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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

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Lesson Learned

summary: Pinning exercises are a lot easier when you ask nicely.

a/n: The backstory to this piece was that I went to the church part of our discord server and told people about me being thirsty about Slade and they collectively went: DO HIM. The reader does have a backstory which boils down to rich girl from a crime family is a little shit because I thought this would have a funny dynamic with Slade. Special thanks to @batarella and @knightfall05x for proof reading and giving me ideas. Would this count as my one entry for kinktober?

warnings: This is straight up smut. Please read responsibly. Brat taming, strength kink, daddy kink, orgasm denial, and hinted size kink. (Hilariously half of these were by complete accident.) There is some injury mentioned but not too graphically. Both characters are assholes.

masterlist

Slade was on the ground, his head was swimming even as the sharp shriek of sirens rang loud in his ears. His senses were at once too sharp and too unfocused. Whatever drug he'd been hit with had to have targeted the nerves in his muscles too. He couldn't move. Not substantially anyway. Not in a way that would actually help him. Through the haze he hears the clicking of heels against the floor, then a sharp pain shoots through him when said heel dug into one of his still closing bullet wounds.

You stood above him, your shark's smile hidden behind your mask. "Well old man, I didn't think you would be caught this easy. I might need to rethink this meeting." You hummed tapping your chin as you lean down your heel digging further into his flesh. It's a tactic your sister had taught you. People were less inclined to think clearly when in excruciating pain. If Deathstroke was this easy to capture, was he really worth your money?

He was watching you, blue eyes looking defiant. You whistled low. You liked a hard negotiation. It kept things more interesting. The rapid footsteps of men drew you out of your contemplation much to your annoyance. You debated on just paying them to go away. It would make your life easier but there's a chance these men were truly loyal to the man you had just paid a visit to.

You weigh your options. His reputation may be enough to keep your siblings away. Maybe just long enough 'til their petty little war is over. "I'm going to hire you-"

"-this assumes I'm going to say yes"

You snorted. He noted the confident roll in your shoulders, the kind of cocky self-assured gesture of someone who knows they're going to win. Every movement, every angling of your form deliberately used to show a difference in power and lack of respect. In short, it made you very punchable.

"Your statement assumes you have a choice." You chuckled tilting your head to the side in challenge. He scowled at you and you try to keep the sheer delight you feel out of your body language. You weren't sadistic by any means but for one, brutality was practically bred into you, and two, you are, what your darling eldest brother had so kindly put, a little bitch. "I'll tell you why you'll say yes to my proposal." You said stepping off of him and pirouetting towards your duffle bag. "One, I'm offering your more than a million dollars in cash for the simple job of training me-" You observed his face as it remains carefully impassive. You expected as much. You heft your bag into your arms and unzip it rummaging through the cache of weapons you had stored just in case plan A through F failed you. "Unless we're associated, I'm the only one walking out of here with any money for their troubles." You said tossing the severed head of his target in front of him. You gave him an all too pleased grin.

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You find yourself pinned down again in the span of 15 minutes, face squished against the training mat, your arms pinned behind you, and most annoyingly your ass raised while your bastard of an instructor laughs in your ear, his lips dangerously close to your ear. You hiss and bristle feeling the fibers in your muscles burn from the uncomfortable angle they've been forced into. You squirm trying to buck him off but his strength rendered your efforts moot. His enhanced strength keeps your body firmly between the sweat-covered mat and his large, toned body which just made you bite your lip to keep anything vulgar from escaping you.

You were 110% sure he was fucking with you at this point but any smart remark you had was either smothered by the mat or died whenever you felt acutely aware of your skin against his.

"Get off of me, old man," You snarl, making a futile attempt to kick him off with one of your legs. He chuckles at your weak attempts, the reverberations from his chest pressing against your back sending a thrum of excitement rolling over you concentrating into more distracting areas. You can't see it but you know he's grinning smugly above you and you can't decide whether it's your horniness or your anger that will win out. You sincerely hope it's the latter.

"C'mon, kid, you can get out of this," He encourages but you don't miss the playful mockery dancing in his tone. You squirm and wriggle and sigh. "Just let me out," You demand, politely. He doesn't budge. You turn your head to pout petulantly at him. That doesn't do anything either.

You sigh again. You hated pinning exercises with a carefully cultivated passion which you would normally direct at whatever instructor was dumb enough to force it upon you. However, that wasn't really possible as of this moment. One of the reasons for this hatred was that you were never pinned down unless you wanted to be, even then they were usually too hesitant to follow through so you never really saw any practical use for the skill. That is until last week when you found yourself being pinned down by the Red Hood which was honestly a fantastic position if you weren't trying to get away from him. Apparently, the large man didn't take too kindly to being shot at even when your very professional self explained that you were in fact a decoy. After you were entirely unable to slip his hold, you begrudgingly agreed to let Slade teach you a few maneuvers. The other reason was that you liked being pinned down. Your body is far too enthusiastic about the feeling of being pinned down. You're pretty sure you've expended more energy into suppressing your thrilled shivers than you have trying to get out of any of the holds he's demonstrated so far. The fact that he was an attractive asshole with no shirt did not help.

"Maybe if you ask nicely, princess" He drawls his teeth grazing your ear, beard bristling against the sensitive skin of your shoulder. You bite back a groan and stop the cant of your hips. "Or are you even capable of that?"

"I am, sir" You grind out but it sounds too breathy to be threatening. You feel the curve of his lips against your shoulder.

"Dunno, brat, I've never seen you do it," He taunts pressing closer to you. You're suddenly aware of just how close you two are. You hate how the way he called you brat sent thrills up your spine. You try to even your breath but you're entirely too feverish both body and mind. You had to think of something before you were lost in a haze.

You nudge your arm one last time before an idea strikes. A familiar shark-like grin spreads like wildfire across your features. Pressing your ass against his crotch, you roll your hips, the movement slow and deliberate and painfully tempting. Sure, it was a dirty trick but 1) he never said anything about using your assets 2) you've been wanting to do that since the first hold. You feel his muscles tense and you can't help but radiate smugness. Your smile vanishes, however, when he rolls his hips against yours giving you a feel of his hardened length through the thin fabric of your gym shorts. The slow, tantalizing friction against your core draws out a vulgar moan from you.

"Do you wanna run that by me again, brat?" He whispers low and husky emphasizing the last word with another grind of his hip. You pant, hips answering back with their own desperate movement. You want to let your hips keep moving, to make him move, to feel his cock against your core but pride flared in your chest. "Make me." You bite out. "I really should teach you some manners."You feel the low rumble of his answer in response seemingly amused by your continued resistance. He rocks his hips against yours drawing out another breathy moan from you. Out of spite you bite your bottom lip and rock your hips in tandem with his. What did you hope to accomplish from this? You don't know but it certainly felt good. Your skin feels hot and oversensitive as your bodies continue to move at this rhythm. The feel of his muscles rippling against you makes you arch your back. You wanted more but you had too much pride. As if spurred on by the movement, he presses a kiss on your shoulder and sucks at your flesh, a rough hand grips your waist tight enough to bruise. "Slade!" You choke out losing your composure. The cry sounds more like a plea than you would like. You sound so small and needy beneath his ministrations.

Distilling your anger into your weakening limbs you try to buck him off again. You make a small noise of triumph when he budges but whine when his grip on you just gets tighter. "Not quite, princess,"

He flips you onto your back. A hand pins both your arms above your head as he situates himself between your legs. His lips capture yours in a rough kiss, the type where you feel two bodies fighting each other for dominance. His teeth bite lightly against your bottom lip asking for entrance. You open your lips less in concession and more of a challenge. The wet muscles of your tongues entangle. Your nose is filled with the musk of him. It was overwhelming. You moan into the kiss and you feel him smile into it. Another small victory.

Slade ends the kiss having undeniably won the match. You try to move your hand to punch the grin off his face but again your hands don't budge. You curse his enhanced strength halfheartedly as the feeling of the heat coiling in the pit of your stomach takes over. Instead of diving back in for another kiss as you expected, Slade trails kisses down your jawline, your throat, and your collar bone leaving very defined very visible hickeys. There was something oddly possessive in his actions. The look in his eye was predatory.

You, foolishly, let your attention wander to your hands seeing what angle you could possibly force them into so you can slip his grip and maybe turn the tables. Your attention snaps back to him when the pressure around your chest loosens and the distinct sound of a zipper fills your ears. Your eyes widen as you watch as he unzips the front of your sports bra with his teeth. Your breath catches even as your chest fills with the lack of constriction. Your too hot skin is grazed by the training room's cold air. He places a kiss in the valley between your breasts but when you whimper and move slightly urging him to proceed. He moves on to your stomach. "Asshat" You seethe through gritted teeth. You let out a groan of frustration. You were going to kill him. You honestly don't care if you've just wasted half a billion dollars on this asshole.

His kisses drift down to your inner thigh drawing a moan from you. Slade chuckles seeing your desire seeping through the thin fabric of your shorts. He isn't entirely surprised considering how unsubtle you are about your interest. A rare moment of embarrassment blankets you. Your legs try to close but rough hands pry them apart placing them on his broad shoulders. You bite your lip when he plants a kiss on your inner thigh. Your lips are puffy and red at this point, looking delicious as you panted. Slade wonders how your lips would feel around his cock but he decides he'll save that for another time. He hooks his fingers on the waistband of your shorts and his eye widens momentarily when he doesn't feel a second layer of fabric underneath it. He looks at you incredulously.

You shrug trying to keep the mischief off your face looking absolutely unapologetic. "It's laundry day-" You shrug a little amused that this is the detail that caught him off guard. "-I did tell you I had stuff to do~"He also supposedly had stuff to do but, apparently, you were stuff. He chuckled and without dignifying your comment with an actual response, he rips your shorts off with ease and tosses them somewhere behind him. A complaint or a threat, you weren't entirely sure, died on your lips when his tongue gave your core a nice long lick. A loud, needy keen escapes you. Your hands now free from his grasp dig into his scalp. Pleased with your reaction he continues. His skilled tongue exploring your core hitting spots you didn't even know were there. Your hips meet to match his pace as he fucks you with his tongue. You whine when he withdraws his tongue but mewl loud and wanton when you feel two rough fingers stretching your insides. His mouth latches onto your sensitive bud, fingers pumping in and out. You throw your head back not being able to contain your moans.

"Look at me, brat," The command is deep and resonant. Your whole body buzzes with excitement. Slade can see your eyes dilate as his voice drops an octave.

"Yes," Your breath hitches when he doesn't move. "Sir" You add as a concession hoping it was enough. You felt your pride waning from the small piece of power being given away. Thankfully, he rewards you with another long lick before you can dwell on it. Slade watches as your face twists in pleasure trying your best not to throw your head back. You see the smugness on his face even when half of his face is buried between your legs. You don't attempt a threat simply because you don't trust whatever comes out of your mouth to be coherent. You were so close. You rock your hips trying to chase your high. Your skin is flush and glistening with sweat. You were so close. He feels your walls tightening around his fingers. Another needy keen escapes you as you were about to tip over the edge.

The motherfucker pulls back. You snarl at him but it comes out sounding more like a needy croon than anything else. He chuckles at you even as he captures your lips for another kiss. His tongue is thick with the taste of you. Your hand tangles itself into his hair while the other tugs at the waistband of his sweatpants. He pulls away giving your lips one last nip before his body is off of you. It's funny how just moments ago you wanted him off of you badly enough that you'd play any dirty trick you could think of but now your skin is burning for his touch. He takes off his sweat pants and his engorged cock slaps against his abs. It takes every brain cell at your disposal not to drool at the sight of it. He was BIG. You wonder briefly if he would even fit.

He spits on his cock rubbing his head against your thoroughly soaked folds. You mewl. A playful look in his eye does not go unnoticed but you were far too preoccupied with other concerns. Thankfully, so did he. Slade eases into your pussy in slow shallow thrusts. You can physically feel your walls stretching inch by inch as he works his way into your tight pussy. He can feel every bit of resistance your pussy is putting up. It's his turn to hiss when he finally bottoms out. Your walls cling to his member trying to milk it for all its worth. You drag your nails down from his shoulder to his arms. You pout when his skin heals immediately. You wanted to mark him as he did you but apparently, his healing factor was not up to being kinky today.

He laughs at your little protest and gives you a quick kiss. He begins to thrust shallow and languid. Your lips are locked in, sensually nibbling at each other's lips. You arch your back pressing your chest against his musculature savoring every bit of stimulation you could get. You cant your hips against his urging him to go faster. His large hand grips your hips and pins them down. The coil in your stomach grows tighter at the ease at which he stops you. You feel him grin against your hot skin.

"Didn't I say I would teach you some manners?" He pulls himself out leaving you feeling hollow and wanting. You're pretty sure if you weren't drunk on your arousal the look in your eyes would be nothing short of murder, however, this was not the case, Whatever venom you had in you vanished in a swirl of neediness that racked your body. Your cant your hips uselessly trying to find friction only to be met with cool air.

"Slade pleeeeaaase!"

You gasp, as a sharp stinging sensation on your pussy knocks the breath out of you. Slade gives you an expectant look.

"Sir, plea-"

Another slap. Your back arches. You’re panting heavy, mind swirling and searching.

"Daddy please!" The words tumble from your lips thoughtlessly. You both freeze. Slade's face is unreadable making you want to shrink away and let the earth swallow you whole. Panic rises in your chest until you feel his hips slam against yours. The force is enough to knock the breath out of you. He manhandles your body to fuck you at a better angle. His grip on your thighs tight and bruising. You whimper when he dips his head down near yours pressing kisses to your jaw and the pulsating flesh of your neck leaving your mouth free to moan his name like a mantra. A deep resonant growl rumbles in his chest sending thrills through your skin into your spine. Your hardened nipples drag against his chest as they bounce with his pace. His cock pumps in and out of you at an animalistic pace. You were absolutely going mad over his rough pace but it wasn't enough to push you over. You were both so close.

"Daddy, please! I- I need-" Slade's cock twitches. His pace goes from animalistic to punishing in the space of a heartbeat. He growls into your ear as he reaches down to rub your clit with skilled, calloused fingers. Your walls tighten around him as you go over the edge. Your orgasm hits you in a flurry of heat and electricity. He fucks you through it as he chases his own. He pulls out his cock. Ropes of cum covering your chest and your stomach.

He lays beside you pulling you close. You moan quietly still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, planting an open-mouthed kiss. You ease into his hold and close your eyes.

"See how easy your life is when you're a good girl, princess," He whispers mockingly into your ear. You raise a middle finger at him too fucked out to care whether it actually conveyed as much venom as you wanted it to.

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Thanks for reading! Next week will be our regularly scheduled fluff unless I get possessed by the thirst muses.

tag list: Tag list: @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-horizondepeu , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @knightfall05x

#dc smut #slade wilson x reader #slade wilson imagine #my writing #reader is a little shit #this is what I use my brain cells for yes

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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Ginger Snap

A/N I was driving down the highway today and saw the license plate “I PieGuy”. By the time I got home, this story was half-born in my head. I have no idea where it might go, but it’s taking up valuable shelf space in there, so I’m birthing it onto paper. Modern AU. Silly fluff. Claire POV. First person, which I never write, so watch out for stray pronouns.

The shriek of the fire alarm was the final straw. I’d just stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, but that was all it took for calamity to strike. Opening the oven door in a panic, billows of smoke engulfed me before I slammed it shut again.

“Shit. Shitshitshit. Shit!”

Waving a damp dish towel back and forth like a flag of surrender above my head caused the head-splitting siren to finally desist. I blew a rogue curl off my sweaty brow and gave myself a pep talk.

“Time to woman up,” I sighed before donning the oven gloves and cautiously cracking the door once again. More smoke escaped, smelling of burnt pastry and ruined hopes. Once it cleared I could see the charred carcasses of what were supposed to be vol au vent shells. I carefully extracted them from the oven and dropped the cooking sheet with a clatter onto the quartz countertop.

“Dinner is D.O.A, Doctor Beauchamp. Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

***

Thirty minutes were spent cleaning the evidence of yet another cooking fiasco and ventilating our flat by opening every available window to let in the moist Edinburgh breeze. I now had less than four hours before Frank and three other members of the university faculty would be descending, expecting a home-cooked meal and polite chitchat. I was in no position to offer either.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the evening, I typed “sophisticated home catering in Edinburgh” and started dialing. The first four numbers yielded either an answering machine or the news (unsurprising) that at least two days’ advanced notice were required to book their services. Nearly resigned to ordering in Italian and facing Frank’s wrath, a woman’s voice with a thick Scottish brogue picked up at the fifth business I called.

“Ye’ve reached Ginger Snap, this is Jenny speaking. How may I help ye t’day?”

I poured out my tale of culinary woe, laying it on a bit thick, but I was truly desperate by this point.

“Aye, we’ve a chef available this afternoon. What sort of menu were ye planning?” she asked.

“Really? Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!”

I gave Jenny the number of guests and a broad idea of what I’d hoped to serve, although I was in no position to be choosy.

“Never ye fear, Ms. Beauchamp. We’ll pick up the necessary items and our chef will be at yer flat by four. Tha’ should leave jus’ enough time tae have everything ready fer six.”

Thanking her profusely and not even inquiring about the charge, I stood triumphant in the middle of my immaculate yet useless kitchen. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

***

The buzzer rang as I was re-arranging the decorative objects atop our sideboard. I was aiming for the artless sophistication featured in Frank’s favourite design magazines, but instead I lined up each item in order of descending size, or grouped them by historical era. A second buzz had me trotting to the intercom where a male voice crackled.

“This is James Fraser o’ Ginger Snap Catering. Can ye let me in?”

I stuck my head into the hallway to find four organic cotton tote bags bursting with produce at my doorstep. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, where I assumed the chef had retreated to collect more supplies. I brought the first load into the kitchen where I began to unpack foodstuffs the likes of which I’d never seen. Not knowing what else to do to be helpful, I began sorting them; green leafy things here, round crispy things there.

“Hallo?” the same voice called from where I’d left the door ajar. Wiping my hands nervously against my slacks, I went to greet him.

Standing in the doorframe, almost filling it with his immense size, was a young man who seemed more suited to a stag hunt or a rugby pitch than haute cuisine. He had loose tawny curls, two days’ worth of stubble and wore a faded grey henley, dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and utilitarian workman’s boots.

“Claire Beauchamp?” he interrupted my visual inventory.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. Pleased to meet you.”

Something funny happened when our hands met in a firm shake. A tachycardic blip, my internal medicine professor would have called it. There was no time to analyze this response, however, as he was already on the move.

“James Fraser, at yer service. I’d normally spend more time getting to know ye and yer style of entertaining, but we’re short on time, so let’s get straight to it, aye?”

I gave the chef a hasty tour of our kitchen, stumbling over the names of various implements and opening the wrong cupboard when looking for my saucepans. I blushed as he raised an expressive eyebrow, but shook it off. I was paying for his cooking proficiency, not his opinion on my lack of domestic competence.

“I ken ye spoke tae Jenny about yer menu, but I took a few liberties at the market, based on what looked freshest. I recommend starting with a simple salad o’ nettle and radish, garnished with a wee round of goat cheese and rye crumbs. Loin o’ lamb with new potatoes and pancetta fer yer main. An’ a simple rhubarb custard fer dessert. There’s none with food allergies, aye?”

“Aye,” I replied, then corrected “umm, no, rather,” at his concerned look. “Are you sure you can manage all that in only,” I glanced at my wristwatch “ninety minutes? It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“Och, tis no’ much. Lamb cooks swiftly, ye ken. Tis why I choose it over pork or poultry.”

My saviour rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to wash his hands and get down to work. There was probably something else I should be doing elsewhere in the flat to prepare, but I didn’t want to appear completely useless to this unflappable man.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked dubious and seemed prepared to politely decline, but then his expression shifted.

“Aye. Ye can wash the tatties an’ chop the rhubarb while I dress the lamb, if ye dinna mind,” he suggested.

“Scrubbing in and wielding a knife happen to be two of the only transferrable job skills I bring to cooking,” I joked, taking my turn in front of the massive Belfast sink.

He emitted a low Scottish grunt of amusement before we each settled into companionable silence, focusing on our respective duties. I glanced over at him surreptitiously, envying the ease with which he moved from task to task, lean and nimble hands working alchemy where I only succeeded in producing dross.

“Ye’re a doctor, then?” he asked after my chopped rhubarb had been set on the stovetop to stew and the lamb was marinating in a bath of lemon and fresh herbs.

“Umm, well, I was. My partner and I moved here from Boston, where I trained as a surgeon. I haven’t yet obtained my license to practice here in the UK, so I’m afraid I’m just a culinary liability for the moment.”

It was a current source of strife in my relationship with Frank. He liked the idea of me keeping house, entertaining and eventually settling down to raise a family. I chaffed at this unfamiliar routine. But until I passed my licensing exams, it was rather a moot point.

“I’m sure ye’re far more than that,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a sneaky grin. “I’ve ne’er seen stalks of rhubarb cut quite sae... uniform. Ye’d have a fine career in quality control, if ye wished.”

I faked throwing a dish towel at him while we both laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Fraser? How did you get into the catering business?” It wasn’t polite conversation. I was really quite curious to know more about him.

“I’ll tell ye, but only if ye call me Jamie.” At my nod, he continued, “twas my Mam. She was always a great cook, but then my Da passed suddenly and she with three bairns under the age of ten tae raise. She needed tae work. We moved tae Edinburgh an’ she laboured day and night tae save enough tae start her own catering business. Since I was a lad, when I wasna in school I was in her kitchen, watching and learning all the while.”

His striking face took on a faraway expression, and I knew he was remembering those days with a mixture of wistfulness and love. I recognized the look from my own reflection, when I thought about my dead parents. Without realizing it, I lay my palm over his forearm where it had stilled above my butcher’s block. His eyes were the same hue as midsummer blueberries, and they regarded me with silent inquiry.

A timer made us both jump, my hand falling to my side. What was I thinking, touching this stranger who I was paying to cook dinner for my boyfriend’s guests? I really needed to find a hobby, so my mind didn’t latch onto any feeble excuse for stimulation.

Brushing my hands against my thighs, I quickly excused myself and left to get properly dressed for dinner. Only thirty minutes remained before Frank and his colleagues were due to arrive.

I spent more time than was strictly necessary away from the kitchen, afraid I’d made things awkward with Jamie. By the time I finally returned, he was plating the lamb and putting the custard in the refrigerator to set. I tried to think of something to say that would re-establish the fluent rapport from earlier on.

“I’ve opened the wine tae let it breathe,” Jamie said without looking at me. I wished there was a similar process for blundering Englishwomen.

“Jamie, I really don’t know how to...”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted me and Frank’s nasal voice rang out from the entryway.

“Claire, we’re here!”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. Jamie tipped his head sideways in question. “I never had time to explain to my partner that I hired your services. That’s the dean of his faculty out there, and...” I broke off, looking frantically around the room as though a trap door would suddenly materialize. Quick on his feet, Jamie understood the situation immediately. The kitchen windows were still open after my earlier catastrophe. With surprising grace for one so large, he slid through the opening and onto the fire escape.

“Bon appetit, Claire Beauchamp,” the ginger chef wished from outside, a mischievous smirk lighting his whole countenance.

I stood, mouth open in shock, as he gave an abbreviated bow before scampering down the metal ladder just as Frank entered the kitchen behind me.

“This smells delicious, darling. We really are going to make a chef out of you yet.”

#my writing #outlander

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luxekook · 5 years ago

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THE SEVEN || prologue

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: supernatural au with action, angst, smut, and (trace amounts of) fluff

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader fights to survive, attracts a powerful group of demons, and causes general mayhem in a post-apocalyptic new world

⇥ word count: 1.5k

⇥ warnings: nc17, *this fic has scenes of graphic violence*, demons, bloodshed, anarchy, general apocalyptic things, cursing, eventual poly relationship, a made-up language, hints of desire to own, brief mention of abuse, an attempt at world-building

⇥ beta reader: heathy @shadowsremedy - thank u so much!!! i was holding off on beginning this fic for so long, and you really helped me move forward! uwu<3

Prologue

The world has completely gone to shit, I think to myself as my blade slices right through my opponent’s eye. The responding roar of the crowd reinforces that thought as the lifeless body slumps to the ground.

Removing my bloodied knife from the man at my feet, I stand, exhaustion kicking in after yet another adrenaline-fueled fight. Gazing out at the surrounding crowd of humans and demons, I narrow my sights on tonight’s guests of honor – the seven demons who would decide if my performance was deemed worthy enough of payment.

Raising my chin in defiance, my eyes meet those of the pompous greed demon of the Ahgase Seven. Lim Jaebeom lounges on a provisional throne flanked by his six brothers. Their combined beauty is ethereal but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

How is it that creatures so prone to evil can be so lovely to look at?

After glancing briefly at each brother, I finally make eye contact with Jackson Wang, the Ahgase’s pride demon. He inclines his head with a satisfied smirk, simultaneously permitting my payment and ordering my swift dismissal.

The callous disregard of my efforts never fails to ignite a familiar burn of fury within me. I fight to the death to earn a week’s worth of food and shelter, and all I get is a fucking nod in response? Complete and utter bullshit if you ask me.

My teeth grind together as I give the slightest and stiffest bow possible in the Ahgase Seven’s general vicinity and stalk out of the Pit. Reminding myself that I actively choose this fate never really helps, given that the alternatives are equally as shit – if not more-so.

Basically, since the planet lost three-fourths of its population in the Reaping, the old capitalistic way of the world is no longer. Now, the main ways to survive deal with what you have to offer as a resource – your body, your skill, your labor, your loyalty. I choose to fight because, for me, it’s the soundest option.

My prior life had been sketchy at best. I had taught Krav Maga, a form of aggressive self-defense and reflexive fighting, to teens and young adults. I also had used Krav Maga (and other more nefarious methods) on abusive parents or guardians, bullies, or romantic partners - the very reasons my students came to my classes.

My resulting ambiguously gray background probably had influenced heaven and hell’s decisions to leave me behind. Still, killing hadn’t come easy for me in the beginning, but now it seems like second nature. In this new era, there are no rules, no moral codes, no winners, no losers. There are only survivors.

And I’ll be damned if I am not one of them.

Last year, the Reaping left us all in chaos and confusion. The supernatural had become natural. Heaven took those deemed worthy and let Hell deal with the rest. But, as it turns out, Hell was just as picky.

For a few days, demons ruthlessly reaped millions of humans and dragged them below the earth. And then the reaping stopped. The humans that remained were left with burned cities, abandoned homes and a complete absence of law. They were a ruthless bunch with questionable backgrounds and ambiguous morals. It honestly made sense that they were left behind – myself included.

The short period after the Reaping brought with it a general mayhem which resulted in looting, fires, and general destruction. The remainder of society was bare-boned, with only the richest areas having luxuries like running water and electricity. I referred to this time period – the lull before the demon Sevens took over – as the pseudo-Hunger Games. I legit had to pull a full Katniss Everdeen in order to stay alive during those two weeks.

Then, finally, the demons rose again.

The demons that rose were power-hungry and desperate to prove themselves worthy to rule over the New Earth. They looked human until you got too close and felt the negative energy that emanated from them. It's almost a built-in warning for those lower on the metaphorical food-chain not to get close to a source of potential harm.

By possessing a demon of each sin category, Sevens were able to bond together and max out their powers. Often, Sevens took on courts and consorts to siphon additional power, but my intel on demons was mostly built on speculation and rumors. The general consensus seemed to be that humans joined demon factions because of the promise of protection, food, and other resources. However, no one usually survived leaving a faction led by a Seven once they had declared fealty.

I vowed to never willingly enter into a Seven’s territory. My freedom and independence were the only things I had left to hold onto. And that was how I ended up in my current situation as a fighter in the Pit, the rough, man-made arena where fighters battle to the death for winnings while the audience bets furiously on their selected victor. No one had bet on me at first, but they learned quickly.

The Pit’s existence sprung out of desperation for distraction. Humans and demons alike needed some form of entertainment away from the monotony and death embedded within everyday life. Located within the Neutral Zone, the Pit provided humans the ability to earn a living and to make a name for themselves. Those that fought in the Pit were only lower on the human totem pole to the Pit Master and to the merchants in the Neutral Zone. Below the fighters were the scavengers, the workers, the peasants, and the lost.

Marching towards the exit gate, I nod to the next competitor to enter the arena – it might be the last I’d see of them. Pit Master Agra greets me as I step through the gate’s threshold and finally out of the public eye.

“Good work,” she forces a smile that only looks like she’s in pain, “But, next time make sure there’s more blood.”

I say nothing.

Agra takes my silence as acceptance and jerks her head at the empty hallway, indicating my second dismissal of the day. “You have one week until your next fight,” she predictably calls as I make my way down the tunnel towards my makeshift room located in the fighters’ dorms.

I wave a hand carelessly behind me in a sign of recognition. Damn, what I wouldn’t give to challenge her in the Pit.

Pausing outside my room, I struggle to unhook my necklace that held my key. The blood on my fingers still has not fully dried, and I grow increasingly frustrated. I just want to bathe, goddamnit.

“Allow me,” a deep voice purrs from behind me. I shudder as two hands suddenly brush my own away from their hold on the necklace. Warm fingers brush the nape of my neck as the sound of a slight inhale meets my ears.

Fuck, I hope this person isn’t smelling me because I am almost certain the combination of sweat and dried blood is extremely unpleasant.

“There,” the voice rasps, “All done.”

My necklace is gone from my neck, and I turn to retrieve it from whoever just assisted me.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss, taking in the demon before me. His teal hair is wild and reminiscent of a blue flame. His black eyes are large and slanted, fixed on me with a peculiar expression I just cannot place. His clothes are expensive. I peer closer, inspecting the intricate details on his patterned top. Was that Versace?

In this economy?

His arm extends to mine. My necklace dangles from one finger carelessly. “Here, mì shaìà (my pet).”

“My name is (y/n),” I grab the necklace and shudder when our fingers brush for a split second, “Not Mishaeya.”

The demon smiles. It’s large and boxy and completely predatory. “(Y/n). Mì shaìà. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Am I missing something?

“Listen, demon-dude, I just killed someone like five minutes ago. Can you stop being cryptic and just tell me why you’re lurking outside my room?”

“Ah, yes,” he stalks closer to me. My back hits the door to my room. He licks his lips, “I was watching you. You are quite the fighter, little one.”

“Little?” I glance down at my thick and well-muscled self, “Mhm, okay.”

“Are you not scared of me, mì shaìà?” His hand cups my chin, thumb darting out to wipe some blood from the shallow cut across my cheek.

“Should I be?” I front like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.

“Yes,” he smiles before sucking the droplets of my blood from his thumb. “Surely someone as exquisite as you should need protecting. I’m surprised no one owns you yet, (y/n).”

My back straightens, “No one owns me. No one ever will.”

The demon’s head tilts as he silently studies me for a few moments. He looks like he almost wants to say something before he steps back and bows. “Sleep well, mì shaìà. I will be seeing you again.”

I gape as he walks away from me. A thought strikes me. “Hey!” I call after him, “What’s your name?”

He answers without looking back or breaking his stride, “V.”

a/n: i made up Deìthi, the language that the demons use in this story. i will keep a running list of translations at the bottom of each chapter as well as putting initial translations in parentheses following the first usage of the word.

Deìthi (The Language of Demons) Translation List:

Mì shaìà - My pet

#bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #180knet #hyunglinenetwork #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts au

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immortalonus · 4 years ago

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Where You Belong: Chapter One.

So in case you guys were wondering where I vanished off to, the answer is mostly work. This chapter also took way, way more brain power than I really intended, so I didn't really have the energy to post much else.

I could probably edit this more, but I swear if I spend one more hour editing this I will go insane, so here it is, chapter one of my first multi-chapter fic in, *checks calendar,* four years!?

Jeez, time really does fly, doesn't it?

Read on AO3

If I were Where I Would be, Then I Would be Where I Am not. But where I am, There I must be. And where I would be, I cannot.

-American Folk Poem.

________________________________________________________

As soon as Valerie had flown out of sight of Plasmius’ portal, she made a point to dump everything he had given her for the trip.

First, the communication devices. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less the creepy, lying, traitorous ghost-thing masquerading as Vlad Masters. She gave the DALVco edition headset her best fast ball, taking no small satisfaction in watching it break piece by piece as it clattered against the frames of one floating door after another before finally vanishing into the mists below.

If Plasmius wanted to talk to her, he could crawl out of his portal and find her himself. Which he wasn’t going to do, because he had a cover to maintain. After all, what kind of delicate, elderly gentleman would throw himself into a dimension of rarified death? Not Mister Masters, oh no.

Especially not when he had a willing pawn to do it for him.

The more surreptitious listening devices went next. Fat, disgusting, bloated insects they were, bugs in function as much as form.And they were everywhere.

She found them wedged between her armor joints, the soles of her boots, in the crevices of her guns, and, after putting her systems through an intensive self-diagnostic, her hair.

When had he touched her hair?

She made a point to crush them all. Either plucking off the parasites directly, or, in the case of those lodged beneath her suit, pulling them into her storage unit and spitting them back out again into the open atmosphere where they could be destroyed.

She removed everything else Plasmius had given her immediately after: Several days worth of food, a large pop up tent, a sleeping bag, a map, several spare weapons, a well thumbed biography on Vince Lombardi and more spewed out of her storage units like a sickness, purged in gouts down to the waiting abyss.

Any thing he'd handled, all his supplies, every “present” he'd ever bestowed, she made a point to dump them all.

But God, when had he touched her hair?

Once she was finished, it felt almost like a victory. With no material proof of her obligations, it was easy to imagine she was already free.

She would finish this mission on her own. No outside aid, no puppet-masters, no regrets.

------------------------------------------

/Sorrysorry-soverysorry!/

“Shut up!”Valerie had regrets.

/sorrysorrysorry/

So many regrets.

“I said shut up, you stupid bug!”

She emphasized her point by kicking the target of her ire right in the soft parts of its creepy, eye studded thorax.

This was stupid, she was stupid, but more than anything, she was pissed.

Valerie took a few steps closer to her target, gait slightly uneven for the lack of both her usual boots. While she wasn't going to die anytime soon, as the black leather that fit snug as skin across her body, the true barrier against the toxic atmosphere of the Zone, remained fully intact, it didn't stop her from being mad about it.

The bug, which had finally stopped gibbering in that vile, hissing tongue that had become more and more common the deeper she ventured into the pea-soup hellscape otherwise known as the ghost zone, took the opportunity to cower against the calciferous outgrowth that had halted its pitiful attempt at flight from Valerie's relentless pursuit.

She had hunted ghosts stronger and faster than this every day back in Amity, and could not help the faint sensation of disgust that came over her at the sight of a figure so unexpectedly pathetic. Did she appear so weak that this creature, along with the half a dozen or so of its less successful, but no less kleptomaniacally inclined ilk see fit to prey upon her? Did she seem so low indeed, that even the meanest, most beggarly of the Zone's inhabitants should see her as some object to pilfer and mock?

It was the work of a moment to summon her laser cubes, pulling them from the pocket dimension from which they resided to slide noiselessly over to the insect lying prone before her. With a thought, they flew forward, two each to press down on the thing's chitinous skull, heightening the artificial glow of her suit as she did for that extra sense of intimidation.

It was an ability she'd never had the need for back on earth, only to find herself putting it to use with unhappy frequency not a day after she'd set off on her journey.

Everything in the realm of the dead glowed, and the capacity to put off and manipulate one's own aura was a hallmark of the creatures that 'lived' within it. Those that didn't stood out strangely, casting shadows upon themselves and the world in a way that made them an obvious anomaly in the otherwise antumbral reaches of the Zone.

While Valerie didn't enjoy wasting her resources on glowing like she was her very own spook, she also hated wasting time, which advertising her humanity to every ghost that glanced her way very much did; a lesson that she'd learned after fending off an entire assault squad of ghost police, who had chased her for ages while screaming about her criminal possession of so many 'real world objects' within their territory.

That it also made sure any enemies never anticipated her ability to phase through objects came in handy from time to time as well, such as when a would-be thief, for example, tried to duck into a thicket in an effort to snarl its pursuer.

As expected, the bug shuddered in response to the cold touch of the barrel against its skin, curling into itself as it looked up into the dark panel of her faceplate.

Valerie leaned down, pinning it between herself, her guns, and the stony trunk of what, on this particular island, seemed to serve as some kind of tree.

/Alright, Manbug, one more time./ Her voice crackled and popped through her translators, adding even more intimidation to a tone already modulated down to something lower and crueler than her natural snarl. /Where. Did you. Put. My Stuff. /

The insect whimpered a little harder, oozing something suspiciously close to snot from the hole above its writhing mouthparts. It remained otherwise silent, however, as it shook.

Valerie pulled back her leg and kicked it again.

The imitation flesh buckled beneath her toes, causing the creature to squeal, a nonverbal expression of pain peaking just beyond her range of hearing as it flickered invisible, writhing in a hopeless gambit to escape the weapons still clamped against its head.

Funny how ghosts kept so many features they really shouldn't need anymore. Like joints, for example. Was it a subconscious matter, or some kind of deliberate choice, Just one more means to mock the living, their very forms a cruel parody of everything they once had been?

She silenced the voice which whispered how she should know by now, that it wasn't that easy. There were more important things to focus on.

/P-please./

The bug focused its myriad gaze on the huntress' visor, all six limbs twisted over themselves, wrapped tight over its oozing midsection.

/In error, Milor- Milord. Your place, held, not neutral. Shall honor, please. /

It was leaking from the eyes too, now, viscous fluid pouring from its dozens of eyes, wetting it bodily, puddling down onto the dark purple earth, adding to the halo of scattered goods and tchotchkes that had spilled out from the overstuffed bags that it had clung to for dear life even as they toppled, overbalanced from a too-fast turn, dragging the creature headfirst into ruin.

/Mer- mercy./

This wasn't fair. This miserable thing, begging in the dirt like it hadn't gotten anything more than what it deserved.

Valerie grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm against her faceplate. Phantom's visage, not long past, looked up to her from the depths of her memory, face just as desperate, just as indisputably, distressingly genuine as when she'd first seen it.

“Valerie, You don't want to do this.”

“Like I have a choice, spook.” She muttered.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the same recycled exhalation she'd been breathing for nearly a week now, and took a moment to actually think her situation through.

She wasn't lost. She had no idea where she was, but she wasn't lost: That would imply a level of helplessness she could not bring herself to admit. What little food and water she had brought with her had been eaten a while back, reducing her to scavenge among the portal droppage scattered through those areas not patrolled by mad policemen, hoping she could find something sufficiently sealed against ectoplasmic encroachment to remain edible.

She reconsidered her captive, still trembling on the ground. A ghost zone native, utterly at her mercy, and, by the looks of things, a serial hoarder of goods.

/You want mercy? Fine. But you do what I say, exactly as I say it, M'kay?/

While the guns pinning its head in place were something of an obstacle, the bug did manage a spasmodic sort of jerking motion, forebody pushed back and forth with desperate, eager haste.

/(Enthusiasm,) (enthusiasm,) assent! Lord, generous, gratitude, respect./

“Good, now-”She held out one hand, palm expectant.

/Give 'em back./

It responded slowly, still slobbering at the maw, all eyes fixed on the huntress as it unwound its uppermost limbs, which reached up towards those tattered bundles still clustered fungiform over its heaving thorax, rifling between twine-like bindings for what seemed an age.

Patience had never been a skill of Valerie's, and she found herself torn between wanting the moment to last forever and wishing go faster instead, tightening her mental grip over her laser cubes, fingering the internal triggers in anticipation of some sudden, traitorous motion on the part of her captive.

Ghosts were deceptive, dangerous creatures, except, of course, when they weren't.

Without any ability to tell the difference, she could do nothing but pace at the bars of her patience, waiting for the moment to act.

Finally, a claw submerged itself into one of the parcels, pulling out one boot, and, just beside it, a single leather fold.

This was it. Valerie snatched the wallet from its pincers. The boot was replaceable, her construct engines could make another now, if she wanted to waste the resources for it, but her wallet-She flipped open the small leather parcel, noted immediately that the contents were not any state remotely akin to how she had left them.

/Milord?/

The bug was still subtly trying to wriggle its way out from under her guns. Her systems noted, then deleted, increased energy expenditure from her laser cubes as they were forced to adjust to its motions.

Useless data. A ghost of so low a caliber could never hope to escape so easily.

Debit card-broken, bent until the plastic whitened from an excess of pressure; Dollar bills balled together and crammed into a single pocket, still damp with a kind of ectoplasm that looked disquietingly similar to the slobber still dripping from the mouthparts of the bug before her; Plastic wrappers, spare coins, a concert flyer for a band she'd always wanted to see.

/Ah, Milord? Pardon, Excuse?/

All of it. This vile, twisted excuse for an insect had messed with all of it. It had played with her most important cards and documents like they were toys, then shoved them back in with utter disregard for any sense of their value once it was done.

/Goods, returned, trust?/

Dread crept into her heart as she reached into the backmost pocket of her billfold, the place where she kept the picture of her.

/more goods? Information? Information on goods? Release, please?/

It was shoved in the very bottom of the wallet, balled into the crease where the two halves of leather were joined into one. She pulled it out, fingers shaking only slightly as they smoothed it back into a more flattened form.

The Red Huntress had no face, and never had Valerie been more grateful for that absence than in that moment, when she beheld the true extent of the damage done to Polaroid before her.

Soft white creases were everywhere, shattering the image into isolated fragments of its former self. It had been torn, too, at the edges, a grip too hard, twisting too far, integrity compromised as a result.

The worst of the damage by far, however, were a series of punctures, scattered at random through the center of the photograph, small to medium perforations forming little absences where there had once been trees and grass, where there had been a woman's face. A hole sat primly above her dark neck, arched back into nothing, a yawning gap where once there had been laughter.

The Huntress turned her blank visage back to her captive, who froze in the act of trying to pry her weapons out of position. Cowardly, but expected. Trusting a ghost was a fools game she had no intent on playing.

/Ah, haha, (nervous) (nervous,) (respect.)/ The target pulled its claws back up against itself, fiddling with the tips as it looked up to her absent regard.

/...Milord?/

The Red Huntress had no face, could betray no emotion, could reveal none of the cold black welter that rushed up through the depths of her breast and pressed against her throat. An impassive machine, possessed of a will stripped free of feeling.

No sliver of her intent showed through, no shudder passed from her shaking fingers to her gauntleted hands, not even the psychic senses of a ghost could hope to detect the lava that boiled up from her guts, pressing against her skin in an sheet of living fire even as the pits of her stomach chilled to ice.

The bug was still looking up at her, eyes all expectant, when she commanded her one of her guns to fire.

A bright streak of energy shot through the top of its head, hard pink flash cutting through a wave of green.

It squealed, jerked all six limbs towards the missing portion of its skull in a hopeless effort to stop the thick chunks of ectoplasm from slopping down the side of its face. Valerie brought her foot down at the same moment, crushing its forelimbs down into the dust. Forelimbs tipped with little claws, just large enough to fit the holes in a certain photograph.

/Why!? Ancients, why, why!?/

Why?

“Why the hell not?” she snarled, “Ain't that how it works here?”

If a different ghost wanted to rob her blind every time she tried to sleep, they could. If Valerie wanted to chase down the one that finally succeeded, she could. There were no laws here, there were no rules, there weren't even morals. There was nothing to stop anyone from doing anything, so why should she be the one to hold herself back?

She lifted her foot off its claws, then swung it once again into its thorax, only just crusted over from where she had kicked it before.

It squealed, just like she imagined another ghost would, red eyes wide and frightened, vampiric teeth shattered against her fist, choking as she wrapped her fingers around his blue, blue, skin.

He deserved this, it deserved this, she was in the right. She had been tricked, mislead, mistaken maybe, but she wasn't wrong, she was in the right.

And if there was some dark curl of satisfaction there, a self righteous flame alighted just where she'd been coldest in that moment of hate, then that was proof, wasn't it? Of just how right she was.

She bent down to her target, which had started drooling all over again, ground speckled green and wet as it heaved against itself. It was disgusting enough that she would have shot it in the mouth instead of the head, but she still needed information, which meant it still needed to talk.

It's upper set of antenna had survived the cranial blast, making for an easy handhold as she yanked its drooping head up to face her once again. At the same time, she sent her guns down to its chest, where its energy levels peaked their highest.

Ghosts, much like the cockroaches they resembled, could survive well enough without a head, but none, not one could ever hope to make it without their precious ghostly core.

“Listen up spook.” She hissed. /Here's how this is gonna work. You lie, I shoot. You run, I shoot. Got it?/Its head twitched up and down, the smallest possible motion of assent.

/Good./

This was what it took, when it came to ghosts. Cooperation proceeded pain, loyalty from the threat of it, and mercy not at all.

/We'll start with the questions./

She allowed her guns to charge power, deadly, scintillating hum filling the air with the sound of her malintent.

/I like what I hear, maybe I let you keep talking./

Author's note: If Sam is more pride than wrath, then Val is more wrath than pride, IMO. I've done my best to write her accordingly

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #Chapter 1 #Where You Belong #Danny Phantom #Valerie Grey

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undercoverwizardfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Welp

Woke up this week to 200+ followers! Wasn’t sure how to react! I didn’t think i was going to get 5 followers on a blog just for my writing let alone this many so thank you!

So I’m giving you a small treat, it’s a “trailer” (i guess i’d call it that?) for the story after the Broken Butterfly. It’s part of the Fantasy series and the reason it’s so special is because it’s the first fantasy story i’ll do with more then two parts. it’ll be a long multichapter story that will take a while to tell but i think will be worth it? (Charmy take out the question mark)(no, bite me!) Because i still plan on writing a few fantasy shorts and other stories in the mean time. Including a Sci-fi au i think y’all will like

Anyway thank you all again! here’s my trailer (can i call it a trailer? or is it a preview?)

He couldn’t stop shaking

Not out of fear but from excitement as he hung from the thick tree branch his little hands had latched onto. The Child wiggled around before pulling themselves up with some considerable effort, having to primarily rely on his unhurt leg to swing up till he’s finally sitting on the branch with a giant grin. “I’m so high up!!” He said throwing his hands into the air excitedly, “Dad! Dad do you see!? Do you see how high up I am!?” He said to the black haired yokai standing by the tree, “I’m almost as tall as you!”

Len chuckled, “Yeah look at you kiddo” even though he had been to the one who had helped the Child reach the branch in the first place. The Child put his hands on the branch, wobbling slightly until they were in a standing position. He put his hands out for balance as he began walking down the thick branch at a snails pace. Lens’ hands hovered at his sides, ready to catch him if he fell, but the Child was having too much fun to be deterred by Lenards protectiveness, “Careful kiddo.” He said

“Can I climb higher?!” The Child asked eagerly.

Len looked up at the tall tree nervously, “Not today kiddo.” Before holding his hands out to him, “Hop over.”

The Child pouted for a moment, before carefully turning to face Len. He shifted his feet around and braced his legs before jumping over the small gap between him and Len who immediately hugged him, “Atta boy!”Lenard said smiling at him in a way that took away the Childs disappointment as he set him on his hip, “That new leg brace Mickey made you is really doing you wonders huh?”

“Yeah Yeah!” He said swinging his dubbed ‘hurty leg’ that was now carefully wrapped in a brace that his Uncle had spent almost a year perfecting. Not only was it far lighter then the one they had bought from the Healing Hut, but it allowed him to run and jump with almost no trouble. Course now Len spent most of his time chasing Him down, but to the Child that made it more fun (not the time outs that followed when He took it too far, he hated those) IT took a moment for Him to notice his Dad was giving him a big if thoughtful smile and tilted his head questingly “you’re getting so big,” Len said as a explanation using his free arm to hug him closer with his cheek resting on His temple, “I can’t believe you’re only six. You sure you ain’t really thirty? Or fifty?”

The child giggled, “No!” Before bringing his hands up squish Len’s face in his hands, causing the yokai to laugh and gently pull his hand away from his face, ‘Alright alright don’t cut your hand on my tooth.” He said, “Today is actually very special, today is when we officially start training.”

“Training?” The Child tilted his head, “Like tumbling?” He was used to that. It was fun to summersault on the soft grass.

“Not exactly, it’s a little more to it then that.” Len said kneeling down and setting Don carefully on the grass, “I want to get you started on basic fighting skills, “

The excitement the Child had felt at the thought of tumbling gave was to nervousness as he dropped his chin to his chest and poked his fingertips together, “I-I don’t wanna hurt no one though.”

“I know baby boy.” Len rubbed his scalp before cupping his sons face in his hand, using his thumb to rub the worry line between his eyes. The Child giggled lightly at the contact but kept his gaze on the ground. “You wouldn’t be learning these skills to hurt people, but to protect yourself. And you being safe is all I care about. So is that ok with you?”

The Child puffed up his cheeks in contemplation. He still din’t like the idea of hurting people, but Len was his dad, he was the one who took him in, held him when he was scared, sang to him when he was sad. If he though it was a good idea then, “Okie, cause I love you.”

Len grinned and rubbed his scalp again ,”That’s my boy.” He said, “Now stay right here ok?” Len stood up and took several steps back and pulling out a familiar wooden handle, with a spin and a flash his hookstaff appeared. “Ok kiddo, the staff is a weapon mostly used for defense. When we start again I’ll teach you some spinning exercises that will help strengthen your hands and wrists. Its one of the most versatile weapons because even if your staff breaks in battle, you can usually find a good substitute for it nearby. But my favorite thing about using a staff is that it’s a great way to fight people off without leaving long lasting damage.” He puts the staff in a wide hold, with both hands at atleast, he shuffles his left leg forward, thrusting the opposite end of the staff forward, “See?” Len asks, “This is a basic strike, even if you get to my level this is what you’ll be using if your’e ever in a fight.” Before taking his other step forward and bringing the other end with a thrust and a shout

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

A scream of terror coupled with a earth trembling thunder snaps Him back to reality. Half his vision is stolen by a a mixture of darkness, a icy downpour that seems content on bruising the hell out of him and a heavy fog that takes him a moment to realize is his own breath. A moment later pain shoots through is stomach with enough force to double him over, wrapping his free arm around it as though trying to protect it from a invisible force. Its only by plunging the object in his hand into the ground and leaning on it that he keeps from falling over completely. Desperate to offer his aching body some semblance of support.

His vision finally starts to clear up and he realizes the staff holding him up is unfamiliar. It is far heavier and metal and has a barbed wire end facing forward in a c-shape. Before He can contemplate why he’s holding it, a fear filled sob reaches him and reality comes rushing back in a unforgiving wave

The man in front of him is standing his with arms out, as though shielding the other man behind him who his also holding a small child to his chest. The man being protected has a large gash on his scalp that drenches his tattered clothes. Before He can comprehend what’s has them so scared, he finally notices the end of his weapon has the tangled remains of the mans shirt in its wire, as though it had been a second away from piercing his chest cavity.

With a choked gasp, horror overwhelms Him as he takes several steps back, “I-I’m so-i’m sorry!” his vision is filled with bright lights, blinding him again has he rubs furiously at his eyes, desperate for reason or answers.

He gets both

What had once been a humble but fair sized villages is now in ruins, buildings crushed in as though a Child had stomped through with little to no regard for the life it could of held. He can hear whimpers and cries of pain around him, the hurried footsteps of people running away from the village

No not from the village.

He looks down to the weapon he now recognizes as a sodegarami to the family still cowering in front of him before covering his mouth with his free hand

He understands.

He is horrified .

“Run!” He shouts, causing the small family to jump,” Run! Get out of here before its too late!” With the grace of frightened ants, the family scrambles to their feet and hurries away. Glancing back as though to make sure he wasn’t going to chase them down to finish them. When they’re out of sight he allows himself to give a shaky sigh of relief and lowers himself down onto his knees to offer his body a semblance of rest. Before a voice whispers by his head somehow far colder then the rain itself.

”Now now, I can’t keep having you breaking free my gargalmelly baby,”

Terror shoots through him as he spins around swinging his weapon to aim directly at the intruder. What at first simply appears to be a shadow slowly takes from as the rain parts away from it. As though natures itself is too scared to touch the queen. Judging by her wrinkled nose the Matriarch is more concerned with his appearance then to the weapon aimed at her “And just look how filthy you are now. I’ll have to tell the maids to scrub you down when we return to the castle,” The Queen looks back to the remains of the village and its devastation, “I will say this you do make quick work. But on second thought, perhaps this isn’t the place I want my vacation castle.” She gives out a pained sigh as though reflecting on all the work she put into this ‘project’ “Oh well it was far too good for the likes of those tax dodgers anyway. I”ll find something to do with it.” She says, taking a few steps forward as though there was a floor of glass blocking her perfect shoes from being dirty.

“You-“ He is only now aware of how thirsty his is as he desperately tries to wet his cracked lips. It feels as though his entire body has been deprived of everything it needed to function properly, but he glares after the Queen, “You made me attack a village of innocents just so you can have a vacation home!?” He asks

“Now now don’t get in a tizzy, I can’t have a Prince who gets so upset so easily,” She shakes her head solemnly ,”These ,after all, are criminals. They’re dirty, weak, Ugly, and don’t deserve mercy.” Big Mama looks off into the ruined village with almost a bored eye, “They had the nerve to say the latest tax increase was far too gargantuan for their little families to afford. But you know what I hate more then tax evaders?” She asks in her sickly sweet voice that makes His stomach squirm

He thinks of the family he had almost killed and screams in rage, grabbing his staff from the ground and plunging the tip into her chest. But before he can consider the consequences, theres a strike of lightning as the Matriarch herself appears in his line of vision unharmed, her now completely yellow eyes glaring out from beneath her bands as tilts her head at him, “when my Princes disappoint me.”

A scorching heat fills His brain as he cries out. The feeling shoots through his arms and legs and his causes his left up to suddenly twist up his back as he’s forced to his knees, his face in the mud blinding his vision again. He hears her step closer and her disappointed sigh

”Looks like we have our work cut on you. But until then, you have a job to do.”

Out of the corner of his eye, a darkness crawls across his vision. IT rings a terror of familiarity that makes his eyes burn before the darkness takes him completely

#()(#)\/(#)(#)

“Wake up boy.”

A strangled breath escaped Him, but the sudden reflex jerk makes pain shoot through his side in a blinding pain that makes him double over. The world has eerie white sheen to it as he struggles to fill his sting lung. The pain in his head that he h had felt previously has now spread to his eyes. He’s sitting on a chair he doesn’t recognize. There’s a cup of water in his hands that looks like he’s been drinking out of it but he can’t remember. His hand comes up to check his chest only to find it tightly bound in bandages, through his blurry vision he can see a red stain at the center that only raises more questions then answers.

“What is your name boy.”

IT is more command then question. The voice sense a shiver down His shell that he can barely hide. It doesn’t help when the chorus of laughter joins in from his ‘visitors’ shoulders. Dark eyes glare at him from underneath his gold pointed crown, expecting obedience. He is not under any illusion that Draxum is asking out of genuine concern, but rather the same concern one would have for a favorite war horse,

Draxum expects a answer

His teacher demands a answer

“O-othello.” He whispers. It’s the only answer he knows to give, but he knows it’s a lie, and that alone makes his eyes burn again, “My name is Othello.”

The Baron dips his head response, “follow Apprentice, we have a kingdom to save.” with a snap of his cloak, Draxum leaves the room. Muscle memory immediately has Othello on his feet following, his body is not the only part that just wants to lie down and give up.

His name is Prince Othello

And he is Alone

Look for

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Cold Night

#rottmnt #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanfiction #trigger warning blood #donnie #othello #draxum #baron draxum #rottmnt fantasy au #big mama #leonard #action #adventure

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zertzertzhang · 4 years ago

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Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down CH.3

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

Chapter Three: Living Skills

By the time she rolled into the second week of Garfield High, Vianne was sure she saw the school at its worst. Had she been honest with herself, she would’ve thought she was beginning to get used to the rioting students. It was a surprise that she became somewhat good at blocking the excess noise from them.

Hateful stares and whispered insults about her ethnicity waned as the week dragged on. The initial weariness she felt from the people around her dropped as she kept to herself. Call it paranoia or what, she could sense the heavy atmosphere boring onto her back as she passed the lockers. It was hard imagining a whole year of silence.

Vianne never saw herself as a quiet wallflower, but the situation at hand forced her mouth shut for far too long. The need to talk to someone had been building up since the day she arrived. If this was going to stretch out any longer, she could see herself talking to random objects within her peripheral vision. As if the students needed another excuse to deepen the ostracization. In her own way, Vianne was in solitary confinement.

Wait why do I need them?!

She shook her head, angry at her own slip up. There was no need for her to make any contact with people like that. Loneliness must've been a powerful force for her, for she now wanted communication from the very people set out to destroy her life. And it tore her dignity to shreds.

Biting the fleshy pulp of her lips, Vianne exhaled. There were still two more periods before she could jump into her car and drive home. Living Skills was next on her schedule, so she had to trudge across campus to her destination. The signs pointing to her class became clear as she neared the hallway.

With five minutes before the second bell, Vianne discovered the almost empty room. It was custom for things like that to happen. Usually, people were either late or scrambling in at the last second. To her, that was a blessing. Any area could be taken for her choosing.

She spotted Ana by the side near the windows. The bespectacled young woman turned her head to look at her when she arrived at the scene. A shy smile crossed Ana’s face, and she waved. Vianne quirked her lips in an awkward attempt to smile back.

Ana was friendly, not just to her. A pang of guilt vibrated along Vianne’s chest. She felt a bit extreme in condemning everyone in the school; at least Ana made an effort to make her feel welcomed. It was because of that Vianne didn’t pull out her hair during Math 1A, so she owed it to her.

“Hey.” A soft greeting slipped from Vianne as she approached the desk.

Ana shuffled some books to the side, creating space for her. “Hi! How was your lunch?”

Vianne sighed. “I’ve had better. The heat melted my sandwich.” She left out the part where she sat by herself for two whole weeks, not wanting to sound like some loser.

Her metaphor made Ana giggle lightly. It reminded her of the bells twinkling on the front door back in Napa; Vianne thought it to be rather calming. A breath of fresh air away from the screaming students was a surprising luxury around here.

“I know a place where there's an air conditioner,” Ana said. “You can come eat with me if you’d like.”

The invitation caught Vianne off guard, prompting her to nearly drop her pencil. Ana still held her hopeful smile, like a lost puppy. That and the desperation to find cold air sold the deal.

Vianne grinned. “That'd be great. I’ll catch you after math tomorrow.” A satisfied hum left her as she leaned against the chair. It was nice to have a lunch buddy.

It didn’t take long for the starting bell to ring. Mrs. Flores entered the class with a large trunk, followed by a hoard of people behind her. Everyone fought for a seat, breaking the calm atmosphere in seconds. Both Vianne and Ana resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

Mrs. Flores was a cheery plump woman in her sixties. Her floral dress was matched with a mint green camisole, making Vianne think of daisies and dandelions in a summer field. A pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her a jolly appearance of a librarian. Viane would reckon she’d keep a hidden stash of toffee under a desk somewhere for the children.

“Settle down, settle down!” The teacher’s chirpy voice broke through the crowd. “I have an announcement to make!”

An exasperated glance was thrown at them as Mrs. Flores shuffled to the front podium. Her arms came up, hands clasping together in enthusiastic excitement.

“I’m happy to introduce you all to our project of the semester,” she began. “There will be two parts, with each section worth fifty points. This will be a partnered assignment, so I expect you all to be friendly with one another.”

Mrs. Flores gave them another knowing look, as if to warn them against their funny business. A few students avoided her gaze, fidgeting sheepishly on the chairs. To the side, Vianne looked at Ana, motioning back and forth between them. Ana caught the drift and nodded; it would be best if they could choose who they wanted to work with.

It was still too early into the school year for Vianne to be comfortable with anyone on the premises, but Ana had been the only one to show acceptance. She’d take that over anything.

“Each pair will receive a doll.”

The next instruction baffled the class. Vianne stared on with wide eyes as Mrs. Flores took out a raggedy dummy from the trunk. It was a dress-up doll, with the color of its skin ashened by years of dust coupled with torn bits of its dress.

Mrs. Flores sighed with strange contentment as she continued. “This year, the health department wants us to learn how to be responsible adults. As we are nearing senior year, the closer you are all to adulthood. And one of the graduation requirements is to pass Living Skills.”

Vianne didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Playing make-believe house was one of the projects required in Sex Ed class back in Napa, only it was to be taken during senior year. It would appear that it was happening sooner for her. Praying to whatever deity that came to mind, she hoped that she was allowed to choose partners. There was no way she was going to be stuck with a haughty, nose-picking man-child.

“The fuck ma’am?!” Another shout rang from behind. “Who needs this?!”

A wave of murmurs agreed to his outcry, with some joining in. Mrs. Flores huffed, using her index finger to push up her glasses before glaring at the mass.

“If you want me to teach sex, then the right thing for me to do is to teach you the aftermath of it, too.” A light smile danced around her lips, a brow raised along with it. The boys’ cheeks flushed bright red at the comment, while the girls took a sudden interest in their books.

Vianne felt the same sentiment, her ears tingling with warm embarrassment. Mrs. Flores was a lot of things, and bluntness was one of them.

“Can we pick partners?” one of the girls asked.

Mrs. Flores shook her head. “I’ve already made my decision last night about the pairs.”

Vianne’s stomach twisted at the revelation; she was already having a shitty time adjusting to the new school, and now she had to deal with a hotheaded student who probably hated her guts. Dred pooled down her back, soaking her in fearful anticipation.

Before them, Mrs. Flores took out a sheet of paper. Her mouth moved to speak, but was interrupted when an ear-splitting crash came from the door. It sounded like a dense mass falling onto the lockers. All eyes turned to the source of the sound, Vianne included. Another bang followed the crash, before all was silent. She sucked in a breath.

With a crack, the door flew open, revealing none other than the very boy who made fun of her days before in Math 1A. It would appear that barging into class midway was his style of rolling.His eyes drooped in lazy discontent, and there was dust all over his bomber jacket. Upon closer inspection, Vianne could make out the beginnings of a bruise forming on the corners of his left eye.

Great. She shared another class with him, too. Oh goodie. Vianne was starting to believe that she was cursed before she stepped foot in LA. Or maybe she fucked up really bad in her past life. Because no one could have this much bad luck in one month. Mrs. Flores, on the other hand, seemed way too surprised at his grandiose entrance.

“Well, well, Mr. Angel Guzman,” she tutted. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you grace my class with your presence.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she stared him down, not bothering with formalities.

Angel rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue. Sauntering to the nearest desk, he slumped into the seat, angling his legs wide open. Without context, one might believe him to be a gangster boss overlooking his new crew. The relaxed stance in his posture gave away nothing about his mood, but the dark look in his eyes spoke for him.

If Mrs. Flores was miffed by his disposition, she didn’t show it. “Since you’ve expressed so much excitement for this assignment, I’ll give you the honor of knowing your partner first.”

Scanning the paper, her eyes landed on the very bottom of the list, and she spoke again. “You’ll be with Miss Yang over here for the project. Now, Adeline, you’re with Thomas. Ana, you’re with Daniel, Clarise-”

Vianne didn’t take in anything else other than the first sentence. Her ears rang, and she could see her soul departing her body for the heavens. This was the final nail on the coffin, pushing her over the edge of sanity. Her worst prediction had come true; she had the most deadbeat partner she could ever find in this school.

Her instincts had her look over in his direction. Angel’s gaze caught hers as she did so, however his face still held their impassive stare. Breaking contact, he moved to pull down his beanie again, shielding his eyes; he was preparing for a nap. Vianne groaned into her hands, earning a pity glance from Ana. It was the I’m-sorry-but-you’re-kinda-screwed look.

Mrs. Flores was still speaking, thus rattling Vianne back to reality. “-come up and grab your supplies! Please make a line and wait your turn.”

Half of the class rose and made a beeline for the trunk. Ana had already gathered hers and was now sitting by Daniel, leaving her alone. Angel was leaning against the chair like he was by the beach with his hands behind his head, and that told her more than she needed to hear. Vianne pursed her lips, hoisting her body from the desk.

The teacher smiled too brightly when she came up to collect her doll. “Congratulations! It’s a girl for you!”

Handing Vianne a bottle of cleaning solution and a hair brush, Mrs. Flores patted her with a good-natured smile. It made Vianne’s soul twist in its grave. She turned around with robotic stiffness, and headed back to Angel’s seat. The young man took no notice of her arrival, continuing to stew in his state of trance. A toothpick hung out from his mouth, giving more into the lazy fashion.

Shit. I’m going to carry us both. The grim thought crossed her mind, and she winced.

“Uh, we need to fill out the form.” Vianne pointed to the paper left by the teacher, snapping her fingers to get his attention. It was a fake birth certificate for the doll; Mrs. Flores was going above and beyond for the final project. Had it been under pleasant circumstances, Vianne would’ve given her kudos for her creativity.

Angel canted his view upwards, staring at her with mild curiosity. It was only then she noticed the deep set of eyes, with equally thick brows to match. His hands refused to leave his head, but his lips parted ever so slightly. Nothing came out of them.

Right. The guy never brings pencils. Realization hit her and she slumped onto the chair next to his. This is gonna be so fun.

As she tapped her pencil onto the paper, Vianne ignored the bouncing of his legs to the side. It was taking her attention away from thinking of a name for the doll. After another few minutes of awkward silence passed, she noticed they were the only pair that had almost zero progress on the first section.

Open your mouth and get him to talk, damn it!

Scowling, Vianne turned to the young delinquent, who was actually on the urge of falling asleep this time. Vexation burned her mind, and she shoved the paper to his side.

“Come up with a name,” she said. The sudden movement jerked him from his slumber, causing him to blink several times before his eyes settled back to hers with a glare. Vianne was not about to back down from a glance alone, so she crossed her arms, huffing at the dramatic display of resistance.

“I know you understand me.” The memory from last week was still fresh in her brain cache. “So come up with a name.”

At that, Angel smirked. “You’re the smart one. What ya need me for?”

Oh the little shithead.

Vianne returned the remark with a scowl of her own. “Believe me, I’d love to work by myself given the situation. But I’m not gonna carry you across the semester.” If the brat thought he was going to get an easy A because of her, then he had another thing coming.

Her hissy fit seemed to have gotten to him; his eyes narrowed while he bit down on the toothpick. “Puta, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Figure it out, smart one.” A lopsided grin appeared on his face, though it was miles away from friendly. His eyes flashed, almost like a warning. But like that would deter her.

She was about ready to slap the paper into his face when she remembered the way Escalante would handle him when he got up all over his ass. A slight smirk painted her lips as she thought of an idea; if he was going to be an ass, then she was going to be an ass back.

“Are you simply trying to hide your illiteracy?” Vianne asked, her voice filled with over-saturated innocence.

Angel nearly swallowed his toothpick. “What?” The stare he sent her screamed a thousand red flags, but she held a hand against her legs to keep them from shivering.

“Oh, y’know…” she began. “I thought coming up with names wouldn’t be too difficult. Seems like it is for you, though.”

The muscles of his jaws clenched, darkening his guise. Angel’s nostrils flared as he looked at the piece of paper before him. Vianne could practically see the gears turn in his head. They were in a classroom, so there was nothing extreme he could do even if he was pissed. The thought of trapping him between a rock and a hard place made her feel a little better after the previous taunts.

Just when she moved to retrieve the materials back, his hands slammed on the paper. She flinched at the action, but kept her eyes glued to the desk, not raising to meet his.

“Camilla.” His raspy hum sounded quietly in the background. Had Vianne been further away, she wouldn’t have caught it.

“What?” She peered up at him, opening her mouth to ask more, but he was already looking away.

“The name,” Angel said. “It’s Camilla.” He made it sound like he was talking to a five-year-old.

Vianne breathed a sigh of relief and took the pencil. She began to fill in the required information about their ‘daughter’. He still refused to write out his part, so she relented for now.

“Camilla Guzman it is then,” she spoke to herself.

Now it was Angel’s turn to be perplexed. “Camilla Guzman?” He stopped chewing the wooden stick in his mouth for a moment.

His partner scoffed from her seat. “Well, you’re the dad, Angel. Unless you want me to have full custody.” Vianne rolled her eyes at the thought of having a daughter at her age. Ms. Lin would have a heart attack and be driven to an early grave.

When she didn’t hear anything else from him, she feared her jokes flew over his head. Vianne raised her head just in time to catch a light smirk tugging at his face. Sensing no real threat, she went back to writing.

A clap from Mrs. Flores turned both their attentions to the front podium. The teacher had gathered everyone’s eyeballs towards herself, and she cleared her throat.

“Since class is coming to an end, I’d like to make sure everyone understands their part of the assignment.” She paused for a second, before taking out another batch of files. “One ‘parent’ takes care of the doll for a week, alternating with their partners over the course of the semester. By the end of each month, I’d like a report summarizing the difficulties of parenthood. The rubric is simple; if the doll ends up in tatters, or if it becomes lost, then you will be automatically given an ‘F’. Keeping your ‘children’ in pristine condition and well-clothed is the primary goal. That’s all for today. Now figure out who’s taking custody first.”

Vianne looked to Angel, and then back to their ‘daughter’. This was a tough cookie, and she wasn’t sure she trusted him with not losing the doll within the first few days.

“Rock papers,” Angel offered.

She wanted to guffaw at the suggestion, but logic told her it was a fair method. “Sure. Loser takes the kid.”

It turned out to be a horrible move on her part. No matter what kind of tricks she threw at him during the sparring, he either met her with the same level, or defeated her. If she used rock, he met her with paper. When she went for paper, he countered with scissors. At last, on the third try, she pulled a rock again, only to be faced with another rock from him.

Two loses and a tie; it was a no brainer who the kid went with for the first week. Angel sizzled with smug pride as he counted the points against her, his wicked grin broadening.

“Guess you’re not so smart after all.”

Oh fuck you. Vianne knew nothing good ever came out of that smirk. There was no guarantee he was going to show up after her week was up. For all she knew, Angel could easily ditch her for the rest of the year with the doll on her own. It wasn’t like he cared about his perfect track record. Her heart sank at the thought.

“You are coming back next week, right?” Skepticism laced her words as she eyed him.

Angel clicked his tongue, raising a brow. “Who knows?” It was the closest to an answer she would get from him. And it was not reassuring at all.

Vianne glared, hoping that by her looks alone, he would get the message. But her efforts were in vain. Angel soon reverted back to napping for the rest of the class, not wasting a second longer on her.

A/N: As per usual, shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for encouraging and helping me get over writers block and whatnot ;)

And thank you to all my followers who happened upon this piece in the sea of posts here on tumblr :p I love y’all and hope I didn’t disappoint!

#stand and deliver #angel guzman #angel guzman imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #lou diamond phillips #edward james olmos #jaime escalante #stand and deliver headcanon #80s movie imagines #80s movies

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sapphicdalliances · 4 years ago

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Dear Chocolatier,

thank you so much for being here!! my sincere apologies for the lateness and messiness of this letter! sorry about my incredibly inconsistent capitalisation! it has been updated on the 8th of january, and may receive more updates this week.

I’m a simple bitch with simple tastes; here is a general summary of my preferences, and fandom-specific notes and prompts can be found further down!

I very much enjoy:

Fics that are short, but imply a longer, deeper verse; since this exchange is for short fics, but some of my prompts seem expansive, I just want to give you carte blanche permission to dip into an AU, splash around in it, and simply not provide additional details.

Comedic tones, slice-of-life, lighthearted fun, any amount of improbable romcom tropes

Am also on board with misunderstandings and drama as long as there is a happy ending!

I’m deeply okay with AUs, and most likely would be down for any modern, romcom, fantasy/fairytale, gender swap, or remix/crossover AUs you feel inspired to explore! My favourite settings include mundane/urban fantasy (witches! werewolves!), anachronism-stew-with-magic western fantasy jumbles, and disney’s Tangled.

Writing tropes I love:

Proposal fic

Wedding fic where the couple getting married is not the main couple

Outsider/third character POV of the main couple

Exes who are still in love/getting back together

Friends-with-benefits-with-feelings/did a bad job keeping it casual

Shipfic where two or more couples are contrasted

Oblique declarations of love/saying i love you without saying i love you

Provision and caretaking (acts of service!)

Aggressive matchmaking/wingmanning by an enthused friend

Hanahaki, or any other improbably dramatic instances of Cannot Spit It Out

Arranged marriage/fake marriage/fake dating

Epistolary fic

Regrettably I also love a/b/o, especially the kind that emphasises on scent safety and contains little to no actual sex

Art tropes I love, if you offered art:

Art where the characters simply look fond.

Fashion remixes – street fashion, cultural/traditional clothes, festival clothes, renfaire-esque clothes, beach photoshoot, get wild with it

Putting animal characteristics on one or both of them

Botanical motifs + celestial motifs

When plants grow directly out of people

The thing where character A is focused on something they’re doing or seeing, and the character B is focused only, wholly, desperately on A. please… the Gaze

Depictions of intimacy where faces are partially or fully hidden, but the body language is gentle

Characters SLEEPING next to each other, or comfortably doing separate activities in each other’s presence

If you wish to get frisky with your fills:

Yes!

Go for it!

I don’t have strong top/bottom preferences (and usually enjoy it when they switch or are otherwise generally equitable) so whatever you’re in the mood for is fine!

Kink tropes I very much enjoy include oral, restraints, praise kink, when proud characters cry during sex because they love their partners so much, and xeno tropes.

I love non-horny sex scenes; comedic, silly, charged, fraught, or simply affectionate exchanges that happen to include sex are my favourite. Feelings are the real kissing disease.

But like, if you wanna get horny about it.

Chase your bliss.

They simply must be in love.

I’m not as into:

Kidfic

First person narration

Soulmate AUs specifically

Kink wise, my only major squicks are incest, teacher/student, and public sex/getting caught, but i’m also not super keen on daddy kink, toilet stuff, or anything with blades or needles.

In general, please avoid:

Character death or serious/permanent injury

Animal abuse or death

Infidelity

Hopeless or downer endings

Fandom specific info:

Haikyuu!!

changed my life, cured my depression, what can be said about it? truly one of the most important series to me of all time. all musings on craft and creativity aside, let’s focus on the TRUE LOVE!!

i’m all caught up with the manga and supplementary materials!

suggested prompts: - sakuatsu, being mean to each other on purpose vs. being soft to each other by accident - kagehina or iwaoi dealing with LDR - kyouhaba are forced to cooperate on an innocuous, preferably wholesome task, such as gardening, or finding the owner of a lost dog, and it goes approximately As One Would Expect - bokukuroo + overheard phone conversation: and you've slept together how many times now? hmm. yeah, that's not technically a bromance (not in a no-homo way, just in a we-are-both-so-stupid-and-like-each-other-so-much-way) - actually that overheard phone conversation would work for any of these ships.

suggested prompts, art-specific: - festival clothes!! - put some wings on some of them. now it's bird romance, which is for birds - (i lied, this isn't art-specific at all, wingfic is always welcome in any of its forms) - just pick up your whole boyfriend and carry him like that. maybe even kiss him.

Or please do remix it with any of my general tropes listed above!

Oofuri

suggested prompts: - Hanai and Tajima really. struggle to get together. for like a bunch of years probably? Tajima copes with it by patiently processing his emotions in a healthy way and enjoying some casual dating. Hanai copes with it, as he does all things, by not coping - The ways Abe and Mihashi learn to take care of each other… Mihashi cooking 4 Abe… T_T

Promare

i simply think the twink and the himbo are in love.

Ace Attorney

favourite klapollo dynamic goes like this:

klavier: *genuinely and sincerely in love with apollo, in a very soft way* apollo: *furious* he's mocking me. why are you like this? klavier: I enjoy your company apollo: FINE, KEEP YOUR SECRETS

also consider: - what if klavier was a big ol golden retriever and apollo was just an angry liddol bunny. like, think about it

Or please do remix it with any of my general tropes listed above!

Wotakoi

I love that this series has three couples in different stages of a relationship: one who’ve been together for years and love each other like well-worn grooves; one who have history but have only just recently begun a relationship and are discovering each other anew; and one who probably will not bring themselves to share a kiss for another 27 calendar years.

Narumi/Hirotaka: Honestly, the main couple of a series usually goes over my head a bit, but the more i thought about these two the more wretchedly fond of them I became. The thing I think of the most is how Narumi taught him how to smile as a child; how she did things that meant nothing to her, so easily does kindness come, but that meant so much to him; and how now that they are grown, he does things for her that take no effort, but shake her foundations. I think theirs is a love that grows quietly; something that cannot change the world, but can change them.

Koyanagi/Kabakura: My thoughts on these two are not complex, but they are deeply positive. I love how huge their personalities are, and how they fit around and against each other; I love the implication that despite their endless bickering, they are not an on-again-off-again kind of relationship, and have instead chosen each other over and over again for ten straight years. I love that despite everything, they are kind to each other, first and foremost; they find ways to apologise and to take care of each other, and treat each other gently in private.

Kou/Naoya: I love every ship in this manga equally but perhaps I love Kou/Naoya more equally than the other two? They are just so kind and so silly, and so sweet to each other in exactly the way both of them didn’t realise they were missing. I think about Naoya being told that Kou is “okay with being alone”, and realising that “okay with it” and “have accepted it” are different, and taking his little baby steps to fix it. I think about Kou giving Naoya every last drop of patience he’s trained himself not to accept, and doing so because it simply makes her happy. My only concern is that they are both bottoms. I don’t have a solution for this.

suggested prompts, fic:

- accidentally dating ft. Kou and Naoya, or, “and you’ve made out how many times now? Hmm. Yeah, that’s not technically a bromance.” - 5 times Hirotaka and Narumi almost, almost kissed, and 1 time they did; the unresolved romantic tension may kill me and it would be worth it - what Hirotaka and Narumi taught each other (apart from the more mundane gaming and life skills, i believe that she taught him how to smile and be loved by others, and he taught her how to be loved by herself!) - smutty domesticity ft. Koyanagi and Kabakura — a lazy Sunday, laundry in the sun, fucking on the couch, everything easy with familiarity - (addendum to above: pegging)

suggested prompts, art: - festival clothes - someone’s getting married - naoya: *hands kou a tangerine* *hands kou a tangerine* *hands kou a tangerine* *hands kou a tangerine* *hands kou a t - red string of fate motifs

Or please do remix it with any of my general tropes listed above!

Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-Kun

seowaka: they are idiots, and they like each other very much, but they do not know. i love a tall crying boy and his short but much more powerful girlfriend.

chiyo/nozaki + chiyo/nozaki/mikorin: im rooting for her in the face of such overwhelming stupidity. one himbo is difficult enough to seduce but two. chiyo is a hero and a woman of rare courage. i like the pair and the trio equally; again, if you go with trio, it’s important that they all love each other please!

suggested prompts: - 5 times any of these ships went on a date without realising, and the time they realised - urban fantasy AU where Waka is a hapless monster hunter and Seo is an annoying but deeply harmless werewolf who’s been terrorizing his town?? - fairytale AU where Seo believes she must rescue the prince from the tower and deliver him back to the kingdom capital, and the prince, who had not realised he’d been kidnapped, thinks Seo is a usurper from a rival kingdom who must be supervised all the way back to the kingdom capital to be served her justice

suggested prompts, art-specific: - festival clothes… - nozaki carrying chiyo, who’s carrying mikorin - (seo carrying waka) - waka sleeping peacefully in seo’s presence… :’(

Or please do remix it with any of my general tropes listed above!

we made it through all the fandoms.

Thank you for making it to the end of this whole disaster; I hope at least one of the prompts sparked joy! The most important thing to me is that whatever you end up doing, you are able to enjoy the process at least somewhat, and deliver a creation that you like! I can also be found on twitter at @hawberries_ (for art) and @popplioikawa (for general ramblings). If you need some more inspo, I recommend going through my art tags for the selected ships because I put a lot of Opinions into my fanart.

#shut up phee #chocbox

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disarminglys · 4 years ago

Text

genius and the (dream) thieves.

a/n: IT IS FINALLY HERE. this is my @grishaversebigbang submission in all its glory with all my wonderful materialki and corporalki.

Corporalki: @dirtyhandsnet

Materialki: @xan-drei LINK || @phy-be LINK || @rainbow-kueh LINK || @scarecrux LINK || @butterflysclaws LINK

Summary: Kaz does not like to dream.

Or- no. That is not quite right. He has no issue dreaming, no problem with diving down into the depths of a mark’s subconscious to pull out the exact information that he needs, at the exact moment he needs it. Honestly, he finds the whole PASIV system to be quite useful. Crafty. Easily controlled. There are fewer variables to be worried about when you can change the world at will.

What he means is that he doesn’t like to dream for free.

aka the inception au that i HAD to write.

Ao3 Link here

wordcount: 14521 rating: T (some mild violence/blood, some language)

Fic below the cut!

Kaz does not like to dream.

What he means is that he doesn’t like to dream for free.

Not anymore. Not when he knows the value of his skill set, and what it can run him on the open market.

Truth be told, Kaz barely takes on jobs these days. And if he’s being hired, either the price has to be high enough, or he’s got to have a personal stake in the matter.

This job was the latter of the two, though the price was certainly high enough.

And for all his preparation, all his hypothetical outcomes, he still could not have predicted the way it would end or where he would be.

Van Eck found him in Prague.

It was a show of power as much as it was a reminder to Kaz that he was getting comfortable. When he was in the city, Kaz preferred a corner space in a chic lobby bar. Back to the wall, eyes towards both the front door and the elevators. Everyone wore crisp suits and finely tailored clothes and he fit in quite well amongst them.

Van Eck had arrived in the city that morning - Inej had spotted his private jet touching down in the small airport outside of town. Kaz wasn’t surprised to see his head of security walk through the glass doors. Surprised even less to see a sleek black car pull through and park in the valet drive.

Kaz was surprised by the slow, deliberate way the entire lobby (honestly, probably the entire hotel) cleared out, one by one. It was a neat trick, something Kaz himself should have thought of, because by the time the rotating door revealed the tall businessman, the two of them were almost completely alone.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Brekker.”

Kaz sighed, closing the lid to his laptop and leaning back into the velvet cushion of his armchair. He didn’t need to check his surroundings to know that there would be three men posted in front of the elevator, two by the back door, and a handful out near the car. Van Eck was nothing if not thorough.

“For your line of work, Van Eck, you’re a terrible liar.” Kaz looked up at the older man, noticing that he hadn’t taken off the dark wool coat from where it hung over his shoulders, trying to gauge just how confident Van Eck felt at that moment. Was he armed, or would he leave that to his men?

Van Eck chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his hand free of his leather gloves, tucking them into his outer coat pocket as he casually walked further into the lobby. “I’m an exceptional liar, Brekker. You’re just not worth the effort.”

“Oh, but I’m worth the effort to- what? Buy out an entire hotel? If you need somewhere to burn your cash, I can suggest a few more worthy causes.”

The lack of response told Kaz that his guess was right, and with a tinge of annoyance, he made a note to find a new working spot in the city. Van Eck continued walking towards him, approaching Kaz with a measured kind of caution. There wasn’t any point to try and hide the crooked, pleased smile that came to him at that fact - pleased with the impression Van Eck had of him. One of Van Eck’s men stepped forward to pull the coat from the older man’s shoulders, and Kaz noticed that he was, indeed, unarmed.

Cocky bastard.

“But please,” Kaz continued, dramatically gesturing across from him. “Take a seat. I would never turn away an opportunity before hearing the proposal first.”

Van Eck flinched, almost imperceptibly, and Kaz noted it. Two for two.

“I have a proposition for you.” Van Eck started, settling into the spot opposite him. Kaz’s brow arched and Van Eck sighed. “A job.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

Because the thing was - Kaz didn’t need outside work these days. He’d been one of the first, fully formed thieves in the dream business. He’d learned all there was to learn about the theft of thoughts, of information, of work. And by now, with the PASIV program expanding into the legal space as well, his need for going under dwindled.

He had people under his employ for that. He had teams he could hire for that. Kaz Brekker was the most infamous dreamer who didn’t dream any longer. He’s retired.

“What happened to listening to a proposal before turning it down?”

Kaz rolled his eyes, lifting his foot to settle his ankle on his knee and laying his cane across his lap. “I’m a businessman, Van Eck. When was the last time you listened to a pitch for a partnership opportunity yourself?” As the CEO of the largest manufacturers of artificial sugar, Van Eck had one of the few remaining undisputed food empires in the world. Kaz had bios on him, on all his executives, on the history of his company.

He knew, one day, Van Eck would come to him. It had just been a matter of time. Most men with that much money tended to.

More than that, Kaz could tell it pissed him off. And Kaz enjoyed nothing more than making powerful men uncomfortable.

“This is not a simple-” Van Eck paused, took a breath, controlled himself. Kaz’s grin widened, enjoying the way Van Eck had obviously been warned about Kaz’s tactics prior to this conversation, and yet still found himself fumbling. “I have a very lucrative proposition for you, Mr. Brekker. And I promise it will be worth your time.”

Kaz snorted, his eyes falling to his crow’s head cane. He could feel the anger rising in Van Eck across from him, but Kaz wasn’t in any hurry. “And how would you know how much my time is worth?”

“Because I know everything about you. From that shithole town you grew up in, how you were conscripted into the PASIV program out of Juvenile Detention. How you got out and took a device with you and have been unstoppable ever since. You have a reputation, Mr. Brekker. And not a subtle one.”

He knew the stories. He’d heard the rumors. Kaz Brekker was the Nightmare Bringer, the monster under your bed, waiting for you to fall asleep. Because Kaz was a thief, yes, but he was also vengeful. Unforgiving. Manipulative.

I make money in my sleep. He’d once told Inej, just as they had started into this business. Why should I bow to the laws of reality?

“And?”

“And I know how much your services run for. I am willing to match that.” Van Eck looked pleased, like a cat who had just caught his prey. Kaz studied the look, picked up on each and every detail in it.

“I’ll pass.”

And Kaz watched, just as intently but much more pleased, as that pleased look fell off of Van Eck’s face, replaced with one of shock. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Kaz set down his foot and leaned forward to grab his laptop, stowing it away in his leather briefcase. Van Eck sat with his mouth agape for a moment, then a moment more, before Kaz continued. “I do not take on deals that match a previous price, Van Eck. We’re expanding. Progression does not stall. I’m sure you can respect that.”

“Ten million.”

Kaz did pause at that, sighing. “You know, I do usually prefer the men I do business with to be desperate. But piece of advice? This does not-”

“Twenty.”

A familiar curl in his gut forced Kaz to rethink. To study the situation at hand. He was trying to judge just how much Van Eck would be willing to put on the table, with all the possible jobs he could have brought him. The pause seemed to be enough for Van Eck to take advantage of, turning to his left and snapping once. The man who had taken his coat stepped forward, and Van Eck slipped a hand into his inside pocket, pulling out a small, sealed manilla folder. He set it on the glass of the coffee table between them, then slid it closer to Kaz.

“It’s hardly the most ridiculous thing you’ve done.”

Kaz’s eyes were on the envelope, mind racing. Inej had built up an impressive enough profile on Van Eck Enterprises, and based off of that information, Kaz could be reasonably sure what would be inside that envelope. But he also knew how much Van Eck was worth, and how desperate he’d have to be to be here at all.

What does he have to lose?

“Because-” Van Eck could probably assume Kaz was wondering why. “I need it done discreetly. I need no trace, no weak link, and no proof of my involvement. I’m not just speaking on privacy, Mr. Brekker. I want there to be no evidence that the dreaming even occurred.”

And you want someone to take the fail if there is.

“Do we have a deal?”

Kaz weighed the options, his eyes still on the envelope. He knew what team he’d collect, who all he’d bring in. No matter who the mark might be, or whose name would be inside. It could be possible, as all things were with enough imagination. Kaz settled on a thought, and then decided, sitting back into his chair once more.

“Thirty.”

There was a pause, tense enough that Kaz could hear the sounds of a passing truck out on the street. Long enough he felt he could hear Van Eck’s jaw creak. “Thirty-?”

“Thirty million, Van Eck, take it or leave it.” And with that, Kaz stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did. Van Eck’s eyes followed him, wide and uncertain, but as Kaz finished and pulled at the hem of his jacket, straightening it, Van Eck finally spoke.

“Fine. Deal.”

Kaz grinned, reaching down and sliding the envelope from the table, touching the edge of it to his forehead in a mocking kind of salute. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He grabbed his briefcase, slid the envelope inside, and started for the door.

And you didn’t even check the job before you agreed? Inej would ask him, later that night.

Didn’t see the point. The deal is the deal.

---

“You’re telling me you didn’t even check-”

“Save it, Zenik.”

Nina turned to Inej for support, but Inej merely shrugged. The three of them were settled around a small table in the small dining room of one of Kaz’s safe houses. The older woman who lived downstairs had just dropped off enough pisto to feed an army and Inej had been the one to answer the door (meaning that she had, of course, accepted it). Nina, who had arrived in Valencia a few hours before, was not exactly jumping to get into business discussions without food present, which then led to a traditional Spanish dinner - eating and talking about things that did not include the job - for the next two hours.

By the time the job came up, it was well past midnight and Kaz had just poured himself a cup of coffee.

“And you still plan to go through with this?” Nina reached across her plate, picking up one of the photographs spread over the table. She tilted it towards herself, to get a better look, and then tossed it towards Kaz. “This is a kid, Kaz. That’s crossing boundaries I didn’t think you’d cross.”

“This is an information retrieval job, not a hit, Zenik. I’m not asking you to kill a child.”

“But you are asking me to rifle around in his head for something we don’t even know is there.” Nina scoffed, at the idea more than anything, before leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms. “This is a new low, even for you.”

Kaz glanced over to Inej, who was gently blowing over her mug of tea. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see there, but Inej seemed just as unsurprised by Nina’s outburst as Kaz felt, which didn’t make it any easier.

“The question is simple enough, Zenik. 5 million, direct deposit, one job. Information extraction. Yes or no?”

Nina sighed, tipping back her chair towards the wall. “It’s really important to me you understand how fucked up this is.”

“Yes. Or. No.”

“Fine! I’ll do it!” She said, exasperated. Kaz just barely caught the way that Inej smiled at that, a slow, sneaky curve to her mouth. “No way I’d want you bringing on anyone else and screwing with this kid’s brain. No way. After what happened the last time I told you to go screw yourself? I still feel guilty.”

“Jesper isn’t that bad of a forger, Nina.” Inej added, her tone more of a gentle reminder.

“Oh please, Inej. You’re too nice to him.” Nina shook her head. “It was embarrassing and I wasn’t even there.”

Kaz would have preferred to tune them out. He would have preferred to just up and leave and let Inej explain the rest of it. It usually went that way, with the other jobs, but there was a tugging feeling at the base of Kaz’s spine that kept him there through Nina’s babbling.

“Alright then, Brekker.” Kaz blinked, looking up to see that Nina has settled the legs of her chair back on the floor, her focus back on him. Professional. “What about the rest of the team? You’re orchestrating, as always. Inej’s is on Point. You wouldn’t come to me this early unless you needed help filling out the roster- so. Spill.”

Kaz let out a short sigh. Nina Zenik was one of the most talented Forgers in the business, and one of the most infuriatingly perceptive people he ever met. Usually, he liked to keep his time around her limited, for that reason exactly. But she was on his payroll, and he wasn’t about to chance a job like this.

“Jesper-”

“Is on Point too. Yes. You know how much you’ve ruined me for a normal team? No one else uses two Points.” Nina rolled her eyes again, exasperated, before picking up her fork to take another bite from her plate. “Architect? Chemist? You are using a Chemist, aren’t you?”

“Nina…” Usually, Kaz would have snapped back at someone using that kind of tone with him. Inej knew that much. And he appreciated, in a separated sort of way, her trying to check the other girl. But Kaz shook his head, once, letting her know he didn’t need it.

“I have a Chemist.” Kaz reached under the table, pulling another folder from his briefcase and tossing it towards Nina. She reached for it and flipped through, curious, before arching a brow.

“This is an embarrassingly thin background check for you, Brekker.”

“That’s all the information you need to know.”

Nina sighed, clearly annoyed but not surprised with his decision. “Fine, but I’ve never worked with this...Wylan. Before. Haven’t even heard of him around the dreaming circles. You sure he’s up for the job?”

Kaz picked up his coffee, taking a sip. “He has a new compound he’s been working on. It opens the mark up for heightened suggestions.”

“While dreaming?” Nina was immediately curious, and Kaz made note to watch Wylan’s job intake moving forward. He didn’t need Nina Zenik taking jobs out from under him with the possibilities Wylan’s drug could open up.

He nodded. “It’s a compound that keeps the mark under, but leaves the senses up for suggestion. Smells, temperatures, the other dreamers’ subconscious- whatever you can think of. It enforces the architect’s map.”

“And deepens the story you build underneath.” Nina sounded impressed, almost excited. “You realize what this could mean, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Kaz answered, voice flat. “We all get paid.”

Inej snorted, near-imperceptibly, and Nina shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m efficient and successful.”

“Impossibly so.”

“We’re still looking for an Architect.” Inej added in, setting her tea cup down on the table as the taller girl kicked her feet up on the only empty chair, getting comfortable as she picked through the case file. The file itself was nondescript, save for the colorless embossed crow in the bottom left corner. That had been Inej’s idea, when they started this so long ago. And people said Kaz had a flair for the dramatics. Inej glanced towards Kaz, the look telling him not to argue, before her eyes returned to Nina. “Do you know anyone who might be up for this?”

Nina tilted her head back and forth, her eyes passing over the pages that Kaz and Inej had so painstakingly collected together. Paperclipped to the inside flap was a school photo, about five years old, of a bright, grinning young boy. Written along the bottom of the photo in Inej’s clean-cut handwriting was the name “Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

The room was silent for a few seconds as Nina continued to read and think. Kaz was about to comment on it, about to tell her we don’t have all day, when she finally spoke.

“I have a guy who would work.”

Inej and Kaz passed a look between the two of them before Inej replied. “A guy?”

Nina folded a paper over the top of the folder, still reading. “Yes. I’ll need to talk to him first, but he’s good.”

Kaz thought he knew where she was going with this, and he didn’t particularly like it. “He needs to be more than good.”

Nina glared at Kaz over the top of the folder before returning to her reading. “He won’t want the money, though.”

“Everyone wants something.”

Nina was silent for the next few moments, and Kaz finished his mug of coffee. He needed to get more work done tonight before he caught a jet to Marrakech to track Jesper down. Inej, sensing his restlessness, spoke up. “Nina…”

Abruptly, she closed the file, nodding once to herself. “Let me handle it. Where are we meeting?”

“Edinburgh, seven days.” Kaz rose to stand, grinding his teeth at the sharp pain that drove up his leg. It was going to be a long night. Nina nodded, and Kaz pushed his chair away, reaching for his cane.

“You still have connections with the Russian embassy, yeah?”

Kaz looked back to her, face impassive. He asked “Why?” at the same time Inej answered “Yes.”

Nina simply nodded. “I’ll see you in Scotland, then.”

---

Jesper was never hard to find. Not when Kaz put his mind to it.

“I was turning things around, Kaz. One more hand-”

“And you would have lost the rest of whatever money you suckered some loan shark into giving you.” Kaz didn’t so much as look back to Jesper when he responded, his pace set. He could hear Jesper keeping up, though a few steps behind.

“I wasn’t-”

Kaz turned, sharply, into a back alley. The shit-hole apartment Jesper was keeping was just under half a mile away, but Kaz’s patience was fraying and their jet was leaving in three hours.

Jesper followed, breathing hard, and came to an abrupt stop when Kaz did. They were far enough from the street that they didn’t have to worry about being overhead, but Kaz’s voice was low when he turned to face him.

“When was the last time you took a job?”

Jesper’s face paled. “Kaz, I-”

“Last time, Jesper. When was it?”

Jesper’s vest was fraying along the edges. Loud silk patterns over louder colored shirts. Once upon a time, Jesper’s clothes were worth something. Finely tailored, expensive fabrics, well fitting. Now those same clothes were obviously worn, dulled and ripped, held together with haphazard stitching. Five o’clock shadow had changed the planes of Jesper’s face, but Kaz couldn’t tell yet if that was from malnutrition or something worse.

The last time Kaz reached out to Jesper for a job had been eight months ago. When he’d botched a forgery so badly they’d all nearly been stuck in a South African jail for the rest of their lives.

Jesper rubbed the back of his neck, guilty eyes searching everywhere else in the alleyway. Kaz waited, gloved hands wrapped around the crow’s head of his cane. After a moment, the other man sighed. “Ah- the last um. Cape Town.”

Kaz didn’t react. He had known the answer before he asked. “Have you gone under since then?”

“Kaz, I’m so-”

“Have you gone under, Jesper. Yes or no.”

He frowned, deflating. “Yes.”

Kaz’s brow arched, waiting for him to continue.

“It was once, Kaz. They have a den in the east neighborhood. I had a bad night, went under, and that was that.”

“And you haven’t gone back again?”

Understanding crossed Jesper’s face at that question, and the guilty look deepened. Dreaming, when you knew enough about how to do it intentionally, was addictive. Dangerously so. PASIV dens had started cropping up in major cities all around the world - Kaz himself had a working one in Amsterdam that paid handsomely. But the blurring of reality and dreams got harder, the more used to the drug you became.

Kaz had kept tabs on Jesper for eight months. He had more eyes in this city than any others. It was an investment of time, and of favors, and Kaz waited for Jesper’s answer.

Jesper’s jaw tightened as he stood a bit straighter where he was. He matched Kaz’s eyes, intentionally and stubbornly.

“No. Only once.”

Kaz didn’t actually need Jesper to answer the question. He already knew the truth. But still, he saw what he needed to see in that look and nodded, once. “I have a job for you.”

It would have been impossible not to see the hope cross Jesper’s eyes. “A job?”

“Jet leaves in two hours for Edinburgh. Be on it.” Kaz turned, then, heading for the street. His car would be turning the corner in the next few moments and he wanted to be off his feet. He’d made it to the side of the road when Jesper called back out.

“Kaz-”

Kaz paused, not turning back to him but obviously listening. He could hear Jesper let out a sigh.

“Thanks.”

There was no acknowledgement that he heard it, as a black car came to a stop along the sidewalk and Kaz got in.

---

The first crime Kaz Brekker committed was at the age of six. He and his brother had snuck out of their foster home and broke into a nearby house, raiding the freezer and eating as much ice cream as they could find.

Kaz had felt nauseous for two days after. Jordie had told him everything you want in life has a price.

They had been sent to the detention center when Kaz was eleven. He and Jordie had been running jobs for a small gang, taking packages back and forth between warehouses. Neither of them had known what was in the packages. Neither of them had thought to check. They were two orphans without job prospects and futures left for them, and the gang had given them a home. It had ended with both of them found guilty by the city and - thanks to a young, talented defense attorney and a bleeding heart judge - put into the same detention center together.

Enrollment into the PASIV testing program had been optional, with an increased possibility of decreased time. Think about it, Kaz. Jordie had told him, eyes bright. All we have to do is sleep. How hard could it be?

Harder than they imagined. Harder than they could have ever dreamed.

Kaz liked Edinburgh. There was a kind of significance to the dark smudges across the buildings. Stains left behind from years of progression, coal, smoke - proof that from what there had been, there is now more. More than that, the marks and stains were proof - proof that it had survived. Proof that it still stood.

Plus - the weather suited him just fine - clouded skies, slight chill, usually dreary. It left him in pain more often than not, but again, a price to pay. His leg was something of a reminder for him now, so even on the bad days, he could handle it just fine. And no one looked twice at his dark wool coat or his tall collar. He was just another businessman, just another body in the masses.

The warehouse was just outside the city, northwest of the city center. A large, two story structure that had - at one point in its life - been used for shipping containers. These days it sat mostly empty, owned by a local businessman, who forgot it existed more often than not.

Kaz has similar set-ups all over the world - a little bit of cash for safety reasons.

He arrived about four hours before the rest of the team was set to be there, but Inej had already started making the main floor home - setting chairs and equipment and tables up in a familiar pattern. She didn’t so much as acknowledge him when he stepped inside, swaying very gently to the notes of a hummed song that Kaz couldn’t quite make out.

For a few moments, he let himself watch her, staying back in the shadows, near invisible in the slowly retreating light. She had always been beautiful, a dancer even now, and it was only in the comfort of these shadows that Kaz ever let himself think as much.

And then the moment passed, and Kaz stepped out into the spacious room. Inej, hearing his movement in the corner, still did not look up.

“Running diagnostics. I’ll need a few more hours.”

Kaz continued towards the back corner, where a storage room and small office sat. “No one is supposed to arrive until after dark.” Both a reconfirmation of orders and a silent acknowledgement of her own early presence. He did not turn to look, but he imagined Inej smiling softly, shrugging once in her dark sweater.

“I prefer working in sunlight.”

He snorted, and if Inej hadn’t been smiling before, she surely would be now. But Kaz didn’t continue the banter, approaching the door to the office and quickly picking the lock. No one - not even Kaz - had the keys to this back room. It was his own form of security.

“Jesper’s coming, then?” Inej had to raise her voice a bit to echo across the space, and it gave Kaz a moment’s pause. A brief moment of tension.

Inej knew about Jesper’s last job. Knew what it cost them, knew how Kaz had reacted. A part of Kaz assumed Inej had most likely been keeping tabs on the sharpshooter, where he was and what he was up to, but she’d never be obvious about it. Not to Kaz.

He thought back to the jet ride. To the couple of hours he spent watching the anxious bouncing of Jesper’s knee. He’d dropped him off at a discreet hotel on the other side of the city. Told him to read, research, rest, and to be there on time.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

And Kaz stepped inside the office, letting the door slam shut behind him.

The first time Kaz dreamt, his eyes opened to an open field. The grass was swaying gently around him, reaching up to a cloudless, bright sky. It felt like home, but in that distant, distinct way that was never his. And never would be.

Somewhere, he could hear Jordie’s laughter. An echo along the wind.

But it was warm. It was peaceful. It was safe.

It wasn’t real.

“Well done. We’ll move on to the next testing phase.”

Kaz should have spent longer there. Should have lingered. A part of him wondered if he could ever go back, but he knew better. Had always, in a detached sort of way, known better. That he would never be welcome. That he would never return.

That was Jordie’s dream.

From his office, Kaz could hear everyone arrive. Jesper was first - good - with a loud, happy greeting for Inej. She returned the greeting in kind, and Kaz caught himself leaning a bit too much into the noise. Excited chatter, Jesper’s wolf whistle, and then a laugh. He pushed it away and got back to work until he heard the door open again.

Nina’s voice was the next one to echo through the space- greetings, more laughter, a few jokes at Jesper’s expense. Kaz did not hear anyone else among them, which meant that Nina’s architect hadn’t come with her.

She’d given him very little information - the basics for what he’d needed to know to let her bring someone in - so Kaz was curious. Matthias Helvar was a name he’d heard before, but only in connection with the military sector of the PASIV program. Nina had sworn it’d be worth at least talking to him, but Kaz was still wary.

Wary enough that he’d pulled up all the information on him that he could find. He felt better knowing he was walking into this with Mattias’ record, a copy of the warrant out for his arrest, and the knowledge of exactly who he’d need to contact in the Scottish government if deportation was in order.

When the door opened the third time, Kaz stood, collecting the rest of the files to be distributed to the team just as Jesper’s voice made it to his office.

“Oh hello there, darling. I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s-”

“Jesper-” Inej cut in, and Kaz opened the door, crossing the room to join the others. “This is Wylan, our chemist. Wylan, this is Jesper and Nina, who will be Point and Forger, respectively.” That wasn’t the first time that Inej has done the introductions. Kaz found it simpler if new team members met each other with Inej’s more peaceful demeanor. It started everything off more efficiently.

Wylan was young, Kaz knew that when he hired him into the job. And he looked all the part of his twenty years. Wide eyed, in over his head as he stood with the other three. “Point?” He looked from Jesper to Inej. “I thought you were Point.”

“I utilize two Points during my extractions.” Kaz broke into the circle, stepping past Inej to drop the stack of folders on the counter next to the PASIV container. Wylan jumped at his appearance, and Kaz could hear Jesper chuckle.

“Oh.”

“It’s not normal.” Nina chimed in, pushing off from where she’d been leaning back against a couple of stacked crates. He didn’t need to be watching her to know she was rolling her eyes. “Most teams have one Point and one Extractor.”

“We don’t take Tourists, either.” Inej added in easily.

Nina snorted. “Okay, sure, but no good team takes Tourists anymore.”

“Not true. Roddy takes them along all the time. You’ve seen how much people will pay to be part of the action.” Jesper dragged a chair from one of the surrounding tables, turning and settling with his arms crossed along the back. “You can double your pay bringing one sorry son of a bitch along for the ride.”

“You just like gambling with your jobs, Jes. No one who actually has a reputation brings tourists.”

“Ouch, Zenik. Low blow.”

Wylan’s eyes moved between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match, and Kaz felt a low grade migraine beginning to form. He hated these first meetings, especially with any new members added. They involved too much repetition and got very little done compared to what would get them paid. He was exhausted already, and they were still missing one.

Inej came to stand next to him, straightening the files he’d dropped. They stood like that for a moment, listening to Jesper and Nina bicker, until Inej leaned in a bit closer. “I haven’t heard anything from the Architect.”

He looked over to Nina, who was laughing at something Jesper was saying. When she noticed his eyes were on her, she met his look with a serious one of her own, mouthing he will be here. Wait. Kaz pulled up his hand, tapping one gloved finger against the face of his watch, and Nina rolled her eyes at him again.

After a moment, Kaz answered Inej with a low whisper, “We’re not waiting for him.” He tapped his cane on the concrete floor, a crisp thwick, thwick, thwick. Everyone’s eyes turned to him and he watched a frown pull at Nina’s mouth.

“Some of you I’ve briefed on the nature of the job. Others I haven’t. Here-” Kaz gestured to the files that Inej had straightened. “Is all the information we have that you’ll need to know. Anything we uncover during prep will be disseminated appropriately.” Nina and Jesper had both worked jobs with Kaz before, and barely so much as blinked when he began to speak. Wylan, on the other hand, looked lost. Entirely and completely without direction.

Kaz could feel the migraine growing at the base of his skull. He took a short breath as he turned to the Chemist.

“If you have questions - Wylan - ask Inej. I don’t have time for them.” And then back to the group. “This is going to be a very different job. For one- we’ll have two novices with us.”

“Matthias is not a novice, I told you-”

Kaz grestured to cut her off. “He’s a novice to this, Zenik-”

“He’s been dreaming just as long as you have, Brekker.”

“As a soldier with a confidential history that you haven’t looked into, and-”

“He’s a soldier who was legally dreaming with the military, of course his background is locked up!”

“And he’s late.”

Nina opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. Kaz’s brows lifted at her, expectantly waiting for an excuse, and when none came he nodded. Once. Point made.

Jesper whistled and Inej thunked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Not helping.”

“Um.”

The four of them turned to look at Wylan, who was pointing towards the warehouse door. It was dark enough out that the figure in the doorway was impossible to make out. But when said figure noticed everyone turned to see them, they started in, heading closer to the light. Kaz noted the tight clip to their walk. The militaristic way they held their shoulders.

“Nice of you to join us, Sergeant Helvar.” Kaz turned back to the group, gesturing for one of the empty chairs. “If you can hurry up, we may be able to actually get started.”

The figure slowly came into the inner ring of light, showing his closely cropped blond hair and strong jaw. Kaz wondered, for a brief moment, if they were genetic traits or if the military only went after a singular type of figure. But the thought passed as quickly as it had appeared.

Nina smiled, sitting up a little straighter. Matthias glared at every single one of them before finding the only open seat and settling. An elongated pause followed as everyone sized each other up before Inej - graceful Inej - coughed.

“Right.” Kaz continued, as if on cue. “We have two novices with us. And an untested drug.”

Simultaneous, and most likely the most in sync they would ever be, Jesper, Nina, and Matthias all asked in unison- “A what?” Wylan, at the same time as well, blanched.

And so Kaz gestured to him. “Wylan is a new Chemist, has never been under, but has a history of complicated compounds. Due to the nature of this job, he’s creating a new solution. Wylan, why don’t you explain.”

The eyes all turned to Wylan - in his university sweater and terrified eyes. Kaz gestured, when Wylan didn’t immediately start explaining, and he sat up a little straighter.

“The theory- I mean, because it’s just a theory. I won’t actually know-”

“I don’t have time for your confidence issues. Now.”

Wylan swallowed thickly before a new set to his jaw settled. “It’s a different type of combination effect. Rather than the rigid system that’s been built, it allows for suggestions from the outside world as well as the dreamers.”

“You mean like the projections?” Nina asked, suddenly leaning a bit more towards Wylan, curious. She’d gotten the explanation from Kaz, sure, but actually having the Chemist in person always excited her.

“No.” Wylan shook his head. “It’s more like if you had multiple Architects, under one level. Each of the dreamers will supply the world, and it will build over itself in an attempt to bring it all together. ”

“So like limbo.”

Jesper’s voice quieted the conversation for the few moments, the weight of what he was implying heavy in the air. Kaz was not the only dreamer amongst them who had been to limbo, and therefore the implications of a regular dream being anything similar didn’t fit well.

“Um.” Wylan, uncertainly, looked to Kaz. When Kaz nodded, Wylan nodded as well. “I guess- yeah. Each of the dreamers will have an equal say on how the world functions, what projections appear, and how the world evolves as we go.”

“Which-” Inej cut in, taking control of the conversation just as the tension started to expand to an incurable point. “Means we’ll all need to be synchronized on our vision. The plan, the layout, everything. It’s part of why we have two points-” She looked to Jesper and gave him a small smile. “And part of why we’re starting prep so much earlier than normal. We need to be a united front. A team.”

Nina snorted, and didn’t bother to hide it. Inej gave her a pointed but pleading look, and Nina let out a breath in response. Kaz, on the other hand, watched the way Wylan was worrying the sleeve of his sweater.

“There’s something else.”

“Better be good news.” Jesper chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. Wylan seemed to lose more color (a feat of will, Kaz assumed) and everyone got quiet once more.

“It’s not.” Wylan coughed, then straightened his back once more - resigning himself for whatever response was to follow. “It’s not bad news, either, really. It’s just something to be aware of.” He looked to the group, before his eyes fell back on Kaz - who hadn’t turned his own away from the boy since the beginning of this conversation. It could be Kaz’s imagination, the pointedness to Wylan’s words, but there was something there. “Because of how much the dream will depend on us all equally, it will also affect the dreams in turn. When dreamers go under, there is a part of your brain that remembers that this is a dream. That’s the same part of your brain that loses connectivity, when you fall into limbo. That’s why it’s so easy to get lost down there.” He swallowed, as if building up the nerve. “In the same way the compound opens up the mark for suggestion to the dream, it will open each of the dreamers. And if the dreamers don’t kick themselves out...”

The silence following only lasted a moment before Jesper - always Jesper - broke it. “If they don’t…?”

Kaz could feel Inej’s eyes on him. Secret, unassuming, but with purpose. Kaz ignored them, the grip around the head of his cane tightening.

What’s the point of waking up, when your dreams can look like this?

“It means-” Kaz broke in, the tightness to his voice hovering just under the surface. “The team is just as susceptible to losing themselves in the reality of the dream as the mark.” A beat. “It means that we have just as much of a chance of getting lost in the dream and being unable to ride the kick. Just like limbo.”

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath in turn. When Kaz got fed up with the tension, he pushed himself to stand, favoring his good leg.

“I sure hope you’re all in control of your mind enough to survive. The money won’t help you if you’re in a coma.”

And with that, he turned back to his office, feeling their eyes on the back of his neck.

Think about it, Kaz.

He left the rest of the night to Inej.

---

The first time Kaz Brekker shot a gun was in a dream.

It was probably a bit backwards, assigning low level juvenile delinquents to a program that taught them how to create, handle, and fire automatic weapons. Even more so when the skills that had gotten them into the detention center in the first place were the most valuable while they were under.

Jordie was much better with the weapons than Kaz had been. It could have been his size, or simply the fact Kaz didn’t like how much attention they drew. He preferred the actual search and seizure.

The program was designed to test the limits of the dream. Because while the origins of the dreaming program were meant for soldiers, in order to effectively test those limits, you needed a control group who had less eyes on them and less to lose if it didn’t work. A couple of soldiers might not attract attention, but when the state wanted to keep testing even after it was ruled an illegal trade? That’s where the detention centers came in.

These tests came in the form of puzzles. Tests that had to be done by completing a task. A lot of these tasks involved finding items hidden in a variety of different settings - cities, forests, deserts, small towns. Each of the children were given items they could use at first, but then encouraged to come up with their own as they ‘leveled up’. They started off with things like baseball bats, crowbars, shotguns. Then graduated onto maces, medieval swords, battle axes. Items that would help them during the tests themselves.

And those tests could range - some involved finding hidden targets - folders, trinkets, answers, items. Others pitted the children against each other - games of chase, of tag. Over time, these tasks grew in severity and complexity. Winners would have days taken off their sentence. Losers, days added. They picked up on tips and tricks that some of the kids had known going in - guns were useful for range, but loud, drew a lot of attention. Knives were more easily hidden but less effective at long range. Axes could be customized, bows and arrows could be more quiet, and some of them were better at longer games of survival than others.

The first person Kaz Brekker murdered had broken Jordie’s nose during dinner earlier that week. Kaz had missed his chest, the shot landing somewhere in the boy’s stomach, and Kaz stood over him as he begged to be woken up. That he didn’t mean it. That it hurt. That, near the end of it, he was sorry. Kaz watched, unblinking, for the five minutes it took the boy to die.

That boy never bothered Jordie during lunch, again. Or Kaz, for that matter. Very few of the children did.

They settled into a kind of rhythm - Kaz was better at the puzzles and Jordie was better at the people. Who to talk to, what projections were worth keeping alive. As a team, they were unstoppable. Separate, they were unforgiving. And the memories of what they did - real or not - were a heavy weight the two of them bore together.

Kaz remembers watching Jordie, gun in hand, jaw quivering as he tried not to cry. Kaz remembers the searing pain of a subconscious’ knife tearing into his stomach and leaving him to bleed out. Kaz remembers the rush of a successful theft and the joy of a job well done and the crushing, suffocating disappointment of waking up, his eyes fluttering open to low popcorn ceilings and wrist cuffs and fluorescent lighting.

Kaz remembers most vividly the image of the light fading from Jordie’s eyes each time they opened in the same room, leaving a little less of himself there to be woken up.

Years later, Kaz had done research into what happened to the program after he’d gotten out. What they were testing for and what kind of results it produced. There was information on the associated companies, how concentrated it had been on their area, and then the names of the individuals brought on. Where they went when they completed the program and were released. Who survived the testing, gotten out, had a life.

Or, more specifically, who hadn’t.

---

Kaz did not like running any of the prep meetings. He saw very little use in the dramatics behind explaining what Inej had put so much time into collecting in each of their folders. Each job that Kaz ran came with a certain set of expectations - of time, of attention, of professionalism, of when to show up and when to perform. Kaz did not run meetings, that was part of Inej’s responsibilities, which made Nina and Jesper’s look of immediate shock a valid response. Annoying, but called for.

He dropped another file - appearing identical to the others - down on the desk. Papers and reports and photographs were scattered around it, and though it barely made any noise at all, everyone went silent.

“We start test runs on Thursday.” He explained, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane as he settled into a nearby chair. Wylan’s eyes went wide at that, and Matthias’ attention shot towards Nina. It was to be expected - it had been less than a week since they began their preparations - but Kaz paid no mind to the obvious hesitation in each of them. “The layout of the dream will need to be complete by then. I take it you can manage that much, Helvar.”

Matthias’ eyes finally pulled away from Nina, turning his cold gaze onto Kaz as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Kaz turned to Wylan. “Compound testing will start next week, as well. It will need to be strong enough for all of us to go under at once, and for the dreamer to hold the map.”

“Kaz-” Inej sounded concerned, stepping in to take Kaz’s attention away from the paling Chemist. Probably for the best. He didn’t want to chance Wylan passing out and losing a day of work. “You told me we’d have a month before going under, why are you shortening my timeline?”

He leaned back in his chair, hearing the wood creak under his weight. Dark shadows clung to the beams that held up the warehouse roof.Along the blocked-out windows he could hear the distant sound of rain on glass. The space heaters they’d brought in kept the center of the room warm enough that the chill didn’t stick, but it was getting colder. Fall was settling in.

“Things have changed.” Inej didn’t like that answer, judging by the way her jaw tensed, and Kaz shrugged. “Kuwei’s father just passed. The funeral is in three days, and Kuwei has decided to take some time off from his classes. He is planning to backpack across Europe. We have six weeks.”

Nobody said anything for a long moment. Originally, he’d planned for plenty of time for testing, for trials and errors. Originally, the whole job was going to take them about five months, potentially more. There were now too many moving parts and no time to control them all, and Kaz hated every second of it.

The clock was getting louder. Closer. Faster.

“Six weeks.” Inej repeated, glancing to Jesper, who shrugged back to her. It was an impossible task, for all of them. Kaz knew that. Kaz knew that even on their best days, six weeks was pushing it.

“Yes.” His team traded looks, uncertain and hesitant and afraid, and Kaz let out a short breath. “Which is why I’m coming too.” Wylan and Matthias didn’t understand why Inej, Jesper, and Nina’s attentions all snapped back to him. They kept looking between the others, hoping to find an answer in Nina’s slacked jaw.

It was Jesper who finally broke the silence. “You’re joking, aren’t you.” A beat. “This has to be a joke.”

“Kaz Brekker doesn’t have a joking bone in his body.” Nina didn’t take her eyes from Kaz, so when he lifted his own to her, she was staring directly at him. He could feel Inej grow tenser at his side, but he didn’t need to see her to know what she was thinking.

Kaz regarded the Forger for a moment, and then a moment longer, as if waiting for her to test him. To say too much, and cross a line. Nina, as if aware of his silent challenge, said nothing.

“Kaz…” It was Inej, closer to his side now, voice barely a whisper so the others couldn’t hear. “Do you really think that’s…”

He did not have time for this conversation.

“Wylan. Update the equation. There will be six of us.”

Startled out of his trance, Wylan’s voice cracked a bit around the word. “Six?”

Kaz nodded, once, tapping his cane on the cement floor beneath it. “Six. We’re all going under. It’s the most efficient way to keep complete control over the setting.”

“B-but you told me three? I don’t have enough-”

“Double it, then.” Kaz was losing his patience. “I already purchased the supplies. And Helvar- you’re going to have Wylan help you with the layout. I want sketches in twenty four hours.” Matthias jumped, though it was nearly imperceptible.

“What? Why?”

“If you have the time to ask, you’re running behind.” Kaz reached back over his shoulder to grab the folder, handing it to Inej who quickly read through the articles, absorbing the information before she shook her head as she handed it off to Matthias.

Kaz didn’t wait to see if Matthias would look at the information, because it didn’t really matter. “Zenik, you and Jesper are going under tonight. Inej has a PASIV set up.”

“Yeah-” Jesper cut in. “So Nina could practice her aliases.”

“Not tonight. The Russian over there is a decent enough Architect, maybe, but he has the imagination of the arctic tundra.” Nina winced, but didn’t argue. Kaz continued. “It will work for some, but not the entire level. You two are going to have to pick up some more flair if we want this to work. Plus, we don’t have time to work out kinks. You haven’t really dreamed in eight months, Jesper, and I will not accept mistakes because you’re out of practice.” That shut Jesper up, and when Nina didn’t chime in to fill the space, Kaz gestured over to the PASIV set-up, where he’d left a pile of more folders. More information. More research. “Four sets, four cities. Inej is going to check your work when you’re done.”

Kaz could feel it in Nina’s eyes - resentment, and an unspoken snark. Eight months isn’t two years, Brekker. You should be the one practicing. But Kaz didn’t allow her the time to speak, turning his back to the two of them, ending the conversation and turning to his work.

When there was a moment of silence following, he looked back to everyone - annoyed. Impatient. He motioned towards the PASIV with his cane. “Go, you heard the deadline.” And then he turned back to his desk.

With his back to the room, he couldn’t watch each of them move off to their separate corners. But he could still feel Inej’s presence settling at his side. When he glanced to his right, she was leaning against the desk, arms crossed, staring back out into the rest of the team.

“This wasn’t what we agreed to.”

“Plans change, Wraith.”

“Not yours.”

Kaz didn’t bother responding to that, looking through the material they’d already set out on the table. Early sketches, profiles, photographs. He kept looking, moving and stacking pages together where they went, when Inej’s voice dropped again to that whisper.

“Is this really a good idea?”

Inej knew why Kaz hadn’t gone on the last couple of years worth of jobs. Had been on the last job Kaz had gone under for, and had seen the way the world had fallen apart around them. The darkness, the smell of death, the chaos of an unseen assailant. Knowing Inej, she had probably seen Jordie as well. A face in the corner of all of Kaz’s dreams.

Kaz found what he was looking for, a stack of photographs of a young boy and his father on vacation. Kaz’s eyes fell to the cover of the book in the boy’s hand. He stood.

“Doesn’t matter. The decision has been made.” He passed the photo to Inej, who glanced it over - a photo she’s seen a hundred times. “Give that to Matthias. See what he can make of that book.”

Inej frowned at him. “Kaz-”

But he was gone before she could finish.

“It’s not meant to hold this many dreamers.” Wylan’s voice shook- both with strain, emotion, and exhaustion. He was scared, but he was also annoyed. Kaz idly found himself wondering what he would be like when he snapped.

“Unfortunately, Wylan, that’s why you’re here. To make it hold this many dreamers.” Kaz settled into the leather armchair that Inej had gotten Jesper and Matthias to drag inside for their practice sessions. Due to the fact the dream itself would have to last hours longer than normal, she found it important to bring some comfort to the process.

Kaz, with expert fingers, slipped the needle into his arm. Inej was sleeping next to him, and Nina next to her. Then it was Matthias, and then Jesper. They’d been under with the four of them a few times now, with varied results. But this would be the first time Kaz would be under with them, and Wylan was visibly nervous.

“I haven’t had enough time to prep-”

“You’re preparing now.” Kaz flicked the vein in his arm, pulling his leg up onto the footstool and settling into the cushions. Kaz closed his eyes, forcing the tension out of his limbs and shoulders. “Make sure you get it right.”

And then he was under, a blink of an eye and darkness. Emptiness. The loss of self. Of everything around him.

The sensation was familiar enough - the feeling of falling, the feeling of loss, the panic and the warmth and the familiarity of a reality that is not, wholly, yours.

Kaz opened his eyes in the middle of a storm. It was freezing, ice and snow and shards of rock flying around him. Distantly, he could hear Nina yelling. A part of the earth around them shot up into the sky, and Kaz noticed someone who had to be Matthias knocked to the ground. Nina jumped off to the side, avoiding another piece of earth and ice.

Jesper was somewhere in the flurry, screaming “What the hell is this?”

And Inej, who Kaz found immediately at the sound of her voice. “Some kind of earthquake!”

“No.” Nina’s voice sounded guilty. Like she knew exactly what was happening, and as if she was standing right next to him. “We’re under attack.”

This was supposed to be a simple creation dream. They had started to decide on the layout, on the general weather. It was going to be in the north, a kind of tundra (had to make it easy for Helvar, after all). It would be an empty landscape, it would have weather, and that was that. It was supposed to be a trial run of the compound, not an event-heavy training dream.

“I need a distraction!” Jesper was still out there somewhere, in the sleet and rocks and wind.

“Get down!” Wylan’s voice - which meant he was here now, too. Had followed Kaz under like he was told to. Officially, they were six under with the new compound. Kaz tried to feel satisfied with how it was working. Proud, in a way, that Wylan’s chemistry panned out. But when he looked around to find the boy, his eyes fell to Inej, who was signalling to him. A familiar look.

He settled back against a large rock slab, settling his weight, threading his fingers together. Inej started running, and in half a moment, she used his hands as a springboard to get over the slab of rock keeping them held together.

There was more screaming, shots rang out, and then the storm started to settle. Kaz, now able to see more than five feet around himself, took a look at the scenery. The location. The damage. They were all in costume, different clothes and different looks that, somehow, still managed to fit the feel.

Another explosion. Another rock fell. And then the six of them started to collect.

Nina looked haunted, exhausted, and Matthias was helping her to her feet. Jesper was checking the pistols in his hands, like he was truly enjoying them for the first time, and Wylan looked both terrified and pleased with himself.

Once they were all in ear shot and Inej had returned, Nina brushed off the front of her red...he assumes it’s a robe. Some kind of cloak.

“What was that?” Jesper finally asked, sliding his pistols back into the holsters at his hip.

“That was...me.” Nina admitted, out of breath. “I don’t know why. I usually have more control over this kind of thing.”

“It’s the compound.” Wylan admitted, just as guilty. “It’s stronger than I thought. It’s something to know going forward, too. If we all are going to be able to bring in this level of chaos-”

“You all need to train your subconscious more strictly.” Matthias muttered, with a hand still at the small of Nina’s back. “We can’t deal with that during the mission. Right, demon?”

But Matthias’ voice was a little too far off for Kaz to really hear him. Too far away for him to notice everyone’s eyes turned to him. Instead, he was staring off to the horizon. To a single dark shape right outside of his vision. Inej, who approached him then, tugged at his sleeve.

“Kaz.”

He blinked, pulling himself from the trance. Inej was staring at him. As was Matthias, and Nina. Jesper and Wylan were fumbling with the pistols and the explosives split between them, unaware, and Kaz was momentarily thankful for that.

There was another set of eyes on the back of his neck, Kaz knew, but he forced himself to keep attention here. To ignore the slowly building feeling of panic that started bubbling at his gut.

“We’ll need to up the practice times. Everyone needs to be comfortable being this open.” The irony was not lost on him, no, but he didn’t need that look from Inej, either. “Now- get settled. We need to start building together. Wylan-” Wylan jumped, turning his attention to Kaz like a student being reprimanded. Kaz motioned to the wreckage around them. “This is your compound. Show us how to use it.”

Wylan nodded, stepping in closer to Matthias and Nina to start explaining some of the finer details, and the conversation moved. Kaz could still feel Inej’s eyes on him, which is why he found himself jerking his arm away. “I’m fine.” He muttered under his breath.

Inej, suspicious, simply nodded and turned to the others.

When Kaz looked back to the horizon, the figure was gone. But in its place was the barest brush of a warm wind. The smell of grass. A shining, bright blue.

This is Jordie’s dream.

---

The first time Kaz watched Jordie die, it was at his own hands.

It was an accident. Jordie wasn’t supposed to be the body on the other side of the door. Kaz had been hunting, running from the fear of something following him. He’d been prepared to protect himself. Do anything necessary to protect himself.

Jordie, later, admitted he didn’t know it was Kaz he was hunting. There had been this need to find whatever was running from him. This urge to collect it. Save it. End it.

There was so much blood. Warm, and sticky, and thick. Jordie’s face was surprised, before it lost all color, and he crumbled into him. Kaz, terrified, unsure, panicked, young, desperately trying to press at the gushing blood like if he could just make it stop it’ll be fine.

When they woke, Jordie had promised him it was fine. It wasn’t the first time he died. Wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked.

It had taken three weeks for Kaz’s hands to stop feeling sticky. Stop feeling warm.

He still wore gloves, to this day, to protect himself from the feeling.

---

The breakdown of the dream was supposed to be as followed:

STEP ONE: Get Kuwei under.

This has been left to Inej. She was the only person Kaz could trust with access to his funds, and the professionalism needed while blackmailing.

She had been given the full length of the job to secure this step, and even with the shortened timeline and her annoyance with that limitation, she had it handled.

"A hostel?" Kaz's brow arched up at her, and Inej ignored his condensation.

"His first stop is in Sweden, but he is going to Amsterdam for a festival with some friends from his university. Four days. Everyone is staying in the same hostel." She dropped a stack of photos and a blueprint of room designs on his desk. "Co-ed rooms, four sets of bunk beds."

"I take it you bought out the room?"

"I bought out the floor." Inej looked down to the watch on her wrist as Kaz looked up to her. When she noticed him staring, Inej shrugged. "It was more efficient. And I was pressed for time."

Kaz felt his lip curl into a grin. "Not bad, Wraith."

Inej rolled her eyes as she turned to the door, leaving Kaz with a quick- “Don’t cut my timeline again, Kaz.” before leaving as silently as she'd entered.

STEP TWO: Convince Kuwei of the world.

The biggest problem with this job was simple: the mark was Kuwei Yul-Bo.

The only son to the first known Chemist. The only son to the man who not only built the dreaming world, but who left an indelible impact on how you dreamed. Before Bo Yul-Bayur, there was no real understanding of how to make the dream stable. Night terrors turned into manufactured nightmares where the chemistry of the brain couldn’t separate what was internal or external. It was chaos. It cost the first few testers their lives, and a lot of people a lot of money.

Enter internationally renowned chemical engineer Bo Yul-Bayur.

Finding sedatives that worked to keep sleeping bodies under but left the minds and imaginations stable enough to create and master the creation of dreams was his first step. The second and third involved his sudden removal from the board after a cross interaction with a couple of heads of state, his mysterious disappearance, and the widespread access to the chemical makeup and equation for his most successful solutions.

Bo Yul-Bayur could be single-handedly credited for creating the dreaming underground. Kaz owed him his life savings, and all the recognition and respect the world kept from him.

However, that also complicated the situation when it came to his son. And this was the only reason that Van Eck would have stooped down to asking for Kaz’s help.

Because sometimes your greatest asset is the fact you’re the only criminal insane enough to agree to the job.

Kuwei was, in every essence of the term, the Son of Dreaming. Which, for Kaz’s purposes, meant that a militarized subconscious was the very least of what they could expect.

Normal jobs, and a good portion of abnormal jobs, would end there - a militarized subconscious not only meant a quick death once you went under, but could - depending on the level of militarization - risk your sanity. It hadn’t been as dangerous in the first few stages of the dreaming underground, but as marks and rich men became more aware, the need for extra levels of protection grew.

That meant this job, Kaz’s job, would have to be out of the box. It would have to be undefined. Beyond abnormal.

“Let me get this straight-” Nina pressed her fingers to her temple, her voice cutting directly into Kaz’s explanation. “You want Kuwei to be the one building, and populating, and creating the dream?”

Kaz felt everyone’s equally concerned eyes turn to him as they waited for his answer. It was raining (it almost always was this time of year in Edinburgh) and Kaz’s leg (as it tended to do) ached. But that was only partially at blame for the sour look to his face. “Isn’t that what I just said, Zenik?”

Jesper leaned to his left towards Wylan and probably thought he was whispering when he explained, “Another word of advice- Kaz doesn’t like to repeat himself. Like. Ever.” He was, of course, loud enough for everyone to hear.

And Nina, as always, was unfazed by the look. “How do you think that’s going to work? We just go in unaware and unprepared into Kuwei Yul-Bo’s mind?”

“Nina-” Inej tried to mediate, but it was Matthias who spoke up.

“I didn’t sign up for a suicide mission.”

Jesper laughed. “You didn’t sign up for jack shit, Helvar.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion, Fahey.”

“Enough.”

The sharp edge of Kaz’s tone was enough to knock Wylan back a bit, the bottles around him clattering at his wince. It was an effective silencing tool, and everyone’s attention returned to Kaz, waiting for whatever explanation he would surely give.

“It will be his dream.” He confirmed. “But it will be our direction. Wylan’s compound-” Wylan blanched once again at the attention, but Kaz kept going. “Is going to open him up to suggestions. The more of us who are under, and who are going under with the same idea, the more Kuwei will accept it.”

“Which means,” Inej stood, then, the sudden movement jerking them all out of the trance they’d fallen into. “We have to be in agreement when we go under. If any of us question the world, or what we find there, it will invite unrest.”

Wylan swallowed enough for it to echo up in the rafters. “U-unrest?”

“If he is the dreamer and questions the dream, we will end up sitting ducks.” Nina explained, still massaging her temple. “Why is this different from normal? We always go in with an understanding of the dream.”

“It’s more than an understanding. It’s a United Front.” Mattias muttered darkly. “You mean to tell me that you expect this group to be in step? Complete cohesion? You’re insane.”

“Then maybe you should get to work.”

STEP THREE: Work the narrative from the outside, inward.

The plan hinged on Kuwei’s subconscious accepting the dream as his own. But more than that, it hinged on Kuwei’s interest in it. In wanting to see the story play out. If he was distracted by the story, his subconscious would fill the necessary open safes with his secrets, and then it would be up to their work to find the information Van Eck was looking for.

Additionally, if Kuwei fully accepted the storyline, the projections - if given the opportunity - would be ample resource to find out what information it is that Kuwei was hiding.

Which meant that the majority of the dream would be a combination of a narrative to be played out and accepted, as well as an engaging enough setting that would allow complete acceptance of the world and its laws. Part of that involved Wylan’s new drug, and part of it involved the richness of the world itself.

The latest nights they pulled were in going over this aspect - refilled mugs of coffee and Jesper’s restless tapping pulling them through session after session.

And in the end, it was Kaz who broke through the initial hurdle, his eyes held tight to the file that Van Eck had given him as it laid open across his desk.

“Make it a heist.”

Nina and Matthias froze where they had been bickering, exhaustion and their exceedingly unnecessary sexual tension driving almost every disagreement to yelling. But it was Inej who sat up from her spot on the floor, turning to Kaz with a curious eye.

“A heist?”

Kaz nodded, once, and heard Jesper’s fidgeting freeze and felt Wylan’s eyes turn to him too. He tapped his finger on the file, though not for any kind of direction. “Kuwei likes adventure novels. And pirate stories.” It was in the research- Inej was always thorough. “So we make it an adventure. He’s been kidnapped-”

“Because of something he knows.” Nina joined in, picking up on the direction that Kaz was moving in and stepping in to take the seat to his left, leaning over the files on the table. “Something important, world altering, that no one else knows but these people are willing to do whatever it takes to find.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to be the pirate?” Jesper asked, looking from Nina to Kaz and then to Inej. “If he likes those kinds of stories, why would he dream-”

“Because the people you tend to admire in stories aren’t the ones you end up being in real life.” Wylan answered, having left his rustic laboratory in the corner to join them. “Your favorite characters aren’t usually the ones you identify with the most.”

Kaz nodded in agreement. “He’s an academic. Dreaming for a life of adventure, but never quite able to find it outside of books. He needs to be saved by the characters he idolizes.” Kaz paused, waiting to see if anyone would fill in what he was referring to.

“We’re not saving him.” Mattias’ low growl was obstinate, and Nina shot him a quick look. “What?”

“And so we- the heroes- show up and save him from his prison.” Jesper grinned, a kind of alight excitement burning behind his eyes. Kaz knew that look was dangerous- that look had gotten them both into nearly every problem they’d ever run into- but it was contagious.

“You know…” Inej was feeling it too, smiling when she caught Kaz’s eye. “This might just work.”

“Might?” Matthias cut in again. “We’re going to have to do a little better than might.”

“Oh, thank you for your contribution, Helvar.” Jesper cut back, even as he was grinning.

“Enough.” But despite it all, Kaz could feel it too. The excitement of a next step, the energy of movement. Progress. He turned to Matthias, expectant. “Now, tell me about this prison.”

STEP FOUR: Find the information required by the job.

Every dreaming job is different - it is why, as an industry, it attracts the more creative criminals. Some extractions are straightforward - bring a mark into a dream, build safes and rooms for the mark to fill, steal the file, get out without it appearing suspicious. In the early years of dreaming, and dream-theft, enough of the population did not know about PASIV devices or dreaming that you could go under without anyone realizing it was happening. But as it grew more popular, and as it grew more widely known and subconscious security became the norm, the art of the theft had to get more creative.

Gone were the days of a simple maze. Gone were the years that personal security was all that was needed to protect your mind. These days, Kaz Brekker got what he wanted by being creative. By thinking outside of the dream, and then the box, and then the space within that.

For this job, it was going to involve the prison. A heist (seeing as Kaz has found that hiding behind the obvious works well in dreams) to break Kuwei out. And buried within that narrative, the information. They would depend on the projections, too. They were looking for an actively hidden amount of information, information that would have gotten Kuwei taken - if the narrative is to be believed. They would find out from the projections that Kuwei would supply what the information is that they’re down there to take, find said information, and break Kuwei out.

Kaz, in deciding to join the active crew members and go under, would be tasked with the information itself. The story did not need him, though he would play whatever part would make the most sense and would create the least amount of resistance. But he was not necessary, and would instead spend his time doing what he has always done best.

Breaking into safes- or in this case, cells.

STEP FIVE: Play out the remaining dream-time without a kick.

This is where things got a little more complicated. They were only going under one level, which left them vulnerable to Kuwei, if he had any training at all, to notice the constructed nature. And since they were only going under one level, and to uphold the authenticity of the dream, they would not induce a kick.

It would keep them under for much longer than they were used to. It would force them to play out the roles with Kuwei’s presence. Whatever happened to the narrative of the dream would have to be upheld for days, maybe weeks, after the actual event.

This is where their flair for the dramatics would come in handy.

STEP SIX: Leave undetected.

If everything went as it was supposed to, the compound would leave Kuwei’s system with enough processing time that it would feel like an intense dream, and nothing more.

They would leave their rooms at errant intervals that worked with their stories, and they would all cover their own returns to Edinburgh. They would reconvene at the warehouse in one week’s time to receive payment and their exit meeting, and from there, would be on their way.

Another job completed. Another payment received.

---

The last time Jordie closed his eyes, Kaz had been mad at him. He remembers that much.

It had been about something stupid - one of the directors of the project, man by the name of Pekka Rollins had offered the brothers the chance to take part in testing a new compound. They would be the first humans it had been used on. There were dangers, there were always dangers, but Rollins promised years taken from their sentence and Jordie’s attention had been caught.

Kaz didn’t like the idea. Something about the man’s off-putting grin and well to do nature did not sit well with him. He tried to mention it to Jordie, that his gut didn’t trust the way Pekka Rollins had looked at them, but Jordie had snapped back.

We don’t really have a choice, do we? I don’t want to spend my life in jail, and time is running out.

Jordie had a point, which Kaz knew. Because of the way the tasks had worked, Kaz and Jordie had only taken one, maybe two years off their combined sentence. Jordie had less than a year before he hit eighteen and would be moved to the adult prison. As the days went by, Kaz wanted Jordie get more and more worried about the counter. The dwindling numbers of days he had left.

But I don’t trust him, Kaz had pleaded. Not this time. Please. We’ll make it up somewhere else-

Doesn’t matter if you trust him. We just have to get the target and get out.

Jordie, I don’t-

It’s not up to you, Kaz. I already agreed.

And the dream, at first, had seemed normal enough. Dark streets of an old city. There were canals that wove through the tall buildings, and the air was putrid. Damp. Kaz and Jordie had taken off, into the city and into the lives they would need to complete the task.

Then there was the plague.

It wasn’t abnormal, facing disasters and catastrophes in dreams. The program wanted to test the limits of creation, and men - more often than not - gravitated towards the weight of death. Hurricanes, tornadoes, mass shootings, holocausts. But this was Kaz’s first plague, and with the setting, it was cataclysmic.

Kaz had gotten sick. And so had Jordie. They weren’t even aware that they could- but it felt as real as anything Kaz had ever experienced while awake.

He’d passed out, at some point. And Jordie alongside with him. When his eyes opened, it was on a barge - a barge of bodies. Dead bodies. Projections.

Except that wasn’t the whole truth, was it? Because amongst them, Kaz had found Jordie. Bloated, pale, cold. Kaz was still feverish - had to be - because he remembers screaming for hours. Hours.

Wake up!

Jordie did not. Not then, and not when Kaz finally woke back up topside, either. They had to sedate Kaz a second time just to get him out of the room, and the image is burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them.

Pekka Rollins, thoughtful and curious, standing over Jordie’s unresponsive body.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

---

The plan, at first, went as it had supposed to.

The Ice Court was near-flawless. Their jobs as convicts breaking in was set. Every projection they met fulfilled their roles and reinforced the status quo. They were here for the plot, all of them pawns to a greater need.

Kuwei was inside. Kuwei was part of the dream. Kuwei had taken the bait.

When Kaz opened his eyes in the truck full of bodies, he nearly lost consciousness a second time. Whether it was the detail the other members had placed in their set-up, or his own anxieties poking holes into the plan, it had almost ruined everything.

Almost. But not quite. Inej had grabbed his arm and held him up upright and Kaz pulled himself back together again.

After that, things fell into place. They each knew their roles, where they were supposed to land and where they were supposed to be. Kuwei, picking up on the threads of the story that their subconscious fed him, played along. He would be inside an inner cell, waiting to be executed or tested on or whatever it was that he would assume would be worse, and the rest of the team would arrive to save him. Six people, six heroes, six parts of the reward. The projections agreed, leaving notes on why Kuwei was held, what was happening, what they would need to find.

Except that things - as they did - started to go wrong.

A woman from Inej’s past arrived at the grand party. She was not supposed to be part of the attendees, but there she was, in all her peacock feathers and dangerous sneer. The old Commander from Nina’s time in the military whisked her away into the cells for a grand tour, and Nina had followed. Matthias had been the Architect, which meant that the most of his subconscious would color the setting itself, but even he couldn’t be prepared for the weight it would be on him. He followed after Nina, panicked she was lost to the dream too.

Wylan was a nervous wreck of a boy - doing his best to keep up but doing the most to attract attention to himself. Jesper did his part to keep Wylan from dying before the mission even began, but Kaz knew better than to assume that would keep up.

Kaz, after the initial run in with the truck of other prisoners, was able to hold it together. They made it into the cells, they made it out of those cells. And then they were running - Kaz had a safe to find, if there was one. Kaz had the information to gather. Kad had his job, before all else.

And then there was Pekka Rollins.

Kaz was not prepared. Not prepared for him. They’d gone under in training and Kaz had been able to hold his armor together for that, but this. This was different. This was heavier. Kaz was supposed to be working. He was supposed to meet Inej down by the boiler room. But they were on the stairs, the clock ticking down, when the feeling settled in his gut.

When Kaz turned, it was Jordie’s face that was waiting for him. Sickly pale, ghost-like, bloated, but solid. He watched Kaz from a floor that was not originally in the layout, a line of cells that was not supposed to exist, and then he turned around. Started to walk away.

Kaz knew that this was the drug. Knew that this had nothing to do with the plan, and would ruin everything if he took too much time. But Jordie glanced back to him, color suddenly returning, and grinned.

You’re not going to let him go, are you baby brother?

Bells. There were bells ringing. That was his cue. But Kaz took a step forward, because Jordie was there. For once, for real, he was just thirty feet down that hall. Was stepping through a door. Kaz had spent his life learning how to get through doors - whether locked or otherwise - and he would not let this one get in the way.

Jordie disappeared, and Kaz could hear Pekka Rollins’ echo of a laugh. Strong. Settled. Comfortable.

For a brief moment, all Kaz could see was Pekka standing over Jordie’s body back in the testing room. A disappointed shake of his head as he turned away. The panic in Kaz’s chest because Jordie was supposed to be waking up, Jordie is supposed to be waking up. It’s a dream. It was all a dream. Everything that happened, everything that Kaz had done, it hadn’t been real. Then there was the feeling of large, strong hands under his armpits. Dragging him away. Someone pulled a sheet over Jordie’s body.

The bells continued, and if Kaz had been paying attention, he’d know that this was the exact moment that Inej would be climbing. That Jesper and Wylan would be waiting, anxiously, at the bottom of the shaft. Nina and Mattias would be gathering Kuwei. Would be bringing him along. Kuwei, fully entrapped in the narrative, would follow. He’d understand. He’d be a part of the story.

Kaz was supposed to be joining them down in the boiler room. He was supposed to be taking the shaft up, and out. They are so close. So very, very close.

But then the door is gone. A gunshot echoed from somewhere down the hall. Jordie’s laugh, and then silence.

It’s not up to you, Kaz.

Kaz ran after it.

---

The very few times that Kaz dreams, unencumbered and undirected by any device, it always starts off the same. A quiet field, a low breeze, and grass up to his knees. He can smell hay, and pollen, and somewhere far off, livestock. The sound of the field is all around him - buzzing and fluttering and moving. Alive. Everything is alive, and it is warm.

And then Jordie is there. Somewhere. Off in the distance or hiding beyond the ridge. Kaz is never quite sure when Jordie got so good at hiding, that was Kaz’s talent, but he’s always just out of sight.

Kaz calls out - “Jordie?” - and runs after him.

Then it all changes. In the blink of an eye, the grass at his legs are limbs, the wind pulling at his face are fingers. The smell of death, and rot, and dark decay envelop him. Jordie’s voice echos off in the distance, calling out for him but hauntingly distant, and Kaz always comes to a stop.

In his hand is a card, blinding white against the background of death, and a single crow on its face.

Kaz recognizes his totem, recognizes that he is the only one who knows it, and Jordie’s voice gets louder. Louder, and louder, and louder, until the two words ricochet like bullets in Kaz's skull.

Wake up.

But Kaz can’t. Not this time.

---

What do you mean he didn’t wake up?

He’s not waking up, Inej. Try for yourself. I don’t-

Wylan, what’s happening?

It’s the drug. His subconscious clung too heavily to the stimuli. It’s-

What does that even mean?! Why isn’t he waking up?

Don’t yell at Wylan!

I-I- It’s like he has sleep paralysis. His subconscious thinks he woke up, but it believes what we gave it. He believes what he all saw down there is real.

You mean he’s still in the dream?

How can he still be in the dream? Matthias is up. Shouldn’t it have fallen apart?

Yes. It should have. Unless he memorized the maps himself. His subconscious could have clung to what I showed all of you…

But the dream is over. The drug should have worn off.

Unless he fell deeper.

He’s in limbo…

No! God damn it Brekker, of all times?

What are we going to do?

We have to go back in there.

What?! Are you insane? Into his subconscious?

It should mirror the same world we built for the dream. Same stories, same rules. It’ll just be what his subconscious built of it.

Oh, great. So not only are we going into his limbo, but we’re going into his version of the fucked up dream we built for Kuwei? You have to be kidding me.

You all don’t need to go, I can do it.

Are you serious, Inej? No way. You’re not going alone.

He’ll need us all. Without the complete picture, he’ll know something is wrong.

We should go down now. Before he’s locked in there for a lifetime.

I need more time. I need to make sure they know we finished the Kuwei job. They’ll be waiting for an answer…

Then we’ll go down first. Inej, you can join after. Okay? It’s only two levels deep, right? So it shouldn’t be too sped up.

Okay. I guess we’re doing this.

The demon should be paying us a lot more than just-

Matthias, not the time!

Okay. Everyone get back to your device. We’ll sync up and go back. We’re all prepped for this world anyway, right? On my count. Three, two, one--

---

Kaz opens his eyes, blinking twice to shed the heaviness.

It’s dark, and there is a weighted, warm sort of moisture clinging to the air around him. It makes his leg ache.

He sits up, slow and cautious, with one thing on his mind. It’s a familiar thing, something he is comfortable with holding, comfortable with carrying and knowing and understanding. It’s something he’s lived with his entire life, and something he will most likely continue to live with, however long that may be.

It is sweet, in the back of his throat.

Van Eck will pay for this.

Revenge, as it were, was the greatest form of motivation. And Ketterdam knows it well.

#my writing #inception #soc #grishaversebigbang2020

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