstable when she drinks from glasses. On the way to the ceremony, she and Keith climbed off his motorbike at a gas station made for boys like Keith, rogue, creases of their jeans sharp, boots strangely clean. Keith bought them canned coke and she was grateful.

 *

 She's pulling a yellow pepper apart, thinking, quite uselessly: maybe the illusion of strength stems from weakness. She squished it until it cracked and now the seeds are falling on the counter.

She's a half of a person. But, in contrast to the missing half, an idea is forming within her. In contrast to the missing half, Enceladus is still her favourite moon. It helps her think: Keith, from whom she hasn't heard for weeks, is a cyrovolcano. And she won't remain a flyby. She'll be a rover.

She calls the Garrison three times to reach him and carries her phone as a weight in her pocket for three days before he returns the call, bleeding apprehension.

''Hello?''

''Keith,'' she says, solemn. ''Keith. Can you steal something for me?''

 *

 Pidge is fifteen and a boy called Lance makes her doubt her insight all over.

She stops in a corridor when she sees him now, well past sleep-time. Lance hovers two fingers above the skin of a girl's hand.  His eyes flicker to hers, watchful, intent.

''How does that feel?'' he mutters with a ghosting smile.

''You're not touching me,'' the girl says through the teeth of her grin. Lance smiles elastically in a way that makes Pidge feel like she can snap.

The girl clears her throat, mouth a contour of a smile, and then Lance, too, turns. The girl pulls her hair in a tail, then releases, and Pidge watches it swing behind her back.

''Hi,'' Pidge says, ''Lance.''

''Hi, Pidge.'' He grins, pulls the girl's hand behind his back and holds it there with both hands. ''Look at that. Won't tell if you won't.''

Pidge runs her fingers through the hair at her nape. She thought familiarisation would come more slowly. Not letting go of the girl's hand, Lance pulls a key ring from his pocket, spins it around his finger. It's something kitsch, lowbrow and vibrant and nostalgic. She isn't like that. He's vibrant and she compares herself to extraterrestrial objects.

''Won't tell if you won't,'' she repeats.

 *

 She can't fall asleep, just keeps thinking, defined, almost geometrical thoughts. It's often like this. She just lies frustrated.

She thought it would be easy, that she would uncover the assembly of concepts of her and re-cover them with a new sheet. Instead, she is stuck. What drives science forward is the universality of laws. Eyes open, duvet light on her chest, she is stuck. Can't go forward. She can't develop herself, no universal laws apply.

A week ago she broke a plastic fork without meaning to and didn’t know what that meant.

 *

 Lance walks into the dark dining hall where Pidge sits slouched and they both start.

''Oh, uh, hey. Pidge. Wow, right? I didn't know the dining hall was unlocked at night, but looks like you've known. What are you reading?''

She glances down at her tablet. She's coordinating outputs of Garrison detectors. The device on the backside of the tablet is reading the academy’s data analyses. Lance comes close enough for its light illuminate him and she tilts the tablet away from him, towards her stomach.

''Wikipedia,'' she lies. He grins.

''Is this referring to your, what it that, a tablet?'' he points at the special offer sticker in the corner of her tablet that she scraped from a sandwich wrapping.

''No,'' she says, ''It’s referring to me.''

''Yeah? How so?''

How funny that a person so whole is asking her this. ''You want me to tell you why I think I'm special?''

''Sure,'' Lance crosses his arms.

Her neck cracks when she tips her head up. Maybe this: she has, in a way, cracked all the joints in her body, cracked her everything, new shape recuperating under the always-loose clothes. Who is she? Primordial soup of a person. Chemically potent. An isomer inverted. And can’t stop thinking about that. The transition, the hoax, has made her the embodiment of metacognition.

''I cognise about my cognition,'' she says. Lance’s eyebrows shoot up and it makes her want to cross out her answer. ''I’ll find aliens,'' she covers up. Something less irritating, less out of reach, and no less sincere. Lance beams, whole body moving illogically with enthusiasm.

''Me too! Man,'' he says, closer now, and Pidge concludes magnetism attracts him to things, never repels. ''Please tell me you have a plan. Humanity has lived so long without aliens, it’s time.'' He straightens up with intent. ''Are you going to cognise something for the Garrison? Or, I mean, if we can reach Kerberos. I mean. Maybe we’ll have the tech to go further just when I’m allowed to fly higher than fifty thousand feet.''

''Yeah, well. Icarus only flew too close to the sun because his wings were shit.'' Lance grins, but then tilts his head.

''You look upset,'' Lance says – because he seems to live on the outside of himself. She shakes her head. Typing tempestuously from her home floorboards, she thought: the Garrison would be a she-unknown zone. She’d be a hoax, and people wouldn’t know her. But actually, no. She can give what she can give.

''Some officers don't take girls seriously,'' she says.

''Oh,'' Lance sounds surprised. ''Is there someone you like?''

''No. That girl, what's her name? Do you take her seriously?''

''The one from the hallway?'' Lance asks and it makes her feel infinitely worse. ''Whoa, dude. Yes, I take Alleine seriously. I'm not just, I don't know, playing. I have respect.''

She sweeps her electronic chips into a pile on the tabletop. She’s not trying to be inflammatory. She just feels her bedrock being attacked.

''They have internal worlds too, you know.''

''Dude. I know.'' He folds his arms and she doesn’t know what to say. He half-laughs, looking to the side, arms unfolding. Okay, adventure over for tonight. See you around. Nice talking to you, Pidge.''

''Lance,'' she calls. He turns, tilts his head a little. ''I like your confidence. Keep it up.''

''I like yours,'' Lance smiles, just by the door, when the door swings open, an officer stepping in.

''Ah,'' Lance breathes. Straightens up. ''Sir.''

''Good evening, cadets,'' an officer Pidge doesn’t know barely glances at her before settling on Lance. Crypsis, she thinks. ''McClain. Are you testing the admissions?''

Lance takes in the scattered electronics, glances at Pidge. ‘’I — Pidge was teaching me, sir. About – structural aircraft repair procedures. After today's simulation I thought I could benefit from it, and I feel – devoted—'' he stumbles over devoted three times, and she feels her body jerk. Lance looks horrified.

''Bring your devotion to class tomorrow. And don’t test academy rules. Two minutes to clear up.'' Lance keeps his eyes on him as he leaves, breathing in slowly. Shiro was a Garrison commander and she has met him twice. She’s sure Shiro would use euphemisms.

''Jesus fucking Christ,'' Lance says.

''Whatever you want to believe in,'' she replies. Lance huffs.

 *

 In her head, she once calls her inner voice her articulatory control system. Then thinks: that’s enough. Her insight told her that this person-creation would lead her further than any human has ever been. And her insight is good: she’s picking up data she doesn’t know what to do with. That’s good. Her insight was a carefully crafted thing and she absolutely loves that Matt and Keith are the two people who'd never tell her you're overthinking this. It’s for them. She doesn’t own three glasses, because she believes: in Matt, in herself.

 *

 It’s her foresight that can’t be trusted much. She talks to Lance and doesn’t feel very real. Maybe she should start listening to music.

 *

 ''Hunk,'' Lance says, back straight and voice loud, ''do you know Pidge? He's a romantic.''

''I'm not a romantic,'' she snaps, climbing carefully over the bench with her tray. Hunk is sitting opposite of Lance and now scoots along the bench and ends up in front of her. His relaxed arms, elbows on the table and hands clasped, look warm.

''Sounds like a compliment, but. Lance, you dick, what did you do?''

Lance grins while chewing. Like Michael Jackson. ''I meant it positively. But I still trade these bad boys—'' he lifts a bottle of juice, ''to compensate. Want, Pidge?''

''No. Yes,'' she snatches it Lance’s hands. She likes the knowing between him and Hunk. It’s different from her, and from Keith. They are both somehow not old enough for it, maybe; don’t have enough real niceties.

''These were out when I was a child, can’t believe I’m getting them in my dream school, too,'' Hunk says. ''Like, the smell. Smells like childhood.''

Treat and threat are such similar words, she thought while drinking coke on a curb with Keith, smelling her way into childhood. And now she thinks it again.

''Good god,'' she jerks, her fork screeching against the plate.

''Whoa. You doing okay?''

''Yeah,'' she clears her throat, a cover-up, a swallow-down. Before her insides disseminate. ''I just lost track of – time,'' she finishes lamely.

''Oh,'' Hunk says. ''Track of time is a good thing to lose. If I were to lose something,'' he smiles.

 *

 Lance chews like a Hollywood star and isn’t afraid of heights and she is volatile. But maybe she’s past the impact-heavy stage of moon formation. Pidge is fifteen, her hair is short, and she’s the first microorganisms bursting to life. She’s the detection of some geothermal activity. Still uncertain, but onto something.

 *

They are perched and tense above the extraterrestrial sample curation building. It's the most perfect of surprises. It's Shiro.

She breathes in. She sends the location to Keith, the rushed word: Shiro. Coordination and causation are her blood type, after all. It's nothing new, to be an in-group spy. An infiltrator. They all start at the explosions.

''No way,'' Lance says, strained, hype-high. ''That guy is always trying to one-up me!''

The desert-night wind cools the sweat at her hairline to a suggestion of a headache. It's all happening very fast. When she speaks, it's taut and dusty.

''Who?''

(on ao3)

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Poisoned Secrets

Chapter one: Invitation

Pairings: Steve x OFM, Bucky x OFC

Summary: When Tony throws a lavish dinner party, everyone involved has their life changed forever. 

Warnings: Non-con elements in this chapter. 

A/N: Much inspired by my lovely friend @salimahbicharara-comun I too wanted to make my own Victorian AU. So thanks for the inspiration. And of course, thanks to the wonderful @sammi-faye for being my wonderful Beta Reader on this. Her ideas and time are indispensable to me. 

Tagging: None

Next Chapter

The road leading to the Rogers Plantation was much too rough for a proper motor car. So Tony Stark took his carriage. Down the pitted lane they bumped, the wheel fitting perfectly into the rough grooves of the lane. Mud splashed the sides of his vehicle, but he didn’t mind, he would have Francis wash it all off later.

The lane is covered with shade, making it a sight cooler than the rest of the plantation. The damnably hot day was scented with the magnolia’s that surrounded the road, each tree dripping moss on the ground. The pink flowers carpeted the ground so completely even the carriage wheels couldn’t drive them off in their flurry. 

Tony was paying his monthly visit to the Rogers Household. Eleven fifteen, a most respectable time to pay a visit. Known for being the least respectable man in town, behind Joseph Rogers, Tony was trying his best these days to rectify his image. If only so his darling Venus would see him as something more than a mere nuisance. As it turned out, he didn’t know what the hell she thought of him, and that scared him to his rotted core. 

Everything at the Rogers Plantation works like a well oiled clock. His carriage stops at the foot of the stairs, and he hops out. The doorman, who seems to have been looking out for him, as he well should be, opens the door to allow Tony in. Sarah Rogers, Matriarch, glides down the steps to greet him. “Mr. Stark!” She says, putting on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“Mrs. Rogers.” He replies, handing her a bouquet of flowers. Neither of them comment on the crushed nature of the flowers. He looks around anxiously. “Venus is finishing up the morning chores.” She tells him, throwing decorum to the wind. She knew why he was here, there was no sense in beating ‘round the bush. “She’ll be along momentarily. Why don’t we sit on the veranda, it’s a most beautiful day.”

It was the last thing Tony wanted. It was stiflingly hot outside. If the mosquitoes didn’t get to him, then the heat would. “Of course,” He says, offering his arm. At least there would be lemonade.

They step out on to the veranda, overlooking the most intricately planned out garden in the entire city. Tony appreciated the beauty, but was immediately struck by the intense heat. Immediately starting to sweat, just as he feared, they sat at a small table, and was served by a servant he could never remember the name of. 

“Venus will be down shortly,” Sara says, “I’m sure.” Tony nods impatiently. Shortly isn’t soon enough. She should’ve met him at the door so he could skip all this pleasantry.

There was decorum he had to keep in front of Sara Rogers that he didn’t need to in front of his daughter. With Venus, he could talk to her about anything, in any way. He liked that about her. They were frank with each other, and they were comfortable with that. He stifles a sigh and gets on with the matter.

“There’s another reason I’ve come.” He informs her. “Oh?” She takes a delicate sip of lemonade, sounding as disinterested as possible. Sara was the only woman in the city that didn’t treat him like a god among mortals. Apparently she had no interest in his roguish good looks, and he was thankful for it. He considered her one of his closest friends, which was saying something, considering he had no real friends. 

“I’ve recently been to Egypt.”

“I’ve heard, how was your visit?”

“Enlightening.” He answers her honestly. “I did a bit of archeology myself, and I’ve uncovered some beautiful artefacts.”

“No doubt, your family is known to plunder final resting places.” Tony lets the comment slide. “I’m showing it off tomorrow night. Including the mummy. I’m inviting your family.” He takes the gilded card from his chest pocket, thanking whatever god was listening that it wasn’t damp with hsi sweat. “Think it over.”

“Am I to assume Venus is invited as well?” The comment is stinging. Decorum dictates that she would stay at home and look after the house, but Venus was different. “Yes,” Tony said. “I’m going to surprise her with her own invitation.”

“I’ll provide her with the proper dress.”

“Don’t,” He says a little too quickly. “I will. I already have her dress picked out. I’ll send it tomorrow, along with a carriage for her.” Sara laughs. “You never dote on her, what’s the occasion.” Tony squirms in his chair. “My reasons are my own.” 

“Of course.” Sara was going to say something else, but they were interrupted by none other than Venus. She looks harried, as though she rushed through her chores to meet them. Tony stands quickly, nearly upending the small tablet. Sara, in turn, rises more gently, like the matron she is. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She says, floating across the veranda and through the doorway. Venus curtsies, as is custom for a servant. Tony huffs, irritated with it all, “Shall we go somewhere cooler?”

“As you wish.” Venus turns and leads him inside the house. The invitation he has in his pocket, written especially for her, had never felt so heavy. 

*

Venus knew he was there long before he heard the click of the lock sliding into place. She ignores him, smoothing the bed spread into place and tucking underneath the mattress. Hopefully this time the ignore tactic will work. She knows by the touch of his hand it doesn’t. Gulping, she pushes it off, a silent plea for him to leave her alone.

“Father’s out,” He says, “Mother’s downstairs with Stark. They’re talking about something, I don’t know, we have a few minutes to ourselves.”

“I should go serve Mr. Stark.” She whispers, trying to slip past him. She doesn’t get very far. He grabs her hand and pulls her to him. “Ramonda is serving him,” He whispers before diving in to kiss her. It’s awful.

Her blood runs cold, stopping dead in it’s tracks. Her stomach turns flips as she finds herself kissing him back. She’s played this part all too well for far too long. Hopefully today will be the day Tony will take her away. Lord knows she asked enough, prayed enough, to be delivered from the clutches of one Steven Grant Rogers. 

He pulls back and presses his forehead against hers. “Your kisses always leave me weak.” He whispers, smiling. “Isn’t that strange?”

“Not so strange,” She tells him, “Yours has my stomach in knots.” He chuckles and draws her ever closer, into a tight hug. “One day,” He says, in between kisses on her shoulders, “One day, I will marry you.”

“Oh?”

“And we’ll have children of our own. They’ll be beautifully colored, like you.” Her cheeks burn. Colored like her. That was the great divide between them. Venus wasn’t just any serving girl, she was a colored serving girl, and she would never be allowed to marry Steven Rogers if his father had any say on the matter. And he did, a lot of say. 

Venus was happy to agree with the old drunk on that matter. Being married to him sounded like the worst of nightmares to her.

She hurriedly pushes him away when she feels his tug of her apron. He outright laughs at her. “Prudent as always. You’re right, there isn’t enough time.” She feels him push his growing hardness into her belly. Swallowing thickly, she prays to anyone that will hear her, let her get away from this man, and quickly. 

Her hopes are dashed against the rocks as he pushes her to the bed. “Lay back,” He whispers, “Allow me to pleasure you.” She does as instructed, opening her legs up to him. Despite herself, she feels wetness between her legs, a growing anticipation of what to come. She’d much rather him like this. Disappearing underneath her skirts to pleasure her. 

She can see him and he won’t talk while he’s busy. Most of all, this way, she could play pretend.

It wasn’t Steve’s rough hands that traveled up her thigh and part her lips. It was Bucky’s. It was Bucky’s tongue that licked a long stripe up her cunt, then attached itself to her clit. Bucky that sucked her until her toes curled. It was him, always him. 

As usual, Steve takes her from her fantasies by using too much teeth. She hisses in pain and back away. Even after all this time, he’s still as clumsy as a virgin. She may be partly to blame, she never told him he was bad at this. Steve pulls her closer, thinking she’s feeling too much pleasure. She thinks harder about Bucky. About his warm, plump lips, his long brown hair, his piercing blue eyes. It does the trick. They’re both back on the right track.

It all ends quickly, thank God, with a whimper and a small, jittery shaking of the legs. Before Steve can say anything, she straightens herself up. “Venus,” Steve says, brows knitting together. “Wait,” He calls after her as she rushes from the room. She does not wait. She runs away. 

How can he be so stupid? How can he not see how plainly uncomfortable he makes her? It’s his station, she thinks. He’s had everything given to him on a silver platter, he isn’t used to not getting what he wants. Well, he won’t have her. She was determined to break things off soon. She would have to, for the sake of her sanity. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life playing nice to the master of the house, she’d much rather lose her station. He made her suffer enough.

She pushed all that out of her mind. She had another face to put on for Tony Stark. Perhaps this time, he’d finally take her away. She could only hope.

*

Bucky watches Steve come out of the room after Venus, wiping at his face, checking to see if he’s gotten away with it again. Bucky was always amused at how careful Steve tried to be. But the man was a bull walking in a China Shop, nothing about his affair was careful. Nor was it a secret. Everyone in the house knew. Everyone hoped that it was a passing fancy, and that once Steve found the right girl he would forget all about Venus. Bucky was the only one that knew Steve was determined to marry her.

It wasn’t just the late night one sided talks the two had. It was the way she drew you in. Her dark brown eyes were round, innocent to the world’s horrors. They promised safety and comfort. Her hair was as soft as it looked, her lips were heaven…Bucky leans back against the wall, eyes closed, trying to get a hold of himself. He failed miserably at the task. All he could think about was Venus.

He liked her hands the most. They were rough from years of work, yet nowhere near as rough as the hands of a soldier. They added texture to her skin. He loved to feel her run the pads of her fingers down his back, even now, the ghost of feeling sends a shiver down his spine. At this, he wakes himself from his daydream. He tells himself its no good pining after her, she’s taken. But what can a man do when faced with such beauty? 

He finally pushes himself off the wall and heads toward the study. He needed solitude. The study was the one place Steve had yet to seek him out. So far it had been his haven away from everyone. Everyone except- “Maria.” He says, not at all surprised to see her there, smiling at him mischievously. “Bucky,” She greets. “Running away from your problems again?” He refuses to answer her, choosing instead, to pluck a book off the wall. 

“You do know that you aren’t going to get anywhere if you don’t tell dearest Steven about your feelings, don’t you?”

“Thank you Maria, that will be all.” She snickers and runs from the room, knowing when she’s not wanted. 

Bucky sits heavily in a chair, cracking open the books. It’s not that he hadn’t tried to tell Steve about his own feelings for Venus, it’s just...he’s always been interrupted before he could get to the point. Even so, Maria was right, he needed to talk to Steve about it. It really was unacceptable to continue going on this way, pining after a woman he knew loved him as dearly as he did her. It would break Steve’s heart, but Bucky was sure he’d forgive him in the end. Besides, wasn’t Venus worth it? Beautiful, ethereal Venus? The one that comforted him in the middle of the night when the nightmares were too much? The one that always brightened his day? The one that made him smile and laugh? Venus, the only one that seemed to matter to him anymore. 

Yes, it was decided. Bucky couldn’t live without her. He needed her, wanted her, had to have her. It would be easy, simple, all he had to do was tell Steve of his feelings, and Steve would back down. He nodded to himself, it was a solid plan. He would tell Steve tonight...he hoped. 

*

Tony stood at the fireplace, not daring to look Venus in the eye. Venus herself sat on the couch, stiff and unmoving. It was always like this, always awkward. Tony dreamed of the day his own flesh and blood wouldn’t hate him. “You know this is hard for me,” He says, turning to her finally. “Keeping you here, seeing you a mere servant.” Venus simply looks at the Persian carpet beneath her feet. This had been a repeated conversation, he already knew her answers. 

She wanted this all to change. She wanted her father to finally claim her, so she could get a proper education, and be a proper lady. Maybe then she’d find it within herself to reject Steve Rogers. Until then, she was at his mercy. 

“You’re a Stark, you should have been brought up like one.”

“There really is no use looking back on all that now, is there?” She snaps, irritated with him already. She had somewhat of an affection for her father but more often than not, he irritated her. With is passionate rants about who she should be rather than who she was. Her station in life was his fault. If he had managed to keep it in his pants when he was a young man, rather than taking her mother to bed, she wouldn’t even exist, which was a far sight better than the situation she was in now. He is well aware of this fact. 

Tony stops his rant in his tracks. “Look,” he says, straightening himself out. “I’m having a dinner party tomorrow. To show off my new collection from Egypt.” He slips the invitation from his chest pocket and hands it over to her. “You’re invited.” He interrupts her before he can speak, “I’ve already talked to Sara, she amiable to the idea. I’ll have provisions sent over for you tomorrow, along with your very own carriage. You’ll eat next to me” He looks at her, really looks at her and the beauty she’s become, “It will be as though we were a family.” 

As though we were a family, she chews the words over in her mind. They could be a family now if he didn’t listen to that damned Obidiah Stane. The man wasn’t good for her father, never had been, but it seemed she was the only one that could see that. It didn’t matter, as long as that little bastard was alive, she and Tony would never be anything close to a family. 

“Will you come?” he asks, as though she has a real choice in the matter. “I promise to be on my best behavior.” She says, giving him a rare smile. The tension melts from his shoulders. “I look forward to you being there.” He finally sits next to her, grabbing her shoulders in his hands. “There’s so much I want to share with you. So much you should know.” The statement seemed ominous to her. It helped her realize that he was planning on something. 

It was then her real smile came out. He was planning on something disastrous, and she would be there to see it in all his glory. She takes his hands from her shoulders and holds them. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.” 

[madlori]

Unveiled - Chapter 9

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 3000 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Mildish sex in this one.

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains some miscarriage-adjacent content. Please scroll to the bottom of the chapter if you would like to know the details before reading.

Read it on AO3

Six weeks had passed since their wedding, and Zhenya was beginning to feel settled. He hadn’t expected to be comfortably sharing a bedroom with his embargoed spouse; such an arrangement was not forbidden, as long as the embargo was respected, but was extremely unusual as it only made the embargo more difficult. He wouldn’t have held it against his consort if he’d wanted to keep to his own bedroom -- where he didn’t have to sleep in veils -- but as far as Zhenya could tell, his husband seemed content, even happy, to share his bed. What was now beginning to feel odd was that after rising in the morning, his consort bid him good day and left fairly early, and he often didn’t see him again until returning to his quarters for bed. Being so close to him overnight while maintaining such rigid distance in daylight was annoying. He understood why -- keeping embargo while in one another’s company during normal daytime activities would be impossible and would severely limit both of their abilities to get anything done if they couldn’t speak aloud. 

Still, after lunch with his mother on a bright, sunny Tuesday, Zhenya found himself wanting to see his husband. Surely a brief walk on the grounds would be acceptable. They could do that in silence, after all. This resolution formed, he crossed the palace to the consort’s private offices. Letang and Crosby were stationed outside the door; they looked mildly surprised to see him but snapped to attention. “Um...I was wondering if his Highness would be agreeable to a walk on the grounds with me?”

Letang blinked. “Please come in, sir. I’ll ask him for you,” he said, after a brief hesitation. He opened the door. “His Royal Highness for you, sir,” he announced. He seemed to receive a signal from inside, then he stepped out of the way and held the door for Zhenya to enter.

His consort was sitting behind his desk, veiled in navy blue today. Sidney was standing at his side, holding a tablet -- probably the dispatches from Seryozha -- his eyes wide as he looked at Zhenya. Zhenya tried to ignore him and focus on his husband.

Letang cleared his throat. “His Royal Highness requests the consort’s company on a walk on the grounds,” he said. There was an undercurrent to his voice that Zhenya didn’t really understand, like they were all communicating in a way he couldn’t hear.

The consort looked up at Sidney, who shrugged. The consort made a gesture to his papers, then lifted a finger in Sidney’s direction. “His Highness would like to finish his work first,” Sidney said. “Would a delay of one hour be acceptable?”

Zhenya almost answered aloud, as he was accustomed to doing when speaking to Sidney. He caught himself in time and nodded. This felt -- odd. Awkward, in a way that he hadn’t been with his consort in weeks.

“He will come to your office in one hour,” Sidney said. The consort bowed his head slightly; Zhenya returned the bow and left.

In one hour, on the dot, Sasha opened Zhenya’s office door and the consort entered. Zhenya smiled and put his work aside. He offered him tea, but the consort declined, just stepped to his side and put his gloved hand on Zhenya’s elbow. He relaxed -- this felt normal now; the warmth of the consort’s body heat felt familiar.

They walked to the gardens, the easiest place for a casual afternoon stroll. Once they left the palace, the consort let go of Zhenya’s elbow and took his hand, interlacing their fingers; Zhenya noticed that he had removed his gloves.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and late enough in the season that the gardens -- his mother’s pride and joy -- were in full bloom. As they approached, the consort held up a finger and released Zhenya’s hand to reach under his veils and into his breast pocket...to pull out a small book. He held it up, and Zhenya could all but see the cheeky grin he must have been wearing, because it was Zhenya’s mother’s book. The Queen had written a small directory of the flowers and trees in the gardens, meant as a guide for visitors, and the consort had obtained a copy. Zhenya almost laughed, and moved to put his arm around his husband’s back, but he drew away with an ‘oh no you don’t’ finger. With a flourish, he pulled a pen out of his other coat pocket, firmly clicked it open, and turned to the page in the garden book that bore a checklist of the major flowers and plantings, brandishing his pen at it and somehow managing to communicate both enthusiasm and ironic bemusement.

Zhenya followed him as he made his way through the gardens, bending to read the small printed signs identifying the flowers and checking them off his list, pointing in excitement as he spied one he was missing, and tapping his pen against his veiled lips. Zhenya had expected him to check a few off and then abandon the task, but instead he watched as the consort methodically worked his way down the list, darting between the flowerbeds and, at one point, jumping up and down when he found one that was listed in the guide as “hard to spot.” Zhenya chuckled, utterly charmed, as he was by nearly everything his husband did.

Zhenya joined him before a trellis wall of climbing roses, his mother’s prizewinning blooms. The consort was looking at a particularly lush section of deep coral roses, shot through with lavender streaks. He glanced up at Zhenya, pointed to the roses and then put a hand on his chest...I love these. Zhenya nodded, making the same gesture. He did, too. The consort showed Zhenya his completed checklist then, nodding as if acknowledging a job well done. He held up his pen and dramatically clicked it shut, replacing it, along with the book, in his coat pockets. Zhenya smiled down at him and slid his arm around the consort’s waist. He felt his husband’s arm go around him in return, and was glad he’d had this idea. They turned around and walked back to the palace, keeping each other close.

That night Zhenya was rather late coming to his bedroom, as he’d been attending a musical performance with his brother. He couldn’t wait to get out of his cumbersome royal formalwear and maybe get to sleep with his husband, but when he entered the room the lights were low and the consort seemed to be asleep, curled on his side in bed. Zhenya smiled down at his veiled face, drew the covers up over his shoulder a bit, then went to the bathroom to undress and wash.

He tried to be silent and not disturb his sleeping partner when he got into bed, but he was barely settled before the consort turned over and tucked close to him. He kissed the man’s veiled forehead and felt him waking up. The consort’s hand slipped over his chest, then down his stomach to grasp his cock. With his other hand the consort tapped at Zhenya’s temple; this was the signal he’d come to use when he wanted Zhenya to close his eyes. He did so now, felt the fabric move as the consort lifted his veils, and then his soft lips against Zhenya’s.

They kissed gently, thoroughly, while his consort stroked him. Zhenya’s hand slipped down and cupped the consort’s ass while Zhenya’s hips made shallow thrusts into his hand, his mouth opening to his husband’s tongue. Zhenya sighed when he came over the consort’s hand, their kisses turning quiet and drowsy. He heard the consort pull a tissue out of the box on the nighttable, presumably to wipe off his hand, placing a kiss on Zhenya’s chest as he did so. Zhenya felt the brush of fabric again as his husband replaced his veils, then he tapped Zhenya’s forehead. Zhenya opened his eyes; his hand strayed down his husband’s taut stomach to his cock but he got the thumbs-down and a gentle pat on the hand, so he knew it was nothing personal, his consort just wasn’t in the mood.

Zhenya pulled him close and reveled in his warmth, the softness of his skin where he could feel it, and the quiet intimacy of their bed.

When he woke, he was alone, but he could hear movement in the bathroom so he knew his consort hadn’t yet left him for the day. He turned over and stretched, hugging a pillow and hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. It was not to be.

He heard hurrying footsteps, but before he even got his eyes open, the consort was shaking his shoulder, hard. He sat up, snapping fully awake; his husband was standing over him, his chest heaving in fast, scared breaths. He held out a hand -- there was blood on his fingers. He put his other hand low on his belly and then suddenly he hunched over, making a low grunt of pain.

Panic slammed into Zhenya’s half-asleep mind. He got up and pulled his husband close; the consort was shaking and staring at his bloody fingers. Zhenya picked up his phone and fired off a text to a pre-set group of emergency contacts including the doctor, Fleury, and Sasha. He sat back down, drawing the consort over his lap and tucking him close, pressing his head to Zhenya’s shoulder. The consort clutched at him, fear radiating off him in palpable waves. Zhenya went cold when he saw that there were a few streaks of blood on the consort’s bare inner thighs, as well. 

Dr. Rjskov, Fleury, and Letang were at the door faster than Zhenya would have believed possible. The guards were pushing a gurney. Dr. Rjskov took only seconds to assess the situation; once he saw the blood on the consort’s fingers and also on his legss, he sprang into action. “Come, your Highness, get up here,” he said, patting the gurney.

Zhenya grabbed the consort’s dressing gown and wrapped it around him so he wouldn’t be rolling down the corridor naked but for his veils. He helped him climb onto the stretcher, the consort hanging on to Zhenya’s hand for dear life.

Dr. Rjskov put a hand on Zhenya’s arm. “Sir, you need to stay here. I need to be able to talk to him. I can’t do that if you’re there.”

Zhenya gaped at him. “Fuck the embargo!” he exclaimed. Both the doctor and his consort visibly flinched upon hearing his forbidden voice. “I’m not leaving my husband!”

“Sir!” the doctor said, sharply. “This isn’t helping! He needs to come to the infirmary. I will keep you informed. Please, exercise some restraint.”

Fleury appeared at his side. “Zhenya, we’ll be with him. You trust us, don’t you?”

Zhenya looked down at him and saw the very real concern and love Fleury had for the consort. He nodded, silent, already feeling guilty at his outburst. His priority should be to do what was best for his husband, not what would make himself more comfortable.

They wheeled the consort out of the room; Zhenya saw another cramp hit him and his hands go to his belly just as they passed out of sight. Zhenya’s legs gave out, and he landed on the edge of the bed, bright-edged panic crowding out his thoughts. No, no, no, please no.

Sasha ran in, his eyes wide with concern. “Zhenya!” he said. He was at his side in a flash, one arm around his shoulders. “Come on, get dressed. I’m going to get you some tea.”

“I don’t want tea! I want my husband!”

“We’ll go to the infirmary and wait; you’ll be right there when the doctor has any news.”

He nodded, feeling slow and thick. “Yes. Okay, good. Yes.” He started for the door. 

Sasha steered him back. “Clothes first. Come on, let me get you dressed.”

Zhenya would later have almost no memory of it, but somehow Sasha got him into acceptable clothing. The next thing he knew, they were sitting in the chamber outside the infirmary. Letang was there, along with several of the other guards; all of them looked serious and worried. “The doctor said he’d come talk to you as soon as he could,” Letang said to him.

Zhenya got up, perhaps to retort, but no retort sprang to mind. He paced instead, feeling like a caged animal. He looked around at the guards and took note of a particular absence that made new, fresh anger flush through him. “Where is Sidney?” he said. He saw them exchange glances. “He should be here with the consort! What, is he too busy?”

Letang stepped closer. “Sidney isn’t available right now. He has duties to attend to.”

“Duties! More important than this? I thought he cared about him!”

“He does!”

Zhenya felt Sasha’s hand grab his arm and he reined himself in. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded to Letang. “Of course he does. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’m just...very worried, and I’m taking it out on Sidney.”

“It’s normal, sir. We’re all very worried.” Letang moved back to his guards; they  whispered among themselves, but Zhenya could hardly muster the attention to wonder what they were saying. He flopped down in a chair next to Sasha.

“Sasha,” he muttered. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t. This happens early in pregnancy, you know this. It’s probably nothing.”

“But what if...what if…”

“If he loses the baby, God forbid, you can try again. I know it’s difficult, but it isn’t the end.”

He looked at his oldest friend, feeling the wetness pooling in his eyelids. “Is it horrible that I’m worried about him more than the child?”

“No. You don’t really know the child. It’s so early, and it’s barely a tiny pea. It’s understandable to think of your husband first.”

“He’ll be devastated. We both will be.”

“And you will be there for him.”

Zhenya nodded. “No matter what.” He took a deep breath. “I won’t have him replaced, Sasha. Even if we lose this child, even if there isn’t another. I’ll carry our child myself if it comes to that. I won’t have him sent away.”

Sasha patted his arm. “Let’s not borrow trouble from tomorrow. We’ve enough on our plates with today’s trouble.”

The door into the infirmary opened and Dr. Rjskov emerged. Zhenya popped to his feet, Sasha rising with him, one hand still on his arm. The doctor looked...relaxed. Not like he was about to share tragic news.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, approaching him. “Your husband and child are fine.”

Zhenya let out a huge, relieved breath. He was peripherally aware of Letang and the guards doing the same. Sasha nodded and patted his shoulder. “He’s really all right?” Zhenya said.

“He had a little cramping and bleeding. It’s very common in the first trimester. It may happen again or it may not, but for now, your child is doing well and your husband is healthy.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Can I take him back to our room?”

“I’d like him to stay for a few hours. I’ll call you when you can come collect him.”

“Can I stay, too?”

The doctor sighed. “You may see him for a short time if you wish, but...the embargo…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Very well. I can see him now?”

“Yes, come with me.”

Zhenya followed the doctor into the infirmary and then into a private exam room. His consort was reclining on a bed, both hands resting on his belly, dressed in a hospital gown under his veils. He sat up when Zhenya entered and immediately held out his arms. Zhenya rushed to the bed and enfolded him, wrapping him up as tightly as he could. The consort was still shaking a little; his hands clutched big handfuls of Zhenya’s sweater. Zhenya pulled back, then glanced at the doctor, who stepped forward to address the consort.

“Your Highness, I’d like you to stay for a few hours, but the Prince will come for you when you’re released. He wanted to see you, but he can’t stay, as you know.”

The consort heaved a deep sigh -- Zhenya wondered if he were as tired of the embargo as Zhenya was -- and nodded. He grasped Zhenya’s hand and brought it to his belly, covering it with his own. Zhenya smiled and nodded, then kissed his veiled temple. He straightened up to see Dr. Rjskov eyeing him with one eyebrow slightly raised, but he didn’t care what he thought. He squeezed his consort’s hand one last time, then left.

Sasha trailed him back to his rooms. “You need to be careful.”

“Of what?”

“You and the consort have gone way past what the embargo allows.”

“Why, because I’ve become fond of him?”

“You’re in love with him.”

Zhenya stopped short, putting his hands on his hips. “No.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I can’t make that judgment without talking to someone, getting to know them. I know something of his character. I know how we make each other feel, physically. I enjoy the closeness we’ve developed. And I…” He hesitated. “I know he is someone I may be able to love.”

“The whole point of the embargo is so that if he has to leave, it’s not a trauma. You just said yourself that you already can’t tolerate the idea of losing him in a year.”

“That stays between us, understood?”

“You, me, and his guards who heard everything.”

“They won’t say anything. They keep his secrets well.” He resumed his course back to his rooms. He had to shower and dress in appropriate clothes for his day. “The embargo may restrict how we interact, but it has no jurisdiction in my head.”

“What about Sidney?”

Zhenya frowned. “What about him?”

“Is it him you’re in love with?”

“Why are you so determined that I be in love with someone?”

“Because I know you, Zhenya!” Sasha grabbed his arm and spun him around, stopping them again in the deserted corridor. “You don’t see how you’ve been these past weeks. You smile for no reason, you laugh to yourself, you bound around like you’re a kid again. You’re -- lighter.”

“I wasn’t aware I was such a grump before.”

“You weren’t. But you’re different now, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. So if it isn’t your consort lightening your heart, then who is it?”

---------

Content notes: The consort experiences some cramping and bleeding, causing a miscarriage scare. He is taken to the doctor but there is no miscarriage, all is well.

Next Chapter

[headquarters90]

Darkness (Warrior of the Source 11)

Pairing: Darkiplier x French Goddess!Reader, Reader x Original Characters (Platonic/Family), Reader x Greek Gods/Goddesses!Characters

Words: 2,547 words

Warnings: Training in the beginning, cursing, (not sure if this is needed but) witchcraft

A/N: Here’s the late update for Warrior of the Source! Once again (or in case you didn’t read the update post I made), the holiday season sucks and I work retail so schedule may be wonky. Also, in case anyone wanted, I am willing to tag people within this post. Just drop an ask and I’ll tag ya in the next one! JadeDarrow

Series Masterlist

“Doing good, girls!” Pierre called out as you grunted against your sister’s attacks. “Y/N, you-Or do it without me telling you too.”

A snort left Angel’s lips and you grinned as the two of you continued to spar against each other before coming to a halt at your aunt’s command.

“These two trained almost every day together when Y/N lived at home,” Bellatrix stated. “They need to go up against someone that doesn’t know their moves, Pierre.”

“Then who do you suggest, sister?” Pierre questioned, raising an eyebrow as you glanced towards the two entities across the room, watching. “Last I checked, only a few can handle going up against the two.”

“I’m aware of that, Pierre,” Bellatrix scowled at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t focus on them sparring without abilities and focus on them using said things.”

“Auntie-”

“You have to take it easy on abilities you rarely use, Y/N.” Her eyes shifted towards you. “Basically, all abilities past down by Thomas.”

“Life and death,” Pierre mused and you looked towards him, shaking your head. “You still hold a majority of the abilities from when you were the Goddess of Life and Healing, Y/N?”

“And some death abilities as well. Thana is my mother,” you muttered, sticking your tongue out at Angel. “Sorry, sis.”

“Y/N, with what you’ve been through, you having all those abilities is a good thing. Even if some Gods believe you’re overpowered.”

“I’ve had some taken away.”

“Enough with the chitchat, ladies,” Pierre cut in and the two of you looked towards him. “Jeez, how are you two not twins?”

“Piss off, Pierre.”

“Angel!”

Angel sent you an apologetic smirk and you shook your head, summoning your staff as Angel summoned her scythe.

“Should we take-”

A grunt left your lips, loud enough to cut Pierre off, and your eyes shifted around the room once the pressure had disappeared.

When your eyes didn’t catch sight of your sister, you brought yourself to focus on any sound that gave her away. Hearing a quick and quiet breath to your left, you swung your staff towards the sound. A thud sounding off through the room as Angel reappeared, her scythe blocking your staff. Her eyes held a slight annoyance as they glanced towards you.

As she disappeared from sight again, you heard a quiet whoosh behind you and turned quickly, your hand flying through the air. Vines shot up from the ground, wrapping themselves around the handle of the scythe, stopping its movements. Your eyes met Angel’s, watching as she raised an eyebrow and you soon winced at the quiet screeching you heard as the vines withered, falling to the floor.

“Uncalled for.”

“They were wrapped around my scythe.”

“You know I hear their cries!” You scowled as you found yourself at the end of her scythe, your eyes narrowing at the smirk on her lips.

“Well, it seems like-”

“They’re not done,” André cut him off. “One of the many things Angel constantly teaches those under her command; never yield when a blade's at your neck, only when you feel blood dripping. But with these two, you’ll have to call it.”

“Call-”

You drowned out the words as you brought up your foot, ducking under the blade as you forced it out of her hand. Making your staff disappear, you caught her scythe, holding it behind your back as you stood.

While you had been made as the personification of life and your sister as death, it had been told to you over and over again that you were more like your mother, the original personification of death and Angel more like your aunt, the original one of life.

“If I didn’t know about better, sis, I’d say the role of a Reaper would look good on you,” Angel spoke, raising an eyebrow at you as you took your time to get a feel of the weapon before tossing it back.

“Not my thing.”

“Alright, girls, I think that’s enough for you two today,” Bellatrix spoke before scrunching her nose.

“I have a meeting with Jean-Paul.”

“Who all is needing to attend?” Pierre questioned and Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “I am a brother.”

“Who Jean-Paul still does not trust. Do the four of you plan to attend?” Bellatrix's eyes shifted from you and your sister to your cousins and the four of you glanced at each other.

“Juliette?” Angel questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll go for the two of us, you for you guys? Evens out the playing field?”

“It’s your guys turn anyways,” Jean-Louis snorted. “Plus, I think Christina is still upset with me.”

“I wonder why, son,” Bellatrix rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. “We should get going. Dinner tonight, Y/N?”

Your eyes drifted to hers as the question, a chuckle leaving her lips at your confusion.

“It’s Wednesday already? And even with what’s going on?”

“You know your mother. And father at that. And you already missed your one this month.”

Angel snorted, patting your back as you pursed your lips.

“I have guests.”

“Take it up with your mother.”

“You know what she’ll say. She’d invite them!” Angel exclaimed, scrunching her nose.

“Let’s get going,” Juliette butted in and Bellatrix agreed as Angel grumbled, the three of them disappearing.

The same could be said for the majority of the Warriors and their lovers – except Hades.

“Hecate sent me with this.” Hades showed the book before tossing it towards you and you caught it. “Her newest copy of her new Book of Shadows.”

You hummed at that, turning the book in your hand. While you only met the Greek Goddess once or twice, like Persephone, Hecate had taken a liking towards you and it only expanded once she learned that you were a fellow Goddess of Witchcraft, causing the two of you to share copies of your Books of Shadows. Hades was, unwillingly, the middle man between you two – especially since he was best friends with both of you. He had voiced his “annoyance” on multiple occasions but when it came down to it, he was glad you had found someone to hold a similar interest in it.

“Also, this book showed randomly on my doorstep. Cerberus doesn’t understand how since no one passed his Gate and I made sure it was safe but I don’t understand the language.” He tossed another book but before you could catch it, someone else’s hand shot out, catching it. “That wasn’t for you, Dark.”

“A book randomly shows and you give it to Y/N simply because you cannot read it? How idiotic,” the entity scoffed as you stared at the cover, the words translating easily in your mind.

A gasp left your lips and, lifting your hands, you took the book out of Dark's hand, raising it in the air without touching it. You stared at it a second more before dropping it back into Hades' hands.

“Take it to the library. Maxence, I need salt, chalk, crystals, almost everything from my Craft room, please,” you called out.

“Y/N?”

You glanced towards Hades before making your way to your library. Millions of thoughts ran through your head as you heard two sets of footsteps following you. Your eyes lifted to Maxence whose lips pursed with worry as he held a piece of chalk to you. Taking it, you were quick to draw a circle, directing where Maxence would place one as well, making sure he drew the star correctly.

“Set it there, Hades.”

“What’s going on?” Hades demanded and you lifted your eyes to his.

“The book is called Warriors of the Dark. I cannot touch it nor can the rest of the Warriors. It's cursed. I have to remove the curse.”

~

Hearing a quiet click, you lifted your eyes to meet the annoyance within Dark’s.

“You said you’ll be the only God around 24/7 and yet, since working on this so-called cursed book, Hades has not left and called another here,” Dark deadpanned. “Goddess of Lit and Witchcraft yet you been in here for a majority of the day.”

Your eyes fell to the glass he pushed closer to you and your lips pursed before your hand wrapped around it, lifting it to your lips to drink the much-needed ambrosia.

“And to think Gods need that to keep going,” he muttered dryly.

“I’m almost done,” you murmured, grabbing the crushed ingredients. “In order for a book to be cursed, at least this way,” you began to drop the ingredients onto the book and a gray smoke began to appear, making its way to the pentagram on the floor, “a soul must be trapped inside.”

Your eyes met the green ones of the lost soul, watching the soul shift in her spot, fear flashing in her eyes.

“What is your name?” You spoke gently, glancing towards Dark who stared at the soul before he turned to look at you as you turned back towards her. “Sweetheart?”

You watched her hands fly up to her mouth, shaking her head, and you frowned.

“You cannot speak?” Your eyes glanced around the room before grabbing your tablet, moving to stand beside the circle she was in without breaking it. “Use this.”  Showing her how to use it first, you stepped back, finding yourself standing beside Dark as you watched her.

“Lia,” the tablet spoke out and the soul – Lia – jumped at the sound.

“How long have you been trapped in the book, Lia?”

“I was born in 1784 and the last age I remember being is 18.”

Your eyes fell to the floor for a second before lifting to meet hers once more.

“You’ve been trapped in this book for over 200 years.”

“Is it wise to be speaking to the soul that caused it to be cursed?” Dark whispered harshly to you and you looked at him.

“No, but we’re not speaking to a soul, Dark. If it was a soul, they would be more thankful for being freed and they would be willing to talk and tell the truth. The only truth they’ve told it that they’ve been trapped in the book for 200 years,” you spoke, your eyes returning to the entity in question. “There is a soul trapped and the soul is most likely named Lia but the entity we’re looking at is not one.”

“And here I thought I got you without speaking,” came the crackled reply as the appearance before them shifted from a fearful green-eyed woman to a smirking blue-eyed one. “Hello, Y/N.”

“Cassia.”

Dark raised an eyebrow at you and you glanced at him.

“Already have a new boy toy, witch?”

You glanced towards the Dark Sorceress before turning back towards the book, ignoring the chuckling that came from her.

“Your gifts are nothing like mine. Even with spells, you miss a key ingredient – the blood of darkness.”

Your eyes glanced towards her once before you turned towards Dark, holding your hand out and he stared at you.

“Just a prick on the finger. I’ll heal it afterward.” You tilted your head, waiting for his response as Cassia's crazed laughter filled the air.

Always balance out. No matter what the book signs, too much of anything dark create chaos and destruction. Always balance out the light and dark.

The words came to you as he allowed you to prick his finger with the tip of your dagger.

“Not yet. Wait a second,” you murmured, pricking your finger with a soft wince. Holding your finger above the book, you nodded. “Now.”

The two of you turned your hands over, watching as a drop of blood from each of you dropped onto the book. Smoke filled the air and you looked up in time to see the soul you were looking for – Lia – lung towards Cassia.

“Don’t break the circle!” You called and Lia stopped moments before the circle, eyes glancing towards you. “Lia, you’ve been trapped within the book?”

“With this lying bitch, yeah.” Lia soon winced. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“You know her?” Dark demanded and you glanced towards him.

“Yes, I do. This is Princess Lia of Italy. Or she was back in her time. She’s immortal along with her friends. I helped them awhile back to rid of the angels within them.”

“Yeah, miss Jophiel's abilities to not be thrown into a book. They tried to get Juliette but its really hard to get someone that is in contact with her guardian angel, in good terms with the devil and Archangels, and be blessed by two Goddess for her Craft,” Lia answered as Cassia snorted in annoyance. “I’m itching to drive this katana through your chest.”

“Violence never looked good on you, darling,” Cassia tsked and the Princess glared at her.

“I cannot wait for you to be reunited with Lyustifer and be meet with your worst nightmare.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You pursed your lips before snapping your fingers as Cassia went to speak again and the sorceress’ eyes snapped to you with anger.

“Oh, thank you, Y/N. Her voice was driving me crazy.” Lia rubbed her temples as she walked towards you. “The book shouldn’t be cursed anymore since I’m no longer stuck in there. Mind if I go try and call Juliette? Or someone?”

“Hades is out there with Hecate,” you spoke. “And I’m sure Jophiel would answer if you called upon her. Same with...Miguel and Lyustifer?”

“I forget you call them by different names,” Lia mused, shaking her head before giving a soft smile. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. What are you going to do about her?”

“I do not know yet but Hellhounds will be the first to know. Give them my greetings?”

“Of course. See you around, Y/N.”

“Same to you, Princess.”

Once Lia had left the room, you turned to touch the book only to find Dark standing in your way with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you a fool, Goddess?” Dark demanded, his eyes glancing towards the sorceress in the room. “She tried manipulating you and you went ahead and gave the book not just my blood but yours. Stupid move if you asked me.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you,” you murmured, moving around him to open the book only for his hand to wrap around your wrist before you could. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not done.”

“Listen, Dark, stop acting as if you care. Since meeting me, all you’ve done is try to belittle me even though all I have to do is snap and you’re gone. Let go.”

Your eyes met his and, for once, annoyance wasn’t in his eyes but rather, yours.

Shuffling was heard from behind and, before you could do anything, Dark held your dagger up against the throat of the sorceress whose eyes glared at him.

“Pay attention to someone’s movements otherwise they’ll stab you in the back,” Dark spoke as he let your wrist go and you turned to face Cassia.

“Hades!” You called out, ducking under Dark’s arm as you made your way to the doors. “I need those chain things you made!”

As you opened the door to step out, you stopped, turning your head to face Dark.

“And Dark?”

His eyes glanced your way before he returned his attention back to the sorceress.

“What, Goddess?”

“Thank you.”

[ifanfictionella]

Vampire falls chapter 2- the outer world is nothing

Mabel's sleep was not pleasant whether she was tossing and turning or just laying on her side with a wave of insomnia mixed with panic that messed with her head. Would she tell anyone about this? no , course not , she didn't want to have to worry anyone with her little problems.

Just meant that sleep was something she ended up going without sometimes.

When night finally broke and the blue sky had been swallowed by the dark there was no hope of Mabel catching up on any of the lost sleep she was missing out on. She could already hear motion underneath her meaning wendy was probably already up, maybe she hadn't slept either.

She looked to her side where her other two friends were still fast asleep, she smiled as she kicked the covers off of her body to the end of the bed- she probably didnt have to worry about being all to quiet around her friends as she had seen on multiple occasions that those two could sleep through a thunderstorm.

Her attic was pretty much the same as it had been when she had first ventured to the small town- all of the posters were gone but really that was the least of Mabel's issues at this current moment. They had left dippers pin board where it was with all of his stuff taken down, they left the board blank which defeated the purpose of the pin board but really what could they actually put there

She had been breathing pretty mangled all night and now it was just starting to calm itself down, her just laying down in bed allowed her mind to rest which is when she was vulnerable to the thoughts of what Gideon could do to her if he ever got his hands on her.

She didn't like to think about it for too long

She pushed the door open before closing it behind her and leaning on the closed door with her eyes squeezed shut. She took in a few sharp breaths as she leaned on the door attempting to get the thoughts out of her head- she just needed to think about something else that wasn't him

She shakes her head pushing away from the door making her way towards the stairs, on her way down she makes sure to hit all of the steps- it was a small thing she found herself doing to keep herself grounded in reality.

The red head came into view quickly, she was trying to get the tablet to actually work, with very little luck.

Mabel sighed, sitting down to Wendy "let me guess, we're getting cut off?" wendy looked away from the screen and at mabel, the concern flashed in her eyes but it quickly changed to something else

"Cutting our necks more like" she replied sighing before putting the tablet down, the screen was just white with nothing else on it before going pitch black "no signal, nothing works" she sighed leaning backwards resting her head on the chair looking up at the ceiling "we've lost all our tactics, we are now sitting ducks" she sighed again

"He was in my head last night again"

She hadn't wanted to contribute to the growing list of problems but she couldn't keep things from Wendy, especially this type of thing.

"Was it bad?"

Mabel shook her head "no worse than it normally is but.." she paused thinking over what she was going to say "You were right,he is getting more restless- and i think he's getting stronger with his hold"

Wendy looks at her before putting her hands on mabels "Let's not try to think about that,as long as he doesn't see you, he can't hurt you,ok"

Mabel sighed, about to nod before hearing creaking behind her.She quickly turns herself around to see her two friends, look disheveled as if they had just been woken up and behind them was tambry clutching her phone in her hands, close to her chest "Wendy, my phones not working, did they?" Tambry asked stepping past the other two to sit in front of Wendy and Mabel, the two didn't follow instead staying standing.

"Yeah they cut us off" Wendy said, taking her hands off of mabels and standing up to meet her friend, Mabel had thought they were going to connect hands or something, it seemed to be something Wendy did for comfort but instead the two just kind of stood there. Wendy looked down before looking up at the other girls "but that doesn't mean we don't still have one plan, it'll be shaky but it's our only way of living to see to real world"

Mabel stood up scrunching up her fists, she angled her expression hardening her face- she had no time to be acting all scared of the things that go bump in the night, especially a vampire who should have been burnt at the stake years ago

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Over the other side of town, the humans were all locked underground where high class vampires could come and take their pick.This was the northwest mansion- the basement which no one seemed to know was being hidden by gravity falls richest family, aside from the resistance these were the only humans left in town.

All except one, pacifica elise northwest,

The blonde was sold to the vampires by her parents for a free ticket out of the town to go live in europe, the price they had to pay was having their memories of the town and their daughter erased.

The teen was sat on the single bed in the box room she had been given.The wall was decorated with a bookshelf that spanned a full wall with a spare dress hanging off of a hook.

She had thought of using the ribbion belt of the dress to hang herself from the hook, at least she would finally be free of what Gideon wanted off her, that felt like a fate worse than death.

She was frail and weak, had her past self met her currently she would surely be ashamed of the girl who stood infront of her. The colour had completely drained from her face and her neck was brusied as if she had been through a war, which she might as well have.

The door slaming open makes her jump, the sound echos around the room and the hallway connected to her room, her eyes travel to the door finding the one responsible for the sound. Her eyes find the pale faced vampire prince, his red eyes send chills throughout her whole body. "Pacifica looks like we have something to talk about" the vampire said shutting the door behind him

He looks pissed off, something hasn't gone right

This supposed higher up person had disagreed with him on something

Out of habbit pacifica stands up and holds her hands behind her back, she was of course preparing herself for the very worse, a new bruise on her neck wasn't the only thing she was worrying about, gideon was cruel when he bit someone, scraping his fangs across a girls neck drawing extra blood that scared over into lines that never seemed to go away.

"Go ahead, ask me . I dont have a choice do i?" she responded with a tad bit of bite back that she used to be known for before everything went to complete chaos. "You'll bite me and in my haze you'll ask again"

He never changed

He stared at her intently and pacifica returned said stare watching as his eyes traveled down her neck, he seemed to be fixated on the pionts at which he had left those marks, those harsh red lines that are a stark contrast to the white patchy nature of the rest of her neck.

She didnt speak up, knowing exactly what could happen to her if she did actually inturput him while talking, learning everything the hard way around here basically made it easy for her to make assumptions about how things worked. "No your right, even if you refused i'd still get the information out of you" He stepped forward and adjusted his posture, stretching out his back to be taller, glaring down at her with that smirk he had now become infamous for.

"What do you want, you could probably see im very busy being a mindless blood prisoner" she replied motioning behind her where her bed was littered with books as well as a notebook where she had been writing random poems.

When she was in a proper state of mind, not living off the high of a vampire bite, she found herself rather bored. She had read every book in this room- none of them were at all interesting to her, one of them was gideons bloodline.

She had to come up with hobbies to keep herself occupied, one that she had started was poetry. There was a high pile of notebooks in the room with a pen or two so that's where most of her time went.

"Yes i can clearly see that" he responded glancing over at her books before looking at her again, he didn't look to impressed at her little joke, Gideon didn't seem to have a sense of humour, like at all. "You remember your boyfriend, dipper pines?" he asked finally getting onto his subject

At the mere mention of dipper being a romantic option to the girl pacifica was red in the face, certainly a feeling she hadn't felt in a long while. She spluttered before looking around the room for a few seconds before she had to look at him again "He never was my boyfriend gideon" she answered in a cold manor with folded arms and a half laid eyes. "Though right now, i'd rather be with him over you"

"Well never mind the specfics. Any idea where he might have run to? im in need of his" gideon paused giving pacifica time to consider the options of what gideon might want dipper for, it woulnt be blood, gideon had a preference for girls blood and seemly had an abundance here right now, her and all the other girl prisoners were a perfect example. Course she had no idea what actually happened to the male prisoners but still. "talents"

"ha like i believe some bull shit like that" she shouted suddenly before covering her mouth quickly once she had processed what had just come out of her mouth, she started shaking when she looked up at him again "im sorry for speaking out of turn"

Before her eyes gideon basically stepped infront of her, grabbed hold of her arms with an iron grip that felt like he was digging his nails right into her skin. Her eyes went wide and the gasp that escaped her mouth was quick and quiet but definitely still audible. He glared down at her with a wide smirk now, fangs basically exposed to her and his breath stunk of wine and blood, a smell that brought tears to the girls eyes "now normally id just bite you but i need you for something first" he said

As he said that pacifica felt control over her body slip away, she couldnt believe she was falling for this again, she always seemed to be weak after this.

"I'll ask you again where would dipper pines go? i need him for something" he said, pacificas body shifted slightly before going still staring right back at him but with hazed over eyes, her lips moved without sound comming out for a few seconds before she did finally say something to answer his question.

"I dont know him so well but i'd assume if he's not in the shack hes ran away" she said she sounded so monotone and unlike herself, gideon smirked before letting the compulsion down, pacifica gasped taking in a huge and deep breath comming back to reality "what did you make me agree to this time?" her voice was breathy now with slight panic behind it, she was clearly in one of those fragile states

Gideon only smirked in response before leaning down to her neck, he felt pacifica tense up feeling his breath near her neck and that caused a smirk to stretch right across his face. His fangs sprouted out of his gums and he proceeded to run them across a bare part of the girls the neck, she cried out in pain at the feeling in quick successive gasps. The actions continued for about 2 minutes before he decided to just finally bite the girl earning a pleasured moan to escape pacificas mouth that replaced the pained one's that had been there only a minute ago

The plan was set.

The girls were going to sneak out of the shack into what remained of the town,storm the old convenience store and raid it for supplies. The older girls stayed back at the shack trying every which way they knew to reestablish any sort of connection.

The night sky touches everything around them and the trees that all around the town have them practically caged in the town, the vampires had chosen the perfect town to take over- no one even really talked about gravity falls anyway

After nearly half an hour of walking the store finally comes into view "alright it's basically an in, grab and out" mabel said turning around and looking at the two of them, they nod at her before we start walking towards the store.

She stays infront of the two and walk towards the locked down, knife in hand she raises it to the lock and twist it inside the key hole before the old metal lock basically spilt in two allowing us access to the shop.

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The shop is creepy, the abandoned isles and the light that turns on and off , Mabel could almost hear the children begging their parents to get them candy, she walks past a stand of smile dip which brings a smile to her face as she remembers one time when she 12,sneaking in with wendy and her friends.

She shook her head and continued towards where the pharmacy was.

She was not surprised to see the place trashed, she'd expect the vampires to crush anything Needed to live and yet they left some of the things , they like to pretend their smart but really they're pretty dumb. Climbing over broken shelves is considerably difficult all of sudden now that she was stuck in the stupid dress

She picks up all of the things in sight putting them straight in her bag before checking around her for potential threats to her safety.

She seemed safe.

Then something dug into her shoulders making her gasp loudly and turn around, face to face with Amelie

"mabel marira pines, you really should learn to sneak around properly, even then i'd still catch you" 

[chiauve]

Aquarius 22

Wesker settled at the bottom of the room, his tail coiling around a rock protrusion to anchor himself, waiting as Will fussed around with his books and tools. The water had a stale taste to it, any currents winding through these deep tunnels slow to remove the decay and other things, and yet Willful never complained. Wesker couldn’t help but wonder if he even noticed.

Willful was suited for this life. Aside from his genius, he was smaller than Wesker, both in build and length, his maneuverability in the passageways unmatched among the males, and his mongrel heritage made him prone to the occasional bouts of emotion that hindered his ability to interact with most others of his kind. Isolation was good for him. His patterning was dappled reds and pale blues with splotches of white on his dorsal fin. He only had the one, and it was hardly impressive in display. His spines were few and the ones on his tail were smaller. His ears were tapered rather than flared. A noticeable mongrel that made him less desirable to females overall and yet permitted him a freedom Wesker would never know.

And with that freedom and his genius he’d earned the attentions of Favored who married him and now assisted him in all things. A mongrel union that spat in the face of everyone when they produced a daughter.

Willful didn’t insult Wesker by trying to draw blood but instead gestured him to do it himself. Wesker knew this life too well, assumed he too would be chosen for this duty alongside Willful as they’d both shadowed Gleaming for years in his work and Wesker anticipated his ascension in rank and purpose. But the day came and he was charged a scavenger, the disappointment sour in his mouth at the time. Years later and he was glad of it; the lab felt constricting now, smelly and too still and too loud with the sounds of machines and electricity.

Not that Gleaming hadn’t argued in his favor, but then he died and the dead carried no weight in living duty. It was officially an accident but everyone knew otherwise, much like Ford before him.

The People once lived under a representative council, then it dwindled to the oligarchy into which Wesker was born, and now there was only one Ruler.

So scavenger Wesker became, with the special duty to learn human ways and infiltrate them. To save the People and begin for them a new era.

Wesker wanted a nap.

Blood drawn, Willful performed a cursory physical: listening to Wesker’s heart, checking his gills and eyes, and making Wesker spread his fins in full display to check his skin and scales. Then the very unpleasant palpation of private areas and drawing venom from one of Wesker’s tail spines. Just as Wesker thought they were finished Willful grabbed one of his horns and yanked, observing that it neither bent nor cracked. Wesker hissed and tried to bite him; his teeth were bigger than Willful’s. The other aanakellriit wisely kept his distance as he scribbled down his immediate findings.

“Your tail still bothering you?” he asked, more for something to say than due to actual care.

Wesker couldn’t help but flick his uneven tail fin at the mention. “Not for a long time. You know that.”

Willful shrugged. “Anything I need to know about?”

“I had an unexpected shift when I was thrown from a chariot. I had to transform back again less than an hour later.”

That caught the scientist’s attention. “Did anything happen? Anything new?”

“I blacked out briefly. The second time I was in and out of consciousness for a bit.”

He watched Willful’s ink-darkened claw scribble across the page. The claw dug into the plastic-like material to write and the ink darkened the gash, making it more legible.

“Any pain?”

“A lot.”

“Bright,” Willful chided, annoyed. He was not one for vague data.

“The same as a normal transformation, but sharp and allover. I thought I was going to go into shock.”

Willful grumbled, still unhappy with the description but Wesker was not in the mood to go into great detail about being ripped apart on the inside.

“Was it as extreme when you changed back for the night?”

“No, because I didn’t. I stayed human.”

Willful regarded him, interested. “All night?”

“Yes.”

“And throughout the next day?”

“No, I had a spash-about in the Raccoon City pool before lunch.”

“Bright!” Willful snapped, eyes glowing. He was truly so easy to goad, always had been.

“Yes, all day. I was human for four tide turns.”

“You’ve never been human for that long. No one has in recent memory,” he started writing furiously, his fingering flickering across the tablet. He crushed the squid he kept in his palm and dipped his claw in the mess for more ink. “Any side effects?”

“Exhaustion. I woke up in pain but I think that was from sleeping in the back of my akhlut. Blurry vision by mid-day that came and went. Irritability.”

“No that’s just you...” Willful muttered.

Wesker’s gills flared and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are we done? I haven’t been able to shake that exhaustion and I’ve come home to rest.”

“I’ll do the bloodwork and see if anything stands out. Otherwise fine. But come back in two tide turns, sooner if you’re still feeling off.” He shut his book and eyed what could have once been considered his childhood friend, “Did Ruler approve your return?”

“I’m almost out of essence of the sun,” Wesker growled, “his approval is meaningless in this case.”

“Don’t say that when you see him next.”

Wesker scrubbed his face. “That would be now. I’m going to go report. Bad enough I have to go as I am...I look like a laborer...” he groused, referencing his lack of adornment.

“No pureblood is a laborer, the fact you were made a scavenger was shocking enough.”

“But necessary, considering.”

“I suppose. Now get out, I have work to do. The G virus is finally making progress.”

Willful had been saying that for a long time. Wesker wondered how much longer Ruler would tolerate the delays. “And the T virus?”

“Yes yes, you’ll have it. Go.”

Wesker uncoiled from the rock and swam upwards, pushing aside the heavy door and returning to the large cavern. He passed the containers humming at the bottom and couldn’t help but look.

The experiments with the essence of the Stairway of the Sun and its derivatives were both ghastly and beautiful. Warped dolphins and sharks, made strong and violent, now dead in their tubes and awaiting dissection. Three dead humans, one just as magnificently enhanced while the other two were from Chief Irons. Safely kept away as promised but also ready to make a sudden reappearance on shore should the fat human decide to step out of line.

In this Wesker couldn’t help but anticipate what possibilities G would have. Wesker’s superior intellect was without question but there was no loss of pride in admitting that Willful surpassed him in that. He swam into the passage and back down through winding tunnels int the deep.

Turning south, the passage ended and opened into the vast forum that was the center of the People’s home. Faint light filtered down upon carved stone that once was detailed and shining but now was dull and covered in growth and life, eternally breaking it down as they latched and fed and died. Soon it would fade.

Still the forum was in use, the occasional bright form of an aanakellriit streaking across the floor. Past the forum the rocky shelf rose up again, a large cavern opening up back into the earth. Here did the People gather, in a sense. Engrossed in their duties they paid little mind to anything else. In the center of this grand cavern was a pillar and Wesker followed it upward.

Another door grate blocked the entrance to a set of passages above, but this time there was no lever. Wesker wait to be acknowledged and then given permission to enter from a guard.

These passages were not ravaged by time and neglect. The stone walls were smooth and polished with carved, colorful figures telling tales and history as Wesker swam by. He once would study them, feeling them under his fingers and learning their meanings, but they meant little now. Just aesthetics of abandoned belief.

Finery guided his way, gold and precious metals embedded in the wall, string and beads floating above and shining surface items tastefully placed in every nook and corner.

The world of the People crumbled around them but Ruler remained in his polished, shining lair.

[evil-butterfly-man]

A&E (a Gabriel Agreste fic)

summary: Gabriel receives a disturbing phone call.

A/N: This one’s a bit on the angsty side, but I wanted to write it for a while :D

(also on ao3)

***

The shape wasn’t right. He could see it now, after filling in most of the details – half a day’s work, and this blasted handbag looked just about good enough to slap a fake logo on top and sell it on a market stall to gullible tourists. Perhaps he could rework it, but in all honesty, he was annoyed enough to scrap the entire design and start over.

Gabriel was just setting down the basic shape when his ringtone chimed. His stylus hovered right above the screen, Adrien’s photo coming into view where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. With a weary sigh, Gabriel hit the “Answer” button and prayed that whatever it was, it would be brief.

“Dad?”

Something was wrong. From the hesitation in Adrien’s voice, the fearful tone of it, the way it cut off abruptly and remained silent for a moment or two… Gabriel didn’t have much in the way of parental instincts, but what little he did have were sounding alarm bells in his head.

“Adrien? What happened? Where are you?”

While barking the questions, he dismissed the sketchpad and pulled up Adrien’s schedule that Nathalie sent him daily. According to her, Adrien had finished school about forty minutes ago – yes, if he remembered correctly Nathalie had left to pick him up…

“I’m at the hospital, Dad.”

Gabriel drew in a sharp breath.

“What happened? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Adrien interrupted him. “I promise, I’m fine. It’s—it’s Nathalie.”

His relief was short-lived. Gabriel set down the stylus and transferred the conversation to his phone, pressing it tight to his ear.

“Which hospital?”

He typed in the address to his Uber app, fingers trembling slightly. Adrien didn’t say much else but didn’t hung up either, maybe drawing some comfort from Gabriel’s own stubborn silence.

The ride was excruciatingly long. Every red light felt like eternity, and Gabriel had to stop himself from snapping at the driver each time he stopped or slowed down. Once they parked in front of the hospital entrance, Gabriel slammed the door shut behind him and didn’t bother with goodbyes.

Inside of the building was hectic, as he suspected most hospitals were. Between the queues, shops, and various windows, he had no idea which way to go. For a full minute he stood there blinking under the harsh lights, while the sea of people crashed around him.

“Dad?”

“I’m here,” Gabriel said automatically. “Where can I find you?”

“It’s, umm—” he heard other voices on Adrien’s end of the line. “Accidents and Emergency? It’s—down to the main hall, then turn right, go up the stairs. Follow the signs, basically.”

He did. The signs marking A&E were bright red, conspicuous once he knew to look for them. It had to be another entrance to the building – yes, he could see the doors now, several ambulances parked in front of it. People here moved rapidly but with more purpose, a couple of paramedics wheeling in an old man on a stretcher, his blank eyes fixed on the ceiling. A man with blood on his shirt was seating on a plastic chair, holding a tissue to his cheek and swearing into his cell phone. And, squeezed in between two elderly ladies, was Adrien himself.

“Dad,” he chocked out, pale as death, and launched himself at Gabriel. Gabriel barely managed to catch him – he had to back away a step to keep Adrien from toppling them both, and then held him tightly.

“Are you sure you are fine?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

“That’s good to hear.” Gabriel hesitated. “Where is—where is Nathalie?”

Adrien pointed numbly to one of the closed doors. Fearing the worst, Gabriel let go of Adrien’s shoulder and pressed down on the door handle.

Inside was busy. Several patient beds were put side to side, some of them occupied, others empty. Nurses were rushing in between them, taking blood samples, adjusting monitors, filling in paperwork. He saw two doctors by the bed on the right, but a screen was blocking his view of whoever was lying in it. None of the other patients looked remotely familiar.

Gabriel grabbed the screen and pulled it to the side.

Nathalie.

It had to be. He recognized the red ombre streak in her hair; he didn’t recognize much else. They covered her body but one bare arm was lying limp on the duvet, a plastic tube feeding into the crook of her elbow, some apparatus hooked to her index finger. He could see her collarbones, and the electrodes attached below them. Her face disappeared behind another tube, a plastic thing shoved into her mouth, taped onto the skin of her chin and cheeks with a band aid. She was completely, utterly still.

“Sir? You really cannot be here,” a nurse said, visibly livid.

The doctors turned around.

“Oh? Yeah, absolutely. We’re going to have to ask you to leave—”

“What happened to her?”

“Sir, if you have any questions, you will have to address them to the leading physician.”

“And who’s that?”

One of them, a dark-skinned woman in her forties, glared at him.

“That would be me. Unfortunately, I’m a bit busy at the moment—”

“Wait, the CT just came in,” the other doctor pressed something on his tablet. “Clean, from the looks of it.”

“Show me—and can you please escort the gentleman out?”

Gabriel tried to look at the tablet as it was being passed, but the image wouldn’t tell him anything either way. None of the monitors told him anything – there were squiggly lines on the main one with a column of numbers, then another row of squiggly lines and even more numbers on the other machine, wheeled in to the side of Nathalie’s bed.  

“No signs of blood, no dilatation of the ventricles – sir, please wait outside. I’ll join you shortly – well, we need to do a lumbar puncture, can you ask Marie to get the kit?”

A nurse seized Gabriel by the elbow and steered him towards the door. By the time he realized what was happening he was already outside, the door slamming in his face.

“How is she?” Adrien asked.

Gabriel turned around and stared at his son, who looked up to him with Emilie’s bright, anxious eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said.

A loud group of people passed them by. The clattering wheels of a wheelchair brought Gabriel back to the present. He realized he had squeezed Adrien’s shoulder to the point of discomfort, and that he was still standing motionless before the closed door – the room Nathalie was in – where he really should be right now—

“Come on, Dad,” Adrien pulled him towards a chair. “They’re taking care of her. Come and sit down.”

The plastic chair creaked beneath him. Adrien took the seat next to it, his hands curling and uncurling on his thighs, his gaze lost somewhere on the floor before his feet.

“Tell me what happened,” Gabriel said eventually.

“I don’t know,” Adrien said. “Nathalie showed up to pick me up from school. I got in the car, she asked me a couple of questions—we drove past two, maybe three intersections. Then suddenly she said that she’s not feeling very well and stopped the car on the sidewalk. When I asked her what’s wrong, she just looked at me for a moment, and then passed out—” his voice trembled. “I tried to shake her awake. She was slumped forward and didn’t react to anything. I got out of the car—some people stopped to see what’s wrong, and they got her out, too, and called for an ambulance. The paramedics agreed to bring me along, but they took her away as soon as we got here, and no one has been able to tell me anything.”

On impulse, Gabriel hugged his son again. Adrien was shaking, his face buried in Gabriel’s chest and his arms wrapped around his waist.

“She was fine in the morning,” Adrien mumbled. “And fine when she got to school – maybe she was paler than usual, I don’t know, she’s just—I don’t know…”

Nathalie hadn’t been fine that morning. She was pale, the concealer beneath her eyes thicker than she would normally apply it. Before the conference call with their Milan branch, she had another one of those coughing fits. But she didn’t say anything and Gabriel didn’t press the issue, because why would he? Nathalie was a sensible woman. If she was truly sick she wouldn’t have come to work, wouldn’t have agreed to drive Adrien anywhere.

At least she stopped the car. Her self-preservation instinct was apparently non-existent, but she wouldn’t do anything to knowingly put Adrien in danger. At least—

The doctor walked out of the room and scanned the row of seats until she noticed Gabriel.

“There you are,” she said. “We can talk now. This way, please.”

She opened a couple of doors and glanced inside, but none of the rooms were empty. In the end they had to settle for the far side of the corridor, where they could speak in relative solitude.

“Are you Miss Sancoeur’s family?” she asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m her employer.”

“Oh.” The doctor paused. “That complicates matters. You are not authorized to receive any information about Miss Sancoeur’s health without her express permission.”

“How can she give her permission?” Gabriel snapped. “She’s unconscious.”

“Yes, that’s usually the problem,” the doctor nodded, then turned towards Adrien. “I heard you were with her, right? Can you tell me what happened?”

Haltingly, Adrien repeated his story. Gabriel kept a hand on his shoulder throughout; he didn’t seem to be able to let go.

“I see. And are you aware of any medical conditions she may have? Chronic diseases, medications, previous hospitalizations?”

The pause was long, uncomfortable. Nathalie practically lived at his house these days, but he hardly knew anything about her. She was loyal, extraordinarily so, and competent; that had been enough. It had always been enough.

“She never discussed her medical issues with me,” Gabriel said stiffly. “I cannot help you there.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Adrien asked.

His wide, guileless eyes were getting past the doctor’s defences. Emilie had been the same – impossible to say no to.

“At this moment we don’t know what’s causing her condition,” the doctor said kindly. “Her blood tests are inconclusive. The CT scan looks normal. We are still waiting for the toxicology report.” She turned towards Gabriel. “Sir, are you aware of any substance, legal or not, Miss Sancoeur may have used? Or, perhaps, something that has changed in her mental state lately, a stressful event, loss of family member…?”

“What?” Adrien asked. “What are you talking about?”

The doctor winced. Then she said to Gabriel, much more quietly: “Anything at all would be helpful. We cannot test for every substance on Earth.”

Adrien looked between the two of them.

“Nathalie wouldn’t do anything like that,” he said.

Gabriel squeezed his shoulder.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked sharply. “Break into her apartment? Sweep her bathroom for illegal drugs?”

“Obviously I don’t want you to break into anywhere,” the doctor said. “But if you know anything, anything at all, you have to tell us. At the moment she is completely unresponsive. Any information you may have, no matter how shameful or illegal, could make the difference between her life and death.”

Adrien’s voice hitched. “No, don’t be stupid. Nathalie isn’t going to die. She’ll wake up and she’s going to be just fine. Right, Dad?” he tugged at Gabriel’s sleeve, expression pleading. “Dad?”

Any information. The Peacock Miraculous was hidden in the safe in his bedroom, the other one, after Adrien found the one in the office. It lay there, its Kwami dormant, a pretty bauble. No one would think twice upon seeing it, save perhaps the Guardian.

It just lay there, having sucked the life out of Emilie, and now out of Nathalie too. And Gabriel had no one left to keep him sane. Adrien had no one left to take care of him. No one—

If she dies, that’s on you, a treacherous voice whispered in Gabriel’s ear. It sounded a lot like Nooroo, but wouldn’t shut up even when Gabriel willed it to.

But another voice could drown it out, another thought: There’s a way to save them. And only you can do it.

Only one way.

“No,” Gabriel said hollowly. “I don’t know anything.”