#the consortium. sigh

[bigskydreaming]

Also, the new Wild Cards novel came out, volume 33, and within just the past ten years/eight volumes of this series that started in the eighties, they've done literally ALL the tropes that they swore for decades they'd never do in this series: time travel, multiverse shenanigans, colonizing the moon, etc. I can't decide if this is hilarious or sad, so I'm going with hilarisad.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Be as it must 💜 Part 3

“Is there more to learn about you, Jungkook?”

PAIRING: Alpha!Jungkook x Omega(f)reader

SUMMARY: You try to resist the CEO's charms, but it's hard... At least until the other shoe drops.

WORD COUNT: 8.9 k

GENRE: ABO, strangers to lovers, fated lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: tension and teasing, and angst

A.N. A huge thank you to @moonleeai for the beta read💜 This was never supposed to be so long, but I'm a fan of making the reader fall in love too... Before the bomb drops 💣 Enjoy 😉

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You thought getting kidnapped would be the most bizarre experience you had ever been through, but it seemed like CEO Jeon Jungkook had other thoughts.

If it wasn’t weird that you entered his gigantic Seoul building while unconscious and tied up, it had to be that you exited escorted by the man himself, right into a car that you had only ever seen on television. You shrunk into the back seat, not only feeling weird with the surrounding spacious, immaculate leather, but with the fact that beyond the smoked glass, the CEO was telling something to the driver before he got inside the car.

You refused to look back to confirm whether the CEO had stayed put, watching you go; instead, you closed your eyes and heaved a deep sigh. It was outlandish that you wanted to turn around and see him there, as if you needed reassurance, when in truth, he was part of the problem.

You thought the weirdness would end there, which led you to look outside the window and see the tall buildings reflecting the city lights as the car moved. He was your boss, after all. If anything, he did need you to deal with the American consortium negotiations. And you trusted his word; he said you could leave once it was all said and done, so you weren’t a prisoner.

But you did not expect what he had planned for you.

“CEO Jeon has asked me to convey to you that he means to assure your comfort,” the man, Seung Ji-Young, said after introducing himself as the CEO’s driver and assistant, looking at you through the rearview mirror. You raised an eyebrow. “Given the circumstances, he has made arrangements to have a series of boutiques welcome you so you may relax and feel right at home.”

Your forehead creased as you took a glance at the time displayed on the dashboard, “At this hour?”

“Of course.”

You blinked, glancing again — 20:25. You shook your head, “Why would I need clothes? Unless—” You leaned forward, “What happened to my luggage?”

“We have it, rest assured.”

You couldn’t stop frowning at the weirdness of it all, “Right.”

“If there is somewhere else you’d like to go to relax, like a spa, it is not a problem. I’ve been instructed to drive you wherever you’d like.”

Your lips became an uneasy line, “No, I’m fine.”

The man nodded as he drove with a serious demeanor, “Then may I suggest a Michelin star—”

“No,” you interrupted swiftly, afraid that his offers would never stop. “Just— Just take me home— I mean, where I’m supposed to sleep.”

“Certainly.”

You groaned mutely and rubbed your eyes; now, even you were talking weirdly. But could anyone blame you after everything that had happened?

You stayed quiet as the car drove smoothly through narrower and narrower streets. Despite trusting what the CEO had said, you couldn’t help the uneasiness twisting your guts.

Finally, the car entered an underground garage and you were able to breathe. Mr Seung circled the car to get your small luggage from the back, including your handbag, and you bowed in relief, finding in it all your very important documents and belongings. It certainly comforted you enough to follow Mr Seung across the parking lot and into the elevator with a renewed sureness that you were not a prisoner.

“Would you like to go straight to your suite or take a look at the amenities first?”

His voice was as gentle as ever, and you tried to offer him a small smile, “Straight to bed would be best.” He pressed the keypad to select the 48th floor, and you frowned again, “Shouldn’t I check in first?”

“You mean with the concierge? No, he’s aware of your presence and available 24 hours in case you need anything.”

Your mouth opened, but you quickly closed it; maybe the CEO owned an apartment. That would justify why you weren’t at a hotel right now. You honestly didn’t care as long as you could put that day behind you.

The final straw took form in the quiet, gentle explanation of Mr Seung, “The amenities at your disposal include the residence lounge, gym, movie theater, swimming pool and spa. The latter includes a sauna, whirlpool, jet bath, and steam room at any hour, while the massages and skin and body treatments are available during the day. Of course, given the circumstances, a call can be made to arrange any treatment of your preference within the hour. Anything from a massage to a mud bath can be arranged; please don’t hesitate.”

You nodded respectfully while you screamed in your head — why was this happening? You just wanted your head to hit the pillows. The exhaustion taking over your mind was rendering you out of order, yet that ahjussi was so nice. Why was it all so hard?

“Ah, here we are,” he said as the elevator came to a stop gently with a sweet voice announcing the floor over the speakers. 

You exited the elevator first, though you waited for Mr Seung to indicate to you which of the two doors was intended for you and to type the code in.

Once the door opened, you entered and braced yourself with eyes so wide they were twice the size. The stairs to your left indicated you were in a duplex penthouse, but it was the open concept of the space that floored you. Oak herringbone floors expanded into a panoramic view through floor-to-ceiling windows from one side of the building to the other. The soft touches of the white furniture and long couch in the living room extended into the dining room with a long glass table with an exorbitant vase of flowers that brought a heart stopping pop of color.

You blinked, befuddled, at the luxury surrounding you, and Mr Seung passed by you to indicate the next room, “There is the kitchen, should you need to arrange something, and a private terrace for your enjoyment as well.”

You glanced over the natural stone tops in shades of pure white matching the cabinets and circled the island to check what he was talking about. The view continued on that side of the building, leaving you speechless. From that high, the world looked small. It was as if that place was out of touch with reality.

“But perhaps you’d like to see the guest suite,” he smiled, and you just nodded.

You followed him back towards the staircase, ready to pick up your luggage, when he waved at a paper on the foyer table.

“CEO Jeon wanted you to know the password so you can make use of the apartment as you please. He’s also asked me to inform you that everything is at your disposal, including all snacks and beverages.”

You blinked, trying to keep up through the stupor, “How did he have time to fill up the pantry?”

You were wondering more to yourself, but Mr Seung chuckled, “We do it for him, of course. He particularly likes shrimp crackers, but I’m sure he won’t mind if you take some.”

You could only frown as though the information was odd. Mr Seung grabbed your luggage and started his way up the stairs, and you finally managed to say, “He lives here?”

“Of course, he owns the building.”

He didn’t stop, thus missing the way your grimace spelled a What?! with furrowed eyebrows, wide eyes and parted lips. You looked around you once more, taking in the crazy luxury surrounding you before hurrying up the stairs. You thought he had booked a hotel room for you, at most owned an empty apartment, and that was already in the realm of stupidly crazy rich. But what did he mean, the CEO lived here? Here, as in the building? Or here, as in—

Your breath caught as you reached the upper floor. The wall that faced the floor-to-ceiling window was entirely covered by a dark blue tapestry with glistening silver stars surrounding a central half-moon serving as the base of a vibrant orange tiger lily, shining brighter than any celestial bodies around it. You swallowed hard and looked at the master room across from where Mr Seung had disappeared with your luggage. Someone lived there, and you didn’t need more than the half-moon and dark blue colors to remember the Jeon Family emblem. Still, if that wasn’t enough, his scent reaching your nose told you everything you needed to know.

“Here you have it, the guest suite.”

Mr Seung was smiling as he opened the door to a walk-in closet, a small office, and then, across the room, to the ensuite bathroom. Meanwhile, a view as breathtaking as downstairs greeted you, and you continued to be flabbergasted. 

“I thought he meant a hotel…” you whispered.

“CEO Jeon wanted to make sure of your comfort personally.” 

You glanced at the man, and it was only because he seemed dead serious, almost concerned, that you didn’t throw your hands to the ceiling. Who cared about what the CEO wanted?! You were tired! And overwhelmed! And done with everything being blown out of proportion!

“But, of course, if you are dissatisfied, I can arrange for a five-star—”

“No, no, please,” you found yourself raising a hand and closing your eyes, begging him to stop. “I’ll stay, this is fine. No, perfect. It’s perfect, I’m perfectly happy.”

Mr Seung’s eyes instantly softened, as though you being pleased comforted him deeply. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m usually available to drive CEO Jeon at 6 AM, but should you require me to be available earlier, I’d be happy to assist you.”

You stared at the man, speechless. How was he so kind and sweet, and where did he come from?

“No, I— I can get to the office by mys—” You bit your tongue, then raked your hair back. What was the point, really? “I normally go to the office around eight thirty, so please don’t hurry because of me. I need to sleep. Badly.”

You huffed the last words, but Mr Seung stiffened as though he had been stung, “Of course, I won’t hold you any longer. Have a good night.”

He bowed deeply, making you rush to do the same before he left quietly. Your fingers gripped your hair roots as you looked around you — what the fuck? The incredible cityscape view, the suite that was probably your apartment size, the room across from yours where CEO Jeon slept… Everything was just surreal.

You woke up the next morning with a renewed vitality. Not because that was the best bed you had ever slept in, the biggest shower you had ever used, or the most delicious breakfast you had ever had, but because you had processed things. CEO Jeon Jungkook was an alpha of the Jeon Family who, through medieval means, had committed a crime based solely on your blood. Your rare designation did not excuse it, and as such, he was trying his best to accommodate you to prevent you from causing a scene, suing, exposing, or all of the above. There was a potential additional agenda that involved the traditional matching of an omega to an alpha, but you were in the XXI century. Alphas didn’t have to be with omegas, rare as they were, and you would not be coerced into engaging in such ancient customs. CEO Jeon would respect your wishes, and you believed his word.

He had even entered and left his own apartment without a word or a sound. You had slept like a rock — perhaps surprisingly, you felt safe there — but you had expected to see him at breakfast, at least. In the end, the only proof you had of his fleeting presence was the closed bedroom door and dirty coffee mug at the head of the dining table. You almost felt bad for potentially making him uncomfortable, but then remembered this was all his fault. Plus, he probably made Mr Seung drive him at 6 AM, which was also barbaric.

It brought a smile to your face to see Mr Seung’s happiness when you told him how you had rested well. You believed his care ran deeper than any CEO Jeon’s order, though you couldn’t help wondering if it was because he knew of your designation.

Fortunately, at the office, such things didn’t matter. As soon as you said your name to one of the secretaries on the last floor, she instantly provided you with your own office and badge, explaining how everything worked. You were used to sharing an office, but you had decided not to complain. Live and let live. If the CEO wanted to overbear you with such things, you’d accept them quietly. You just needed to do your job and leave.

Your laptop remained your own, so entering the workflow was seamless. You were pleased to find all the information about the rescheduled meetings, and emails about other projects you were working on. You even made sure to check in and reassure Yoon Minsik, your mentor, before attending the first in-person meeting with the legal team of that office.

Although you had only met most of them online, it was a cordial and nice moment before starting what you hoped would be a fruitful meeting. But then CEO Jeon arrived.

Before, you were just a member of the team, participating in meetings you’d otherwise attend online. After he entered the room, however, you were an omega in the presence of an alpha who easily disrupted the flow of the conversation. 

You didn’t believe he did it on purpose, in his defense. You could smell humans amongst the team, and even they were affected by the CEO’s presence. What you’d like to say is that you, contrary to them, were not impacted in any way, but that was not the case.

You had to clear your voice as you spoke and actively force yourself to pretend he wasn’t there. Inwardly, you kept reassuring yourself that it was just that department meeting to coordinate ongoing projects. He wasn’t usually there, but maybe he had made an exception this time.

Only CEO Jeon was present in every meeting.

It was exhausting to focus on each different project and give your best while trying to ignore him. Not that he spoke a lot, but when he did, it threw your attention completely off. He looked so fine. That black designer suit framed his large shoulders deliciously, making every move as evident as possible. Making you imagine what it would be like to be caged in by said arms, embracing you as if—

“Hey!”

You blinked and looked away as everyone got up from their chairs. You should have noticed the meeting ended and that the CEO had been forced to leave, called by that woman, his secretary — Sunhwa.

You faced one of your colleagues, who was smiling expectantly, “Should we have lunch together?”

It was easy to accede and join her and the team, but your thoughts remained on Sunhwa. She wasn’t present in the meetings, but you had noticed her easily because every single time you had to move between meeting rooms — and the CEO did the same — she showed up to talk to him, pass him a file, or just accompany him. To the point you wondered if he needed a bodyguard and heard whispers of other people potentially commenting the same. You couldn’t help feeling bad for her; you couldn’t decide if she was jealous of you, with all the stink eyes she threw your way at every chance, or overzealous.

Regardless, you thought it didn’t matter because, in the afternoon, things would be different. Those meetings would be all about the American consortium negotiations, both internal and external, and you ran those without the presence of the CEO.

You had to huff quietly as he pulled the chair next to you, oddly sharing with you the head of that meeting room table. Except for a glance and polite smile, you didn’t give him any more of your attention. It was unsettling enough if your boss would accompany you to every meeting as if to assess your worth, but the fact that he was so close, with big brown eyes trained on you while his scent made your head spin… It made it a thousand times harder.

Still, you braved through the meeting, expecting things to go well because that was your element. What you didn’t count on were his interruptions.

“I’m certain we don’t need to renegotiate the time window; they will surely accept it.”

“Have we established concrete rules for the use of prototypes?”

“What about intellectual rights? As the manufacturer, shouldn’t we obtain the rights to all procedures that we optimize during development?”

Your expression softened, “According to agreement stipulations, by signing, we commit to safely keep their intellectual property, which includes all manufacturing processes. If these are optimized, they will be added to the patent. We will, of course, negotiate appropriate compensation should that happen, including access to prototypes and benefits should the production cost or time be reduced.”

The room was quiet after you spoke, but you had forgotten about them. Instead, your eyes were fixed on the CEO’s. Very round and very big, almost sparkling at you, entirely taken by what you had said. His gaze was curious, intense and interested, so you couldn’t be mad about his disruptions.

Still, you sighed. He was distracting.

“Let’s proceed to the financial section,” you asked, waving at the appropriate head of the department to speak up. 

The CEO tapped his tablet to jump to the appropriate page of the document, clearing his throat, and you subtly leaned to whisper into his ear, “Focus.”

Your eyes met when you pulled back, and it was like the record changed. If his questions seemed chaotic and somewhat disconnected before, now they were spot on. From one meeting to the other, including with the American company representatives, every comment was precise, demonstrating flawlessly why the Jeon conglomerate was unavoidable in the South Korean industry.

You were secretly impressed, though you expected nothing less. Perhaps the way you had managed to work together so seamlessly in front of the American company representatives was surprising, but you imagined that a pro like him could make it work with anyone. He wasn’t nicknamed good at everything for nothing.

You assumed he was pleased, too, when the video call ended, and he leaned back into his chair, laughing quietly. His glee made you smile as you gathered your things and closed your laptop, observing everyone else in the room calling it a day while you wondered if Mr Seung would take you home. It was silly of you, but with everything that happened, you didn’t even memorize the address—

“That was so smooth. I think we floored them,” he grinned, getting up to his feet as though he was even more energized than before.

You chuckled and nodded, putting your laptop in your bag. Maybe that was so, but you were ready to go home.

“Have dinner with me.”

You stopped shy of closing the bag and looked at him instantly, batting your eyelashes with all your befuddlement.

“We have to celebrate,” he continued, and his grin reemerged as though he couldn’t contain it.

“They haven’t signed it yet,” you were quiet, instinctively reasoning with him despite not even being able to fully think right now.

He chuckled, “But they will, no doubt. I’m sure we will have a response by tomorrow and a verbal agreement shortly after.”

You nodded and looked down, unable to stop the way your body reacted. He was taller than you, broad, all-encompassing, and smelled strong, sweet...dizzying. There were two sides to that moment: who he was — so destabilizing, you thought there was no avoiding it — and what he was saying — so professional, when you wanted to forget all about it.

Fortunately, in your hazed mind, the latter won. “We’ll wrap up sooner, and I’ll get to return to Busan faster, then.”

Your entranced eyes captured the way his jaw hardened easily. His eyes sparked differently, with a look to them that caused a tingle to go down your spine, but he nodded, “Indeed. So dinner tonight.”

His tone implied you were just giving him more reasons to insist, and the corners of your lips twitched mischievously. Maybe you were; it was hard to resist.

“CEO Jeon?”

You stiffened like you had just been caught stealing candy and didn’t bother to look. You forced the zipper closed and grabbed your bag, purposefully pushing what Sunhwa was telling the CEO to fade with the background noise. Whatever it was, maybe it was a good thing — you needed distance to think, too.

You bowed to both on your way out and didn’t mean to spare a glance, but his voice beckoned you to look back, “Mr Seung is in the parking lot, please go with him.”

You nodded, meaning to appease the worry in his voice and eyes, and melted when you succeeded. His features instantly returned to a confident, dazzling smile before turning to Sunhwa about whatever work-related issue she was referring to, and you had to swallow. You shouldn’t be so attuned to how he felt; it didn’t make any sense. Still, as you made your way to his apartment with his driver, all you could think was that you never officially accepted his invitation.

Jungkook nodded after Mr Seung confirmed that he had dropped you off safely at the apartment, where you had stayed for the last three hours. You hadn’t requested to go anywhere in particular, and arrangements had been made for dinner, so he could relax.

He sighed as he closed his eyes and let the purr of the car lull him. He knew it would be an interesting day, but not even his wildest dreams could have prepared him for it.

First, arriving home the night before to the faint trace of your sweet jasmine scent absolutely threw him off. The whole night he had to keep himself in check; no, he couldn’t follow your delicate perfume to your bed, touch you, or claim you. You probably didn’t trust him after the way you ended up there, and he wasn’t a creep. He could reign in his primal urge and leave the decision up to you. He could show you that being next to him was fate, as intrinsically inescapable as the Earth and Moon orbiting each other. You’d realize that soon enough and ask him to touch you instead.

He could barely sleep, so his second move was to leave the apartment as soon as humanly possible. He needed to review everything about the projects you were working on, plus get his work out of the way so he could attend every meeting of yours and watch you in your element.

Jungkook was frankly impressed; you were like a fish in water, navigating every topic and hurdle effortlessly. He wasn’t sure you noticed how everyone quieted down to listen to you and obliged and interacted every time you requested it, but it was a wonder to see. If he hadn’t smelled your designation, he would have wondered what kind of woman conducted such ease and readiness.

Unfortunately, you were also incredibly distracting. Not only was he probably not of use to you in your work, but he was also falling behind in the slightest with his duties. Sunhwa kept reminding him, of course, and he appreciated it, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about anything else.

Which made him wonder if you’d be a liability and not an asset if you stayed. However, that was a fleeting thought because as soon as it emerged, it evaporated when you whispered into his ear, “Focus.”

The whiff of your scent hit him so hard he had to close his eyes so no one would see them rolling back. Then he faced you, and your gaze did something to him. It was strong and encouraging, and he was set. Suddenly, he could focus. His mind was clear and everything just worked.

It was incredible, inebriating; better than hitting the jackpot, it was like you were his focus token that increased his abilities by two hundred percent. So inviting you to dinner was as easy as breathing. You mentioning Busan again almost ruined his mood, but then you obliged with big, starry eyes when he asked you to drive with Mr Seung in the exact spot he was in now, going home to you, and he couldn’t help the widest grin. He hadn’t lost you, not yet.

He knew it was late, and he wouldn’t dream of keeping you starving while waiting for him. Your shoes and handbag were by the entrance, so he knew you were inside. There was noise from the kitchen, though that couldn’t be you, so he jumped on the couch and heaved a deep breath, closing his eyes. He loved the sweet scent that lingered around the house because of you; it instantly relaxed him but also gave him a push. Maybe he should check on you—

He heard steps down the stairs at the same time his personal chef exited the kitchen to inform him dinner was ready and on the table.

“Would you like me to stay and serve?”

Jungkook dismissed the chef swiftly and quietly, acknowledging their head bow just in time to turn to you. His hand was on the noose of his tie, instantly loosening it as his mouth watered. He was starving, but it wasn’t food on his mind as he ate up the view.

You were wearing something quite professional — black dress pants with a silk blouse that was a hint of blue. He would have thought you too formal if it weren’t for your bare feet stepping quietly on the wood floor, along with your still-humid hair falling in waves over your shoulders and chest. But like this, he could only smile at you entering the living room and imagine you jumping into his arms to welcome him home after a long day. Then, what you wore wouldn’t matter, not because he’d be free to undress you, but because with your touch, everything would feel whole.

You bowed politely to the chef, watching them go, and it gave Jungkook a moment of clarity: what he felt was beyond simple interest. It wasn’t fascination or attraction, it was everything combined. He didn’t think it was possible; a skeptical part of him still insisted it wasn’t.

But then you opened your mouth and changed the very axis upon which his world spun. “Good evening.”

He could only smirk; the simplest words could escape your lips, and he’d drink them like they were gospel, “Good evening.”

Your astute eyes observed him, and it was like lying down at the beach under the warm sunlight, “Was there a problem at the office?”

He tilted his head, “I needed to finish up some things. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Your lips twitched as you nodded, “It’s not a problem. In fact, I realized I never accepted your invitation, so I wasn’t sure if it still stood.”

He smirked, “It does, and it looks like you accepted.”

His arms stretched over the back of the couch, and you had to consciously keep your feet from taking you to him. It wasn’t an invitation, no matter how inviting it seemed.

“I thought it was wise to be ready,” you informed, taking a few steps to the side, unable to stay still.

“To have dinner with me?”

“To celebrate,” you corrected, trying to resist his smirk by keeping your expression as neutral as possible.

“By yourself?”

His eyebrow quirked, daring, and you finally smiled, “I was told there is a residence lounge. Thought I could get a drink there, and who knows who could join me.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, and he laughed openly, “You’re right.” He got up, loosening his tie completely and throwing it on the couch. It was enough to tense your back, dissipating your smile as you observed him taking off his suit coat and leaving it next to the tie. “I should have started by offering a drink. Is wine okay?”

Blood spread to your cheeks, but he didn’t notice as he turned around to enter the dining room. It gave you a moment to breathe. “If it’s red. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.”

His laughter was music to your ears as you followed him, only to confirm that the person leaving was wearing a white chef coat for good reason. The glass dining table was set for two, at the head and the place to its right, and in between, an assortment of dishes released a delicious warm scent. From meat to shrimp, noodles to rice, boiled, fermented or fried, it seemed the chef had decided to leave you with a big variety just so you could have anything you possibly wanted.

Your eyes turned to him, his back facing you as he got a red wine bottle from the wine cooler. “This is incredible,” you voiced, unafraid of sounding too easily impressed. That table with the panoramic view and the incredible lighting showing his gleeful smile would easily shake anyone.

“I’m happy you like it.”

“Do you always have dinner like this?”

He placed the bottle on the table, twisting the corkscrew to get it open, “No, not at all. I asked for something special tonight.”

You heard the pop of the cork coming off, but that wasn’t why your heart skipped a beat. He reached for a wine glass on the table, poured a line of wine, then swirled it and took a soft sniff, smiling ecstatically after.

He raised the glass to you, and you stepped forward to accept it, entranced. You took a whiff, too, and the sweet, dark fruit aromas made your eyelashes flutter. You detected the blackberries and plums, and surely a trace of cloves.

Your reaction was enough for him to nod and pour a glass for himself. His shifting attention allowed you to swallow and ask, “Was this what you had in mind?”

He smirked, then turned to you, and your heart flipped again. He had shortened the distance between you and cupped your hand around the glass to tilt it forward towards his chest. The wine glugs, filling your glass, were but an afterthought as you looked at him, his eyes so close you could see stars.

“Absolutely,” he said quietly, yet you heard him so clearly. His expression was likely as serious as yours, mirroring the same tension as he took the bottle away. “This was exactly what I had in mind.”

The sound of the bottle being placed on the table didn’t rattle you; nothing was louder than your racing heart. His hand left yours, and although you could see the reluctance, you bit your inner lip to stay quiet. Being that close didn’t mean just having your breath stolen by his sparkly eyes or unique beauty marks; it also meant seeing how red his eyes were.

“I see… but if you're too tired, we can take a rain check.”

You were certain your worry was easily heard in your voice, yet he shook his head with a returning wide smile and raised his glass between you, “Not a chance.”

Your lips twitched, but you nodded and raised your glass to clink his, bringing it to your lips as he did the same. The velvety taste matched its aroma perfectly, but you weren’t paying attention. His eyes were locked with yours as though that tension was unbreakable, and you realized you didn’t know what you were celebrating. He didn’t specify the toast, and somehow, you knew work had stayed in the office tonight.

When you put the glass down, you weren’t sure you were dizzy with the alcohol or the moment, but your cheeks were hot. You ignored it, just to keep staring into the stars in his eyes, when a stomach growl cut the silence.

You looked down at his stomach, covered by a black button shirt, then up, “Woah, that was powerful.”

He smirked and rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry, I’m starving. Let’s dig in.” He waved at you to sit by his side, “Please, go ahead. Take anything you’d like.” 

He held back, even as you took your time to observe the table and take your pick. He adjusted himself on the chair, but it was surprisingly easy to let you start first. It was just right.

“I wanted to have samgyeopsal,” he confessed, smiling sheepishly. “But we’d have to go to a real barbecue for that and—”

Your eyes widened with a spark, a small gasp jerking your shoulders as you reached for a bowl, “Not a problem.”

He raised an eyebrow at your sudden interest, then chuckled, “Do you like japchae that much?”

“My absolute favorite,” you nodded, filling your plate with utmost focus.

“Alright, I’ll make it for you a lot.”

You had started eating but stopped stuffing your face with the delicious noodles, raising your eyebrows at him instead while he served himself. “You can cook?”

He chuckled, “I love cooking. I’d be showing off my skills right now, but I’m more interested in talking to you.” The butterflies in your stomach twirled around as you stared up at him. He only chuckled, “But now I know. Let’s see, what else? What about makguksu? I have an awesome recipe as well.”

It was easy to eat while you discussed food, especially if it was a chance to quiz him and confirm he knew what he was talking about. He did, and you overlooked his initial promise to cook for you in exchange for a normal, healthy culinary debate.

But neither of you wanted to eat or talk about food all night. He ate a lot, you noticed, and by the end, every dish was done. The red bottle was empty too, so it was the perfect moment to get up.

“I’ll grab another one,” he said, waving at the couch while he headed to the wine cooler. It could have been your chance to say goodnight, but you didn’t want to. “Why do you only drink red?” He asked loudly, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him. “Can't it be Lambrusco?”

You chuckled and sat on the couch, “Lambrusco is a red, and it's delicious. Bring it on!”

The sound of the bottle being dragged out of the cooler, placed on the glass dining table, and popped open made your skin tingle pleasurably. It could be his proximity messing with your nerves, or the alcohol. A cautious part of you thought it was best to call it a night, but the bottle was already open, and he was already extending a new glass to you.

You clinked glasses in silence again once he sat down, and this time, you didn’t bother wondering about the occasion.

“Why not white?”

He mused after the sweetness made him click his tongue, and you sighed with a second sip, “Too acidic for me.”

“Noted,” he nodded, his features serious. “I'll get rid of all whites to make space for more Lambrusco.”

You laughed, “Why would you refine your stock based on my taste?”

He laughed with you, then bit his lip. You smiled as you took another sip, and you looked so happy, simply enjoying yourself, that his priorities shifted. “I like learning more about you.”

“You do?”

You sounded surprised, but he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Well, I haven't learned as much about you,” you scrunched your nose, choosing to take things lightly, and he chuckled.

“I'm sure you already know a lot.”

You tried not to scoff, “I don’t. You think because you’re the CEO, I would know your taste in wine?” Your tone only made him laugh more, leaning back into a pillow that had his abandoned suit coat before he faced you again. “Do you even like reds?”

“Oh yeah, but I prefer beer. Oh, and whiskey.”

“So we know our next drink…”

You hid behind the glass and he smirked, “Good idea. I'll make my specialty cocktail. Only close friends know about it, so know you'll taste something exclusive.”

“Really? I’m flattered; who knew I’d get to know the CEO so well.”

The corner of your mouth raised with mischief as you emptied your glass, and instantly, he was refilling it with a slightly raised eyebrow, “You can call me Jungkook.”

His dark eyes, as he instructed you, released a current down your spine that spread warmth in every direction. There was no way that calling your boss by his first name was a good idea, but you had stopped playing it safe a few glasses ago.

“Is there more to learn about you, Jungkook?” His name on your tongue drew his eyes to your mouth, conveniently about to take another sip. You reveled in the sweetness and tension of that moment, hopefully as much as him. “Something no one else knows.”

His teeth bit into his lower lip to stop a grin, and he nodded, “Certainly.” He placed the glass down on the coffee table and you swallowed. “There’s a lot to find out.”

He unfastened his cuff links, casually folding and pulling the sleeves of his black button shirt to his elbow, and you gasped.

You leaned forward with your free hand, “You have a sleeve?”

He grinned slyly, extending his right arm for you to touch more easily, “I do.”

He was quiet while you explored every tattoo line, from the clock to the letters, stopping to wonder at the tiger lily in bright tones of orange. “Incredible,” you muttered, dragging your finger easily. You were so focused that you missed the goosebumps forming under your touch. He let you turn his arm and even pull the sleeve a bit further up, where you noticed more lines and figures ready to show. You were so insistent you pouted when the fabric got so tight around his bicep it refused to rake further up to his shoulder. 

His chuckle drew your attention, “I can take it off if you’d like to see the rest.”

Your hands withdrew instantly, fingers rubbing on each other needily. Your eyes caught the absence of any other article of clothing underneath his shirt, and you swallowed down your heated longing. “No, I— Of course not.” 

You didn’t bother saying it was inappropriate; you fell back on your side of the couch. Your throat seemed to have blocked, so you cleared it. There was a line you shouldn’t cross, but you also didn’t want to stop whatever you two were doing.

“I don’t have tattoos,” you started, pulling your blouse sleeve. “But I do have this birthmark.”

His eyes followed your fingers, then he grabbed your arm delicately to trace it with his fingers. Your forearm erupted in goosebumps, electrified by his caress, attention, and warmth. It was almost overwhelming, and you had to swallow thickly to keep silent.

“It looks like a butterfly,” he mused, concentrating, and you nodded.

“My mother calls me that.”

He whispered something under his breath, then shifted in his seat, “Look.” 

He brought his forearm next to yours, and you realized what he meant: your birthmark was parallel to his tiger lily. Superposed, your butterfly would find its home in him. It made you shudder from head to toe.

“What ties you to Busan?” His question broke the spell despite his caresses to your arm. You frowned, trying to catch his line of thought. “Friends? Family?”

The Lambrusco swirled a little inside his glass, revealing a short tremble, and your eyes stayed low on his lily, “My mother, mostly. She doesn’t live in Busan, but in a village not too far away.”

Your apprehension was palpable, so you weren’t surprised when he brushed the back of his fingers in a feather-like touch on your forearm, “I understand if it’s too personal, you don’t have to tell me anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

Whether because of his soft touch or warm eyes, you instantly shook your head, “Not uncomfortable, just… I don’t really talk about her. Or my family. She doesn’t like it and—”

Your brow furrowed, and he was ready to reassure you, but you decided to say it.

“And nobody would understand, but maybe you would,” you pushed out, looking into his eyes. Your mom would chastise you for this decision, but it was yours nonetheless. You just felt so alone in all this. “Our family made sacrifices to be eradicated from the registry, and for generations, we’ve been hiding so we wouldn’t be detected.”

He nodded gravely, lowering his eyes to his fingers still touching your milky skin.

“You’re probably the last person I should tell this to,” you chuckled. “But even though times should be different, I was never certain where to draw the line between potential paranoia and it just being like she described. Unfortunately, recent events have made me conclude she was not wrong in wanting us to be cautious.”

“Wait, there’s—” He pressed his lips before he sorted his words, looking at you intently, “There’s something to be said about your mother’s fears and the outdated methods the Family uses to search for omegas. They should know it’s criminal, but it’s how my grandfather found my grandmother, so I suppose that’s why they insist on it.”

“He kidnapped her too?”

“No—” He almost choked. “Hunters found her and brought her to him. They were mates and inseparable.”

“You met her?” 

Your tone was almost anxious, and he smiled with a nod, “The only omega I’ve ever met other than you.” His expression showed fondness, “Grandpa was crazy about her and everyone loved her. She had this… aura to her. I was instantly calm. I was… a bit of a reckless and loud kid, but she never got angry at me. She would just put me on her lap and ask me what happened, and soon after, she was tickling me while I told her all about my adventures.”

You leaned on your side into the couch back, “Adventures, huh?”

It wasn’t hard to imagine, especially when he smirked mischievously, “My knees wouldn't have gotten bruised if I hadn't chased a pirate up a tree.”

“A pirate?”

Your eyebrows jumped, and you both laughed quietly. You were glad to be at ease, folding a leg under you.

“What an exciting childhood you had.”

“What about yours?”

You pursed your lips, “It was just me and my mother. My dad died in a car accident when I was a kid, and my grandma had dementia and died not too long after.”

His eyes softened, “That must have been hard.”

“It was the most on my mom.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“It must have affected you,” his voice quieted, and you noticed his thumb never stopped brushing your pulse point, soothing you for a while now.

“I grew up fast,” you shrugged, casually letting his touch continue. “It was hard because my mother was paranoid about us being caught, but I was raised around humans, unsure if her stories were true and if I should really just… stay hidden in that village or do something with myself.” He nodded, and you admitted, “That’s why hearing from others that my fate isn’t to be used as a tool, abused, or anything like that is…”

“No,” he pressed his thumb to your wrist, and it seemed to you it was to placate his own anxiety this time. “I promise you, that is not— I would never do that.” 

His voice was firm, but something in your eyes must have given you away. You didn’t want to believe he was lying, but it wasn’t in his best interest to tell you the truth.

“My grandma always said a mate’s love was the foundation of our family and that I shouldn’t give up, even if my father never found her.” His eyes lowered once more to your arm before he faced you, “I grew up with them, seeing what a mate’s bond looks like. I would never hurt an omega, even if she wasn’t my mate.”

“But there are those who would.”

“Maybe once upon a time, but I swear things are different now. It was their mistreatment that led to their extinction. Well, alleged,” he corrected, eying you meaningfully. “The Families had to turn to betas, which was seen mostly as a catastrophe a couple of generations back.”

“Why?”

“It affected the strength of their blood, lines started dying and alpha numbers dwindled too. The egoistical views and attitudes of a few generations almost cost us everything.”

“So shouldn’t the way omegas were treated be the real catastrophe?”

Your tone was rough around the edges, but his eyes remained soft, “Worse than a catastrophe, an atrocity. It hurt so many for so many generations.”

His tone was apologetic as he looked at you, but it didn’t soothe you. Not even his touch on your wrist did. “If you recognize the problem, then you should be the first one to set an example. You acknowledge it was an atrocity, but you still send hunters to kidnap omegas instead of searching for yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

He actually looked lost, so you clarified, “If you don’t want to give up like your grandmother suggested, then maybe you should go down to Busan and search for yourself. Meet people.”

His eyebrows jumped, then he shook his head with an embarrassed smile, “I… never considered it.”

“Imagine if you had.”

Your chest warmed with his gaze on yours. You didn’t know why you were admonishing him for not visiting sooner, borderline implying you would have met differently, just like his grandmother had hoped. The past couldn’t be changed, and nothing would happen regardless.

You cleared your throat, “Anyway, it's annoying that your secretary keeps calling me fake.”

He huffed, letting his head fall on the back of the couch as though it tired him too.

“I never wanted to be recognized or seen as just my designation, but it is who I am, so she's pissing me off.”

You sneered at the ridiculousness of the situation, and he nodded, “It's because she never met anyone like you… I don't think she's able to really smell it. She's not as sensitive as us. But you don't have to worry about her. I'll handle things with her.”

You took the glass to your mouth, musing over it quietly. “Well, she works for you… and I won't stay long anyway.”

He was drinking when you spoke, his jaw becoming the slightest bit sharper under the light. His thumb still rubbed your pulse point soothingly.

“Actually… I have a question if you don’t mind.”

You pressed your lips sheepishly, and he almost choked in his hurry to nod.

“What do I smell like?” Your eyebrows framed your curious, big eyes, and his lips parted in wonder. “I've asked my mom, but she only tells me I'm sweet. I've never met anyone else I could ask.”

He blinked away his shock, straightening instantly to lean in a bit closer to you. Not that he needed to; effectively, he could pinpoint every trace and note of your unique aroma. But when you let your head fall back the slightest to expose your neck, he couldn’t be stopped. It was the sweetest invitation, baring your neck to him so he could take you in up close and personal.

He almost growled, something so deep inside him stirring he had to grip the glass and keep himself from grabbing your wrist or pressing his face into the crook of your neck. He was certain you’d taste and feel as endlessly delicate as your scent, but he knew the limits. Even if he thought of you as his, it had to come from you. If anything came out of getting to know you, it was that waiting was the only option he had if he ever wanted to welcome his mate by his side. 

So he groaned silently and pulled back; he might not have met you in the right circumstances, but he wasn’t about to fuck this up.

“She’s right, you smell sweet,” he rasped, looking into your beautiful eyes again, so close he could see the black dots hiding among the lights. “Like jasmines — sweet, deep, and fond. And me?” He saw you swallow, but he couldn’t resist, “What do I smell like?”

“I’m sure you know,” you tried, though you didn’t move.

He shook his head, “What do I smell like to you?”

You looked down at his neck with a hint of uneasiness, but his soothing touch calmed you enough to go forward. You leaned into the crook of his neck, so close you felt his body warmth emanating. One deep breath, though, and you almost whimpered. Your free hand gripped his arm as your whole body warmed and thrummed with the heady scent.

“Strong,” you whispered, noticing a moment later his neck was covered in goosebumps. “Earthy.” You couldn’t resist nuzzling his skin the slightest, raising it up his neck until you met his jaw. “Spicy, something so alluring I just…”

You nuzzled his cheek and he turned to face you, with lips so close to yours, his warm breath lulled your eyes closed. You were certain his lips would touch yours, releasing all that tension into a burst that would raze your senses.

But the sounds of a keypad being pressed made you instinctively pull back, and you were happy you did because in mere seconds it was as though the rug was being pulled from under your feet.

The front door burst open, and you jumped to your feet, frightened. Jungkook stood up, too, trying to regain the touch that had been severed in the motion, but it was too late. You both had to face the woman storming inside the apartment, with eyes so wide, and nostrils so wide in fury, it confused you more than anything.

“What the hell?!”

Sunhwa’s outrage wasn’t missed on you, but all you could do was frown, stupefied.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook’s tone was cold, and you weren’t certain if that was the right reaction. Shouldn’t he be pissed that his secretary just stormed into his apartment late at night?

“What am I doing? What are you doing?!”

His eyes hardened as though her question didn’t merit a reply, and she threw the folders in her hand on the coffee table.

“I wanted to update you on the ASICS deal and thought you probably wouldn’t have eaten yet, so I called Chef Jae, and they told me they had prepared the special dinner you asked for!”

You glanced at him, even more confused than before, and his reply came quiet, “You should know better than to just barge in here.”

“You weren’t picking up the phone!”

Her screeches were starting to give you a headache, “Alright, listen. It’s past eleven in the evening, surely there’s nothing that can justify causing a scene like this.”

Her laugh was a shriek, “You have some gall to tell me I can’t cause a scene, huh?! First, you try to seduce him by falsely claiming to be an omega—”

“I am!”

“— and now you’ve invited yourself into his apartment! Do you really have no shame? I won’t stand for this!”

Your eyebrows jumped in pure disbelief, “And who are you to care what an adult man does in his apartment?”

She stomped her foot, fuming as she glared, “I’m his fiancé!”

Your stomach dropped, spreading such coldness through your guts, you froze.

In years of law, despite dealing with senseless clients at times, you had never lost your composure or words, but today was the day. Her words, that scene, and the deceit underlying that whole night gutted you, so you were speechless.

“You don't know what you're saying.”

His tone was firm, but one glance told you he was seething. Your first instinct was to resent him; he should be apologizing, not angry that his fiancé ruined the ruse.

Sunhwa crossed her arms with a laugh, “Oh, so I'm suddenly not?”

“We have a contract.”

“Precisely!”

Her clapback was triumphant, and you stiffened even further.

“This is not what you think,” he said, having turned to you.

You looked at him slowly, but Sunhwa was already stepping closer between you, “This is exactly what you think! He's promised to me! How dare you come in here and try to seduce him with your false claims and—!”

“Enough!”

His roar effectively silenced her, making even the glass in your hand reverberate. It forced you to look away and realize you had no business standing there.

You put the glass on the coffee table, “I see you have things to discuss, so I'll leave you to it.”

You ignored the smothering silence surrounding you and headed up the stairs. 

That silence was dearly missed when the last concrete thing you heard was Sunhwa freaking out, “She's sleeping here?!”

You closed the bedroom door and weighed your options, but then ended up locking the door and hiding with your face into your pillow. You had drunk too much, and it was too late to wander off in the middle of Seoul. For now, you’d just have to stay.

[coterieofroses]

the bluebell wood; spent blossoms

Taggie O’hara x Rupert Campbell-Black

part one | part two

Summary: Taggie and Rupert navigate their feelings post 1x08, canon divergent, an excuse for smut really, part two of the bluebell wood

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, pet names, gagging, kissing, cheating, oral sex (male and fem receiving), praise kink

w/c: 2.8k

Also available on AO3

Notes: As I decided to continue this some plot, before it returns to smut

Spent Blossoms

After Taggie and Rupert parted from their wooded affair, they were once again split by expectations put upon them. It was less than a mile from the Priory to Penscombe Court, but for all the complications facing them, it felt to Taggie as if they may as well reside on separate planets.

A heavy moral conflict set upon Taggie, weighing upon her like a dark cloud. She thought often of Cameron unsure of what had become of her relationship with Rupert, and a great deal of responsibility weighed on her shoulders. She moved about the Priory kitchen quietly in the days following and setting herself to dutifully caring for her father. When the man was not completely absorbed in his work, he became absorbed in thoughts of her mother in London, drinking, or his obsession with Yates.

---

Taggie avoided asking him of Rupert, and the work on the consortium bid. Frequently caught in her thoughts, she became a touch of a recluse. Anxious over what may come from another meeting with Rupert in the bluebell wood. Worried it may condemn her further, leave feelings largely unresolved, and complicate things further.

Unfortunately for Taggie, eventually the supplies began to run scant in the Priory. She ran low on nearly everything by the end of the week, and it became painfully obvious she was due a trip to the shops. She made a list, packed her things into the Mini, and set out, leaving her father home to ruminate in his office, as he so often resigned himself to doing.

Examining the basket of fresh loaves, Taggie’s fingers glided over the parchment and cellophane bags. Her mind was mostly elsewhere. Self conscious, and wandering. As if the shop ladies could see a great red A branded on her sweater. Of course, it was mostly in her head. The pensioners chattered to each other about town gossip as per usual, and just the same, it rarely involved her.

Her thoughts kept wandering back to the woods, as she drifted amongst the produce in the slightly cramped grocers. The memory somewhat haunted her, a lack of regret about what transpired between her and Rupert, but a looming sense of foreboding remaining.

Then she saw her across the narrow aisles. Cameron, in her usual statuesque glory, her back to Taggie. Well dressed and holding just a few bits.

For a moment all things seemed to still for Taggie, frozen in place. She contemplated turning and leaving out the front door but gathered that would be more suspicious than anything else. As she continued to look, she realized it was almost certainly the first time she had seen Cameron without makeup.

To Taggie’s eyes, she didn’t appear upset, just withdrawn, going plainly about her day. Taking her lead, Taggie chose to politely avoid her, and attempt much of the same. Giving her a wide enough berth that it seemed she went largely unnoticed.

---

When Taggie pulled the Mini back into the Priory, her boot filled with enough groceries to continue avoiding Rupert for at least another few weeks, she saw him looming up the gravel drive. A soft sigh left her as she paused, shaking her head lightly before pulling the car around the front of the old home.

“Taggie.” he greeted her with unfettering warmth. His criminally charismatic smirk wore on his lips as she stepped out of the car. It gave Taggie enough of a chance to pause and observe. To her, he may as well have hung the moon.

“Here to see my father?” she asked, a touch hopeful as she opened the boot of the car and began collecting the array of paper bags. Rupert moved to join in and aid her, aiming to get the bulk of them before she could protest.

“To see you. But I suppose I wouldn’t mind a chat with Declan.” he offered with a gentle shrug before she sighed gently, leading the way into the kitchen without another word.

Once all the groceries were successfully deposited on the worn kitchen table, Taggie finally looked back to Rupert. He was looking over her with a light frown, concern clear on his features for her somber attitude.

Taggie opted not to clarify, moving to put away the groceries neatly, leaving Rupert to break the silence.

“Where is the old man?” he finally asked. Leaving Taggie to gesture to his study, on the other side of the house.

“Consumed with the bid.” she offered, setting things neatly in the pantry. She offered no real feeling to the answer either way. Just that it was, not good, nor bad.

“Tag…” he finally said, grasping her by her bicep gently, turning her to look at him. She let out a careful, measured breath as her eyes finally came to meet his.

“Have you been avoiding me, my Angel?” he asked, clearly a touch concerned. A man who had spent much more time being chased, than chasing for affections himself.

“No…” she lied, poorly, a little twitch of her lips giving her away as she began to clear her throat. “I know we’ve only complicated things…” she admitted sheepishly.

“I ended it. With Cameron. Shortly after our last meeting.” he offered to her softly. His deep voice husked as he made his confession in a lowered tone. “You’ve only made things crystalline for me, my darling.” he cooed, raising the hand on her bicep to gently cup her cheek. His thumb stroked over it.

“B-but… the franchise.” she stuttered out, looking at him with shock clear on her features.

“It wasn’t fair. Not to any of us to keep things as they were. She agreed to stay on. Something happened with her and Tony…” he admitted with a soft shake of his head. “But you are what matters most to me now.” he rasped, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on Taggie’s forehead.

Relief washed over her. Like slowly walking into the ocean, the guilt came off her in great waves.

The moment was broken, however, by the phone ringing and a great clatter on the other side of the house.

“Tag!” shouted Declan. “Can you get that?” he called to her, causing her to startle, and pull away from Rupert. Unphased, he let her, as she slipped off to the foyer. He stood in the kitchen a moment, eyes looking out from the window above the sink. Taking a deep steadying breath as he rubbed his fingers together. Attempting to memorize the feel of Taggie’s cheek beneath them.

Caitlin was on the phone, with lists of requests for poor Taggie on what she may need for when she returned from school. It consumed a great deal of time, as she struggled to write it down on the piece of paper by the phone. Rupert took the opportunity to break the news to her father.

The usual amount of shouting between them was exchanged, but Declan was clearly soothed enough by whatever Rupert had to say around it, that they hadn’t caused Taggie to abandon the phone, or worry about an all-out brawl. Shouts soon mellowed into laughter, and by the time Rupert came out of her father’s study, Taggie had finally finished up with Caitlin.

She let out a slightly worn sigh, leaning back in the chair by the telephone, Rupert flashing her a warm, easy smile as her father closed the door to his study behind Rupert. Content to once again shut himself in with his thoughts. 

“Why don’t I help you with the rest of those bits?” Rupert suggested, indicating to the kitchen, and prompting Taggie of work left undone. She nodded, rising to her feet as she followed him into the kitchen. 

Once safely inside, she asked in a low voice, “Did you tell him… about us?” she queried softly. 

Rupert let out a sharp bark of a laugh, unpacking things and folding up paper bags. He shook his head and smiled at her. “I think it’d have been a far more unpleasant meeting if I had.” he admitted, leading Taggie to let out a sigh of relief. In no time at all, they wrapped up putting things away in a comfortable silence, one Rupert finally broke as they finished. “Taggie, would you like to go for a walk?” he asked her with a smile, looking up to the direction of the Bluebell wood. 

Taggie’s cheeks burned at the implication. A nervous chuckle left her before she nodded. “I’d love nothing more.” she admitted softly, and before she knew it, she was following Rupert out the kitchen’s back door. 

---

Rupert and Taggie traipsed down the rolling green fields between the Priory and Rupert’s home. The weather had the usual cool breeze of April, soon to melt into May. Rupert and Taggie were bundled in wool sweaters that the Cotswolds were once so famous for. In a time Taggie liked to imagine when her thoughts wandered, where Rupert may be more than metaphorically in shining armor for her.

Their hands brushed every so often as they walked, smiling as pleasantries were exchanged, words about nothing really at all. Taggie admitting to what she’d been doing in her hiding, mostly cooking, and Rupert keeping mum on anything to do with Cameron, mostly talking about work he was getting done as an MP.

Soon enough they were in the relative privacy of the Bluebell Wood once again, and Rupert softly grasped Taggie’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. Taggie’s cheeks flushed red, but she didn’t pull away, glancing around for any onlookers, but there was none to be found. 

Their feet continued to carry them down the path towards Penscombe Court, quickly depositing them at the back and the collection of out buildings, the stables, the garage, and the garden shed Rupert continued to step towards. Taggie raised her brow at him, surprised, but eager to not let go of his hand, so she followed him into the dark building. 

Tables lined the sides of the structure and were covered with pots, tools and clippings. Anything one may need to take care of an estate with the grounds the size of Penscombe Court. In the middle of the structure was an expansive, empty table, looking like it may fit a viking mead hall more than a potting shed, but its considerable size fit the relative size of the structure they found themselves in. They approached the end of it and without any manner of preamble, Rupert lifted Taggie as if she were featherlight and set her to sit on the surface. 

A great peal of laughter left Taggie in surprise as she was placed down, her hands flying to grasp at the collar of Rupert’s button down, peeking out from underneath his sweater. “Rupert!” she attempted to scold, but her giggles betrayed her. 

“Come now, Angel, I just wanted to see you.” he assured her with a wicked grin playing on his lips. His hands moved to cup her cheeks, thumbs covetously running over them again as he looked deeply into her eyes. It took everything in Taggie not to shrink away, to give in, and melt into him, a tinge of discomfort in her at his endless affection. Her cheeks burned in the wake of his affectionate touch. The thought crossed her, for a brief moment, that she’d only seen him so adoring with his pets in the past. 

Finally, Rupert pressed his lips to Taggie’s. Eager kisses being exchanged as the low simmer he’d stirred in her for the last week was quickly raised to a rolling boil. He was much less gentle with her this time, holding her still as he nipped gently at her bottom lip. In turn Taggie was much more desperate, pulling at the wool of his sweater, and threatening to stretch it terribly out of place with every needy tug. 

Eventually Rupert broke their kiss with a chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled the garment over his head and tossing it aside. The white button down beneath was only half done up, and clung to his tanned skin with the growing heat of their exchange. Greedily, Taggie took the opportunity to shed hers as well, though it left her only in a white lace bra. Rupert kissed his teeth and eagerly cupped her barely clothed breasts, leading Taggie to part her knees and let him more easily slot between them. 

“So beautiful, pet.” he praised her softly. Taggie’s blush dripping down her cheeks and down over her neck and collarbones. Her freckles stood out even more over pinked skin. 

A petulant whimper left Taggie as she linked her forearms behind the back of Rupert’s neck, eagerly seeking more kisses. Rupert was more than happy to oblige, keeping his hands mostly to himself as he worked the buttons left on his shirt until it freely slipped off his wide, lean shoulders. 

Taggie was growing more than more eager, and gave an exploratory roll of her hips against Rupert. His hardening cock met her clothed core. A soft grunt left him as he broke their kiss. 

“Are you sure you want that?” He levels at her, a cocked brow and Taggie was more than eager to nod in reply, attempting to pull him in again, before Rupert chuckled, and took hold of her forearms, holding them still as he looked at her. “Use your words, Angel.” he implored huskily, pupils blown wide with lust. 

“Actually…” she answered breathily, licking her lips in nervousness. “Can I do for you what you did for me?” she asked breathily. The question almost made Rupert choke, seeming slightly taken aback. 

“Of course.” he replied when he regained his composure. “I could never say no to you.” he admitted before letting go of her arms. He then reached back and deftly unclipped her bra, leaving Taggie to rid herself of it with ease. She gently pressed him a step back by his chest, before slipping down to her knees at his feet. Their woolen sweaters padded her meeting the cold stone. 

Before she could lose her courage, Taggie attempted to wrangle Rupert free of his belt buckle. A task he was plenty happy to let her struggle with on her own, his own hand carding his fingers through her hair. With enough effort, she worked him free of his belt, and eased his thick length free from his trousers, left heavy with desire. Gently, she leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to the red, leaking tip of him, eyes flicking up to Rupert’s, eager to please. 

“That’s a good pet.” he cooed the praise, his own eyes glazed over with lust. His fingers continued to card through her hair until he held it in a fist at the back of her head with only one of his large hands. He used his leverage to guide her head down, encouraging her to slicken his length. Taggie was more than happy to oblige, and a touch appreciative for the guiding hand as she eagerly suckled over all he offered to her, licking up his length as her eyes began to drift shut. A daze of sorts over taking her. Quickly though, Rupert gave her cheek a quick tap to wake her out of her stupor. 

“Eyes on me, angel.” he corrected with an even, measured breath. A command she quickly obeyed, eyes fixing right on him. “There you go, now open wider.” he praised and guided, Taggie’s mouth falling open as he began to ease his length into her waiting mouth. Taggie suckled around him, cheeks hollowing as her eyelashes fluttered up at him, Rupert’s cock heavy on her tongue, but not yet challenging to take. “That’s a sweet girl.” he husked, his breath catching as he worked himself down her throat. Rupert tugged on Taggie’s hair, pulling her down until he was hilted inside her, causing Taggie to whine, and her hands to grasp out his trousers for leverage. “You can take it, know you can…” he mumbled as he began to slowly fuck her throat in earnest. 

His eyes went darker as he watched the struggle to cope with the size of him leave her. Taggie grew pliant, tears forming in the corner of her eyes seemingly forgotten by the time they overflowed and spill over her cheeks. Her grasping at his trousers coming out of more desperation to be closer than eagerness to breathe. 

Rupert was too wrapped up in Taggie, and overwhelmed, by the time he was pulling back, attempting to preserve himself for more, she was whining and suckling at him, rejecting the loss. He gripped the base of his length with his free hand, but Taggie was unrelenting. In the push and pull, it was mere moments before he was shivering, a low grunt leaving him as he spent over her tongue and lips messily. 

Taggie of course, hardly seemed to mind, licking them clean and grinning up at him, basking with pride as she watched Rupert look down on her in wonder, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

[askror]

Not exactly a question but... To Whisper: I know you're in a dark place right now after what happened, but I want you to know, things will get better. Lean on your friends and loved ones for support. You deserve it. Sincerely, Someone whose Whisper is going through something similar

"I don't know what this person means by 'their Whisper,' but my Whisper isn't going to have to face this alone. Not by a long shot, pal." Tangle's arms slipped around the broader girl from behind, her chin resting on her shoulder to smile at the screen, and then at Whisper.

"Tangle, I..." There it was. That old, nasty habit of falling back on "this is my fight." But no. She'd been taught, and not all that long ago, that was a recipe for disaster. She smiled and let out a shuddery little sigh, biting back the breakdown that had been impending.

Everything involving the Priestess Consortium was chilling. She hated it. It made her hurt inside. But she had spent enough of her life facing things and shutting down, letting herself fall apart while they happily dug a grave for her in the interim. That was not what she was going to do here, not this time.

This time, she wasn't alone.

[heliopauseentertainments]

In Memoriam

Part of MegOp Week 2024 Prompt - Day 7: Vulnerability/Acceptance

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Megatron & Optimus Prime

Characters: Megatron

Warnings: Vignette, Referenced Character Death, Grief, Mourning, Swearing

Summary: In which before being taken to have his sentence carried out, Megatron is granted a final request.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

It had taken some finagling, but Ultra Magnus had gotten the Galactic Council to grant Megatron a final wish before he would be rendered insensate in isolation.

It might as well have been death; it was functionally death.

But he had been allowed this one indulgence. Even Prowl, in a rare display of mercy, had been in agreement that Megatron could have this.

It wasn’t the exact place that Optimus had met his end, but the Earth, a planet so fateful to their kind, was the closest solid ground Megatron could get to. Of course, the various governments of Earth had been against his visit, no matter how brief. However, on the condition that he was disarmed and squarely in the sights of more guns than could be considered reasonable, even the humans had allowed him to come to their world one last time.

Standing now in front of a monument erected in a joint effort by some of the few survivors of their species and the humans that did not detest all Cybertronians, Megatron could say farewell to his friend. In a strange way, they had been friends.

Ultra Magnus stood several paces away, having been allowed to accompany his “client” on this little journey. He kept his back respectfully turned, giving Megatron the dignity of a veneer of privacy, even if none of the soldiers ready to fire upon him could give him the same courtesy.

The monument, a large, polished white marble stele with the same dedication engraved in multiple languages. Neocybex, of course, but the remainder were several of Earth’s languages. His universal translator was able to decipher most of them in a sort of flat way, but he was sure much nuance was being lost.

“In memoriam of Optimus Prime of Iacon—“ Incorrect, Primes traditionally lost their city names upon ascension. “—our friend from the far off planet of Cybertron—“ No longer extant. “—who selflessly sacrificed himself—“ As he had been wont to do his entire life, yes. “—to protect Earth from destruction.”

An etching of Optimus’s face, in partial profile, had been placed in the center of the slab, surrounded in scrollwork and geometric shapes, a fusion of typical Iaconian styles with the more organic aesthetic of Optimus’s favorite mudball world—Megatron oughtn’t call it that.

Knowing that Optimus was dead and seeing the purported proof were vastly different things. An icy weight, a grief he had not borne since he had believed Terminus dead, tugged inward on his spark, compressing it until it seemed like it might implode.

In the grooves of the carved glyphs and artwork, Megatron could see traces of color, as though the monument had been the victim of graffiti. Forcibly bringing a previously sovereign world into consortium with alien governments tended to not be popular. Megatron ought to know, after all.

For all of the love and admiration and worship foisted upon Optimus, there would, of course, be those who wholeheartedly disagreed. Megatron could hardly blame them.

At least Optimus had had the luxury of actually dying.

Lucky bastard.

Megatron was to be punished with an endless undeath. Alone forever with his thoughts whenever the drive they would hook his spark up to would fluctuate, interrupting his senseless, slumbering void.

He reached out with his hands, his wrists awkwardly cuffed together. He could have broken the cuffs easily, but there was no need. It wouldn’t change anything.

Placing his palm on the etching of Optimus’s face, he smiled. A warm pressure bloomed in his spark, pushing through the cold grief.

“You finally did it, you foolish hero, you finally did it.”

There was a heavy sigh as he brushed his palm over the ridges in the marble.

“And, like usual, you didn’t bother to wait for me.”

[cuprohastes]

Cargo of Terra

Captain Zolvair of the Transport Ship Ootsgkgkgk was at an informal meeting of Captains.

Which meant she and five others who were currently on station were propping up a bar on Deck 9, where the view was good and the Grottled Greebs wouldn't upset anyone.

"Well. It's been nice knowing you – Except you, Grubbthrak – But I have a cargo pod full of Tellus Mercenaries... and no Human."

Grubbthrak (who nobody liked) shuddered and even said, "My condolences. I always hoped to hear of your untimely demise but... Tellus?" and shuddered again to make a point, his quills rattling.

The other captains took a moment of silence for their probably doomed comrade.

Throughout the systems, everyone had heard rumours of Tellus Mercenaries.

If you had the money, and you could get a signal through, they'd come for you.

It was aid they'd punched through the embargo fleet on Jamok (the planet) because they'd been hired to push back Sisiphon troops around Jamok (the city). They ahdn't been hired to, it was just in the way. One ship, they said, pushed through a fleet meant to keep a carrier group out.

And everyone knew that just 500 Tellus mercenaries took back the Oostin continent from the Rshk, who outnumbered them by 1000:1.

And as for what happened to the Sha Jarmak when he reneged on payment... well that got made into sixteen movies, three of which were horror genre.

Do not fuck with the Tellus

One Tellus who wanted to wander the ship was unstoppable. A whole habitat module of them? It was said that ships that didn't have a handler usually came back as salvage.

A tall feathery being in Trade Consortium of Duth colours whistled, "I heard they found a dead Tellus and peeled its armour off, on Jamok.

Grubbthark scoffed! "Ha! Everyone knows a dead Tellus will melt to slime - And eat through your deck plates if you open their armour."

The Duth captain waved a frond. "Even so, it is what was told. The being who said so, said the Tellus are cybernetic abominations, with scales and the meat of the slain still caught between their teeth."

Everyone took a drink. No Tellus Merc had ever been seen out of its combat suit. Rumour had it they were all synthetics, and thus they were themselves not wearing the dark and shifting combat suits — They were the suits.

Other rumours said that they captured anyone who'd fit and used them as unwilling pilots. Worse rumours suggested they would remove anything that didn't fit and still make you pilot the mech suits.

Others pointed out that the Tellus always logged captives, and treated them in accordance with galactic standards on prisoner confinement, but nobody likes a killjoy busting your deliciously lurid story telling.

What was known was that they were almost impossible to confine or deal with unless you had a Human.

For some reason, they were fine with humans and never pinned them down and ate them or whatever it was that they did when they got told 'no'.

Any ship carrying them always had a human or two to go down to their habitat pods and... well nobody knows. The Humans say they're not allowed to tell. And the Tellus don't really chat at all.

"Humans!" grumped the Captain. "'Oh we're so friend shaped ha ha tee hee fart bare teeth play with hair' - Ugh. There's nicer species..."

The Human captain coughed softly.

"No direct ooffenceintended." Zolvair stated, laying her back plates flat in contrition. "You know how it is."

The Human Captain, who's name was something unpronounceable ( Ooo-Yill-amn, woo-ee-lam... 'Just call me Bil'), shrugged and said, "I mean you're not wrong, but I have to stick up for the species. It's all part of the jjob,donchaknow." and fiddled with his hair.

Zolvair sighed and used the table's console to order him another drink for being a good sport... then thought 'can't spend your credits when you're gone' and bought everyone else a round.

Bil nodded at the kind gesture, and since propriations had been tendered, displayed some largess of his own: "Y'know a lot of my crew happens to be human. I could see if anyone wants to transfer for the haul..."

Zolvair, predictably was enthused. "Oh! Yes, absolutely, squeap yes! Full pay and a bonus when the delivery is complete." she said, turning into somewhat of a pinecone in her enthusiasm.

***

Und zo...

A mere 9 hours later, Zolvair's ship undocked and gently fell away from the station, with Sisi Amadalé on the bridge.

She was a dark human with tight curls that Zolvair considered extremely pleasing to look upon. She had a few scars she said she'd picked up as a stevedore and on Planetary Bioassay jobs – "It's not all carrying things and doing Human stuff!" she'd said – and a comfy looking set of overalls with the most fascinating array of pocket and loops. The decorative patches alone made Zolvair feel under-decorated.

She was carrying a clipboard, wearing a warm looking poncho and keeping a hand on a large bag that she claimed contained snacks that would keep the Tellus quiet.

She watched the undocking, and sighed. "Well. All yours, Captain." she said.

Zolvair, in her chair also sighed. "OK, well the Tellus are all yours. Go down, introduce yourself and uh, feed them snacks if that's your plan. Stay close to the emergency button and don't take chances."

Sisi snapped off a sloppy salute. "Aye aye, Captain!" she said cheerfully and headed aft.

Zolvair found the human extremely affable and could tell that the bridge crew had a favourable impression. She hoped the Tellus wouldn't eat her.

Meanwhile, in the cargo section...

The habitat pod, big enough to transport 16 mercs, their combat vehicles, provisions, and all the other paraphernalia loomed.

To say it was black would be like saying Absolute Zero was 'cold'.

Technically correct but missing on a whole lot of detail and context.

The pod, like the inhabitants, loomed. It was hard to look at - it's skin shifting, changing, hiding any surface detail. Now glossy, now matte like looking into a void. Now rippling in a way that made most sentients change their underwear. And one thing everyone agreed on about the terrifying pods: They really did watch you. They knew you were there. You could feel them staring somehow.

Sisi walked up and banged on the hatch and yelled, "Open up!".

The hatch opened in a disturbing way and Sis tutted and walked right in, swallowed.

Inside, as the inner hatch opened, the walls were a pleasant creamy colour with hand painted meadows and amber accent lighting.

The Tellus mercenaries, still wearing their pyjamas, raised a cheer as Corporal Sisi of the Tellus Mercenary group upended her satchel and tumbled out bundles of chocolate and bags of coffee beans.

"I had to cut short my civiliant roation for this!" she bitched cheerfully – After getting hit hard enough to break her leg in three places she'd been taking some R&R and doing some under-cover security for Catpain Bil's freighter for the pocket money and, honestly, because she was going bugfuck crazy at the resort she'd spent two weeks at after being discharged from the hospital.

"Remember guys, no scaring the crew on this trip. They're nice, and htey're already half sure you're gonna murder them in their beds." she said, cracking one of the packages open for the almond crisp chocolate bar stuffed into it. Someone groaned as she called dibs, so she threw half to them.

"Pff." said one huge, scarred man in Hello Kitty PJs. "The Tsin are never any trouble. Tell you what... if you want in on the action, I'll play Good ol' Sam, Freelance Chef on the way back."

"Chef?"

"Damn' straight. Bet you five credits they'll ask me to stay on just for the Chatophah rolls I make..." he said and got some eyerolls from the rest of the team.

"Always with the damn Chatophah rolls..." groaned a woman as she fed coffee beans into the autobarrista. "... which isn't to say I don't want any on Tsin Tuesday." she added hurriedly.

Sisi groaned. "Oh gawwwwd, coffeeee" around a mouthful of chocolate.

In half an hour she'd smear a little makeup on to make her look ragged, and take a knife to the cheap bag, and report back on the borderline feral space monsters in the hold, then go back to playing her favourite character: Good ol' Sisi, who never did anything more scary than get into a purple breadroll eating competition.

Now this was going to be some fun R&R!

[the-consortium]

( from @codex-aetherium ):

A piece of what appears to be exceedingly old parchment appears on Fabius’ desk one morning. How it got there is unclear, but a quick glance makes it obvious it isn’t something that belonged to him. It is written in a dark blue ink with flecks of silver that catch the light at odd angles.

Chief Apothecary Bile,

I hope this letter finds you well, and at least in a good enough mood to grant a stranger a small favor.

I am lead to believe you are or have employed an individual known as Herik Stymphalos. I know you’re asking yourself why I would want to associate with such a person, and the answer is quite simple. I am an Astartes of the XV Legion and was greatly affected by the Flesh Change. More specifically, my body has transformed into what I can only describe as an anthropomorphic corvid.

I am tangentially aware of Stymphalos’ avian obsessions and would appreciate you putting us in contact if at all possible. As you may have guessed, I do not seek to cure this particular affliction and he may offer some unique insight.

If you please, write your response on the opposite side of this page, and it will find its way back to me.

Respect and Admiration,

Calypsos Renn - XV Legion Archivist

The Holvall sun has crept over the zenith and is beginning to colour the sky at the edges, first golden and then purple. Night falls quickly here near the equator. Flocks of twilight birds rise from the jungle with the whistling and rustling of their wings to catch insects and small flying lizards, which are now circling in particularly large numbers above the treetops.

In an old volcanic crater in the mountains deep in the woods, far away from any civilisation, bulkheads rumble over the windows of a cage-like hemisphere.

Herik gets ready for the nightly research cycle.

He is just about to make his way to the central lab when one of his serfs staggers down from the observation and communications area above, wings flapping ponderously, and holds out a datapad to him.

Herik raises his silver brows and takes the pad. Communication from outside normally only reaches him from one place. And this time too: the electronic seal of the Consortium. Even the private stamp of the Chief Apothecary. Herik whistles through his teeth and looks down, where one of the cloned geese is elegantly preening its feathers before returning his gaze.

Then he reads the short message.

Sighs.

One should never underestimate the command character of the Clone Lord's messages. And "your presence on Urum at your earliest possible convenience is in your interest. Vesalius is on its way to pick you up" is speaking very loud and very clear.

A curt gesture that covers the whole swarm of serfs." Pack my travel lab for Urum."

----------

Meanwhile on the Crone World of the Consortium, deep in the old palace.

Fabius nods briefly and contentedly when he receives Herik’s confirmation. Then he clasps his hands behind his back and marches up and down in his library, dictating to a servo skull that is eagerly floating behind him:

"To Archivist Renn of the Thousand Sons!

My personal feelings towards your Legion are of no concern to my work. If I were to choose my patients according to which legion has not yet put a bounty on me, I would have to limit myself to the second and eleventh.

The changes of the sons of Magnus are quite interesting to me, because I am still doing research on the instabilities and errors of the various gene seed variants.

According to my information, Herik’s current focus of work is aimed at creating a stable connection between the bird and human genome, but I am sure that he can spend a lot of worthwhile study time on your case.

My student will be in Urum in an estimated three weeks, give or take some time for warp fluctuations.

I await you here accordingly.

Fabius Bile, Chief Apothecary of the Emperor’s Children"

[stalkedbytrains]

Assassin's Monthly: Retirement is Just Fine

“Come on Sugary,” she asked, her chin resting in her hands, green eyes following the broad woman with the surprisingly delicate hands. “All I’m asking is for us to go get two cups of coffee.”

“Oh it is two cups now?” asked the woman with the French accent and slightly graying dark hair. “A moment ago it was only one.”

“It’s a negotiation tactic,” the middle aged woman shrugged.

“I see,” Sugary sighed. “But you know I cannot stand the piss you Americans call coffee.”

“I’ll make you some. I’ll roast the beans and grind them all by hand. The whole shebang.”

“Not in that dreadful thing you call a kitchen. I cannot set foot in there in good conscience. Lilith, it would not know fine cuisine if it was painted on the walls.”

“You drive a hard bargain Sugary. Fine. I’ll redo my kitchen. Rip it all out and go down to the studs. And I’ll get a fancy, modern kitchen with all the amenities and then you’ll come over for four cups of coffee.”

“Oh, we are all the way to four now?”

“If I’m redoing my whole kitchen? Yeah, four,” she said with a smile. Before she could continue a man in an expensive suit and a stylishly unshaven face entered the armory.

“Sherry!”

“Chérie,” the green eyed woman corrected him. “It is French.”

“I knew that,” he grumbled as he looked over the woman that corrected him.

Her face was starting to show lines of age. The little black dress she had on showed off as many scars at it did tattoos that were all starting to fade slightly from time. Her hair was also showing signs of losing its luster if not it’s color. But her eyes were as bright and fiery as they’d ever been.

“Holy shit!” the guy all but yelled. “It’s you!”

“Sugary? Who is this guy?” she asked without taking her eyes off of him.

“Relax,” the French woman responded. “He’s a headhunter for the old men up north. The Council? The Cloakroom? Whatever they call themselves these days.”

“You’re her! You’re the Queen of the Kill! You are the top contract killer ever! Oh man, I was actually at the rally when you killed that Senator! Oh, please tell me you’re here because Sherry’s making you a gun. Please tell me you’re back.”

“Nope. Still retired,” she said as she took her finger off the trigger on the concealed pistol she had trained on the man. “I just come in every week or so to try and convince my favorite gunsmith to get some coffee with me. And every time it ends up with me doing something outrageous. Today I’m apparently remodeling my entire kitchen.”

“If you’re doing some construction, it’ll cost you some decent money, and I can offer you a super easy job that’s basically just cash in pocket.”

“I don’t take jobs from people off the street. Besides I’m retired.”

“I know, I know, you’re out of the game. You stopped working, what, six years ago?”

“Seven.”

“But come on, I heard you take some jobs you find interesting or if you’re unnaturally bored. Since you retired you did three jobs, right?”

“Four.”

“God the bidding war over your last job was insane! My employers were very upset we got knocked out so early. Come on, how much did they pay you?”

“Thirteen,” she said lazily, still looking at Sugary who was smiling slightly while filling bullet casings with gunpowder.

“Million? Holy shit! Who orders a hit for thirteen million?”

“Seriously? I have confidentiality stuff. And don’t ask me how many people they paid to have offed either.”

The man sighed, “Can you at least tell me who it was for? I swear it was one of the Sheikhs.”

“Nope, a Canadian.”

“Really?”

“The fuck do you think?”

“Ok, ok. But the Consortium will pay you a million and a half to kill three people by the end of the month,” the man continued with his pitch.

The woman rolled her eyes.

“Look, it’ll be super easy. Three targets. The only restrictions are that they all have to be taken out at the same time, and it has to be by the end of the month. I can give you half a million per head.”

Sugary shrugged.

“Make it an even two million and you’ve got a deal,” she said.

“What about one point seven five million and I get you a meeting with the Italian home designer Benito. He’s my brother’s wife’s cousin. He can redo your whole kitchen into the fanciest fucking kitchen to ever exist.”

Sugary raised an eyebrow.

Seeing the look on the gunsmith’s face, the woman sighed and said, ��Fine. I was bored anyways. I’ll do it, assuming everything works out with your credentials and stuff. And I guess I’ll need a gun Sugary.”

“Sugary?” the man asked. “I thought you said it was Chérie.”

“It’s French for ‘sweet’,” Lilith said. “You know sugary sweet? Ah never mind.”

“I don’t know where she got it either,” Sugary said.

“Either way. I’ll need a new gun. I’ll need the lightest hair trigger you got, and as little recoil as possible,” the woman mused.

Sugary reached across the small counter top between her and the woman and grabbed her to pull her into a kiss that lasted a few seconds too long to be strictly friendly.

“Oh to make a gun for you again? It would be a pleasure!”

“And I guess I’ll have to bring the coffee here since you’ll be working,” the woman sighed.

“You know I won’t accept-“

“I know, I know,” she said as she stood up and moved to leave the room. “A double espresso from that one place, with one cream and four sugars. I remember.”

“Merci my love.”

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game XXX

(Double Feature)

tagged by: @oh-no-another-idea & @space-writes!! my words: pocket, passenger, precious, late, fine, disgusted, helpless tagging: @drippingmoon, @pertinax--loculos, @zmwrites, and open tag! your words: force, beyond, statue, core, never, attitude

pocket (Meridian)—

Warren turned to Gouna. "Not a word of this to the Consortium." "I'm not naïve enough to give them any unnecessary information," he said sardonically. He waved his arms at the others. "Everyone but Corin out. I'll keep you all apprised of [Thrive's] status as he recovers." He ushered [everyone else] out of the bedroom and took a thick, glass tube from his bag of supplies. "Corin, we'll need to take a few samples to determine the cause of this." "On it. Gimme a swab." "Third pocket in the front. Fluid in the second pocket." "Test tube? Why do you have loose swabs in here?" "...Third pocket from the other side." "Are you stupid?" "No, that's my fault." Gouna approached Thrive and ripped his form suit from the collar to the shoulder, baring his arm to him. He smeared some clear gel from a little jar onto his skin. "This is going to sting." He pressed the glass cylinder into Thrive's shoulder and depressed a button at the top. A hissing sound from the device coincided with the one Thrive made, and Gouna replied with a speculative hum as the barrel filled with blood. "...That should not have hurt as badly as it apparently did," he said evenly.

passenger (Aurora)—

"This is Tournaltis. Identify yourself." "What do we do if it is an ambush?" Warren asked in the interim. "We don't have planetary support or defense yet, do we?" "No." Thrive swiped again. "Repeat: identify yourself or turn around." Vriea looked nervous. "Maybe we should brace ourselves for an attack just in case?" The comm crackled. "Apologies, Tournaltis, this is the Echo Valtar." "I am Orthrive'poliea. What is your business?" "We're transporting an individual that needs to speak to you...since we were passing by we decided to give him a lift. We only intend to send him down planetside in a shuttle and then we'll be on our way." "Your passenger needs to identify himself if he wants to approach." There was a pause. Warren and [the others] exchanged a concerned look before the silence was broken by the popping of the system again and a different, but familiar voice coming forward. "Uh, hey. It's Guetry. Something's come up and I need to talk to you guys."

precious (Aurora)—

Thrive raised himself to his elbows and he blinked around the room as if the memory aggressively snapped to life within him. He responded with a heavy sigh. "Oras'at. It was my first time." "If oras'at means rearranging my guts, I have bad news for you regarding the validity of what you just said," Warren grunted, leaning over to tap the lighting panel on the wall beside the bed. "No. It's...a rare and precious thing, a bond. Our minds are permanently connected. Obhelians rarely formed such a bond…" Thrive sighed again on a deeper, more existential level. "I cannot believe I took advantage of you like that." Warren sobered up real quick at that, though his pounding headache remained. "Whoa, what taking advantage? I don't remember doing it, but if you did it, then I agreed to it. Okay?" Thrive swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. "Right. We should be able to keep tabs of one another's emotions now even from across the galaxy, much like how we can feel what the other is feeling through touch, but without the touch aspect. I must...really have felt it necessary in that grotto. Bonds were rarely made because in the event of one party's death, the other party would be flattened; would experience the worst pain of their life, sometimes joining them in death whether they want to or not." Warren forced himself out of bed and realized he still wore his wedding pants. He dragged himself over to his clothes. "You've never told me about this." "Because I never normally would have considered it an option." Thrive took a flimsy blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Like I said...I must've felt either threatened, or connected to you in a way I never thought possible." He turned a curious gaze onto Warren, and Warren experienced one of the many instances of heat pooling directly in his stomach as a result of a normally casual glance. "So, what do you think the odds were of me feeling threatened an hour at most after marrying?" Thrive murmured with an imperceptible narrowing of the eyes.

late (Eternal)—

They sprinted through the corridors, dodging tendrils, knocking back artillery, and when they reached the tower, Thrive swept a current of force toward the mountain, cracking the wall, and the ground began to rumble as the stability failed. "Go," he yelled. Warren dashed to the door, praying it would open as he approached. It rolled open as chunks of the base fell hundreds of feet, and the ground opened up in the middle of the compound as he escaped. The crack grew in length as he ran. "Thrive?!" He ran by, grabbing Warren's hand again, and they circumnavigated the fissure just before it split the compound in two. The shaking beneath them doubled the farther away they got, and Warren glanced behind them to watch the entire base collapse, along with part of the mountain. His lungs burned. An enormous cloud of debris curled out from the destruction, and Warren realized almost too late that they were not going to get far enough away in time. Thrive tackled him to the ground and they rolled, stopping with Thrive on his back, holding a shield over them as Warren clung tightly to him. Several explosions went off behind them, and Warren could smell the dust and fire. He heard the chunks of concrete and debris bouncing off of Thrive's shield, and he chanced a glance down at Thrive's face. Thrive looked utterly broken. He kept an eye on the sky, but Warren had never seen him so desolate, so defeated, so violated before. His stomach churned at the sight.

fine (Aurora)—

Thrive shook his head. "Gouna's staying behind." "What? Why?" "He's going to make sure that everything goes smoothly with the ———. He refused to step away, saying he wouldn't feel right leaving ——— alone, especially on the off-chance that something were to happen to you or me while we're gone." Warren observed Thrive's face. "You hate that, don't you?" "Absolutely not." Thrive squared his shoulders. "I would do the same. I'm actually somewhat embarrassed that I didn't think of that myself." A beat passed and Warren narrowed his eyes. "You hate that." Thrive rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'm not going to pretend I'm not a little disappointed that [Gouna] won't attend, but all in all, I'm glad he decided to stay. I would feel more guilty knowing that, while they would be safe and on automated care, any ——— left behind would be alone." He tore his eyes away from Warren's. "Okay," Warren said, taking that as a sign to drop it, even though he knew things were very much not fine. "We'll take lots of video and send it to him."

disgusted (Meridian)—

"Ah-ha…" Warren angled his head to the side and eyed him up and down before fluttering his eyelashes at him. "You wanna tell me about 'em?" "I see through your scheme." "My dearest love. Whatever do you mean?" "I know what happens when I start prattling on about a subject." Thrive reached over to grip Warren's chin in his hand, fingers squeezing to force his lips into a pucker. "To be more precise, I know what happens to you." A laugh nearly exploded out of Warren, but he fought the giggles bubbling up his throat. "I am disgusted and offended at the implication," he said as well as he could with half of his face squished together. "You're also a deviant," said Thrive, voice lowered and much smokier than usual, which did not help matters in the least. "Vacate the room." "It's my ship." Warren cleared his throat. "But marriage is about sharing, after all. You know what, I'm kinda hungry anyway, I might bother the cook for a couple hours—" Thrive tipped Warren's chin downward to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Warren," he murmured before releasing him and pushing him gently in the direction of the door.

helpless (Aurora)—

Guetry, also sans helmet, streaked across the clearing. He dropped to his hip and slid nearly twenty feet in the mud, coming to a stop flat on his back beside Thrive to pelt several hundred rifle shots up into the hovering cloud, only breaking to replace his heat sink and jerk the lever back to re-activate his weapon and send more ammo upward. The cloud broke off into a mist that settled right over Guetry, engulfing him. His tattoos flashed erratically and the light in his temple glitched, the intensity and pain in his face the only sign of something amiss, but he didn't let up. Thrive reached over to grasp Guetry's shoulder through the mist, rain pattering off their faces. Guetry didn't stop shooting, the lightshow beneath his skin becoming more volatile, his own eyes streaming, whole frame shaking. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose to his ear. The cloud began to dissipate but a spear of smoke still lodged itself into Guetry's ribs with a sick crunch on its way out. He dropped his aim in shock. Thrive instantly shoved him away with a blast from his hand, making sure he'd come to a rest among Varussa and Emnophene, who grabbed him by the arms to pull him to safety behind a rock. Before Thrive could stand again, the Emmuli spiked a spear into his side. Every breath was a thousand nettle stings in Warren's throat—he watched helplessly as more spears pierced through Thrive's chest, his back, threaded through his legs and arms, strangling him, dragging him to the ground despite his struggling. He watched him as he was pulled back down to a knee, to his hands as the dirt curdled beneath him. Warren tried to call out to Thrive, his eyes pinned to the rain flattening his hair, running through the smears of blood on his paling face, the agony contorting his features, worsening with each stab, each squelch of the Emmuli assault on his body. Nausea churned in Warren's gut while Thrive grew weaker in front of him, sank further into the ground on his stomach, his skin folding into the billowing void. "No…" Warren whispered. He choked around his words, nailed to the ground by the whining in his ears and an unseen force, teeth gnashing with rage and desperation. "...No...I just...I just got you back...get...get up…please..." He heard Guetry scream something unintelligible and full of emotion over the downpour. Thrive went still, his wounds attempting to heal. The Emmuli continued their onslaught, jabbing through his prone form and oozing into his nose and mouth, into his eyes, which found the horizon and grasped onto the red sun as a lifeline. His wide eyes, veiled in fear, reflecting the dying star and swallowing the smoke. Emptying with each passing heartbeat.

[garglyswoof]

🦇 klaroline + per my last email

“Oh my god did they even READ??? What part of ‘Rooms are booked at the Aman Venice’ is difficult to comprehend?” Caroline yelled at her screen, leaning over the keyboard as she began exaggeratedly typing a reply. She was already irritated by Kol singing loudly in Italian somewhere downstairs - some opera that he claimed he had starred in in the 16th century. Honestly, at this point she was sick of this city and its thin veneer of charm holding back the rot.

“Per my last email, signora” She bit out, throwing up her hands. “Gahh!!” A muffled laugh behind her spun her in her chair, Klaus on the leather chaise smiling way too patronizingly at her for her own liking. “What?”

“Does that work for you?” At her confused expression, he continued. “Being passive aggressive? What do you think that will accomplish?”

“It will make her realize she’s stupid and she should apologize for being unable to comprehend basic sentences?”

“You believe that? Or will it just irritate her and worse yet, she’ll ignore it and learn nothing?”

Caroline stared at him. There was a logic to his words and she was having none of it. “Excuse me, but I’ve arranged the entire vampire consortium because your diplomacy skills range from death threats to stuffing people in boxes when they piss you off, so forgive me if I don’t take your advice on my emails being passive aggressive.” The last part came out in a hiss that she’d not be proud of tomorrow but for now it was effective. She watched Klaus’ face grow mulish, obstinate, and wondered if he’d pick a fight. Her eyes flashed because frankly? Bring it. She was surprised when he stood up, posture stiff with hurt, and walked out of the room, trailing a sentence in his wake.

“I’ll just get out of your hair then, shall I? Since I’m so clearly a nuisance.”

Caroline sighed as he left, his footsteps receding down the stairs. Kol’s performance cut off mid-word in a choked gurgle, Klaus’ voice a low tremor of rage as a door slammed so hard she could feel the displacement of air in the room. She hadn’t meant to snap at him, but honestly was she wrong?

She had little time to think about it, as Kol quickly transitioned from his operatic reprise to crunching obscenely loudly on an apple while staring into her office, and Caroline rubbed her temples. Vampires didn’t get headaches - unless they were witch induced, of course - but that didn’t prevent muscle memory kicking in from exasperation.

“What, Kol?” She bit out, waiting for the inevitable punch line.

“Just letting you know I’m headed back to the States.”

Caroline lifted her head, eyes bright with surprise. “Wait what? We’re in Venice for the consortium and you’re just jetting? I thought you were at least having fun annoying the hell out of Klaus?”

“Well that’s just it, darling. It’s been fun feeding into the chaos, but I’d much rather start it. He’s too easy a mark when you’ve upset him.” Crunch. He leaned up against the wall, and that casual pose belied a head full of mischief, she knew well. What was his deal this time?

“What do you mean?”

Kol pushed off the wall, tossing the apple core, and Caroline watched it curve in a perfect arc into the bin. 

“Klaus is less fun with you around.”

Her brows knitted. “Excuse me? I'll have you know, Klaus is way more fun with me around.”

“Yeah you really don’t get it, do you?” Kol’s expression flickered, and for a moment the jester was gone, replaced with something almost serious, there and gone in a flash. “Everything he does. Even when he’s mad and stomping about the streets of Venice, you’re there. In his head,” He clarified, his hand waving about dismissively but doing nothing to lessen the gravity of his words. “All of it. Everything he’s thinking. It’s for you. So I can feed off that, use it, make fun of it endlessly, but after a while it gets old. Too -” He paused then, searching for the words as Caroline’s heart flipped. 

He shrugged then, whatever he was going to say was lost in a decision made. “So I figured since it’s almost time for my semi-annual Jeremy torture I’d head back ‘cross the pond.”

Taken aback by the abrupt subject change, Caroline could do nothing but sputter. “Gilbert?”

“Of course. He killed me and all, feels wrong to just let that lie.”

Caroline spun the chair around, the email forgotten. “We may not be friends anymore but I’m not sure I can support torturing Jeremy.”

“Oh don’t worry, I don’t kill him. Hunter’s curse and all, been there done that, watched Nik get the T-shirt. No thanks. I just…mess around with him. Move things around in his apartment, seduce his girlfriend, give him explosive diarrhea at work. Enough small things to drive him absolutely bat shit crazy, which is usually when I leave. The paranoia is a gift that keeps on giving.”

Caroline was struggling not to laugh, knew that Kol saw it and that it was not only what he was looking for but needed, at least for now. She wondered at what he had almost said, something in her heart called out to it, and knew she would look at Kol differently now, behind the mummer’s mask. 

He saw it in her face and closed off his own, began a refrain of the operetta as he spun out the door in full pointe, vampire’s grace a counterpoint to the calculated silliness. Caroline stared after him, thoughtful, his words sifting in her brain. Downstairs the main door opened and closed with the exaggerated creak of faulty jambs in this ever-sinking city. She turned back to the computer, the afternoon dimmed enough by clouds for the monitor’s glow to light the room. The cursor lay waiting. 

She erased it all, wrote a quick note re-explaining the details. Clicked send, angrily still, one part hanging on to the feeling, one part over it, a whole entire rest of herself thinking about Klaus. 

A few hours later she heard the door open, smelled the faint scent of blood. She hoped it was a least a tourist that had paid the blood price, this city was dying on its own without vampiric help. There was a moment of guilt, sharp and bright, as she knew whomever died was because of her. It's all for you - she heard Klaus say, Kol say, their voices blending together in words that spanned decades, and she got up and headed downstairs as her throat closed over her own words.

He was facing the fireplace, a glass of grappa that she just couldn't get the taste for in his hand, and he stood with the alert grace of his dual predators, waiting.

"Hey," she said softly, and his face turned in surprise. Her heart ached with his expression, guarded but searching.

"You were right." Three words to watch the light dawn across a face, his brow clearing, confusion to suspicion to delight as he saw the truth in her eyes.

Caroline held a hand up. "About the email. Not about threatening people. Just so we're clear."

"So Signora Rossini is not receiving an angry 'per my last email?'"

"Nope. Oh and," Caroline slid her arms around Klaus's neck, pulled him in close. "Kol's left for the states, so I guess we have this old building all to ourselves this evening."

The smile built slow and cut a dimple deep into his cheek, a hand circling to rest on the small of her back, the other sliding across a hip, her breath catching at the feel of it and the scent of blood that lingered on his lips. "Oh do we love, tell me, whatever shall we do with this extra time?"

She answered him with a kiss, the house quiet now, water lapping at its foundations, the sound of oars sluicing through the water mingling with the languages of a half-dozen countries. She kissed him and she thought of all she had ever wanted in this vampire life and before, and her lips curved in a satisfied grin.

-----

From my halloween extravaganza - send me a prompt or tell me something fun!

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

(Content warning for swearing, blood, injury, and violence.)

Jimmy wasn't at the meeting.

Scott cast a worried glance around the gathered circle and up the road, hoping maybe he had just overlooked him, or that he was running late. Empty seats weren't unusual. The group meetings almost never had full attendance, especially these days. But Jimmy had never missed a single one since the very first time Pix had invited him, not without providing a solid reason in advance.

"Has anyone heard from the sheriff?" asked Scott. Head-shakes and dismissive shoulder shrugs were his only answer.

"Maybe he finally realized he doesn't belong here." There was a cruel smirk on Sausage's lips, and Scott shuddered at the feeling of wrong wrong he's all wrong something isn't right this isn't him that crawled up his back every time he looked at Sausage lately.

Shelby's laugh was harsh. A tendril of sculk curled against her hair like the tail of a velvet ribbon. "Maybe we'll have a peaceful, quiet afternoon for once."

"It is nice not having to listen to him screaming baseless accusations and getting mad at every little joke," said Lizzie. "I'm surprised he showed up as long as he did, to be honest."

"He's still one of us," snapped Scott. "Regardless of whatever disputes - "

"Is he, though?" asked Fwhip, curling his tail thoughtfully. "Does he really belong in a gathering of kings and princesses and gods?"

"Do you?" spoke up False in a quiet voice, and Scott shot her a grateful look. "Do half of us fit into this little consortium, if that's the criteria?"

"The criteria is power," said Fwhip. "Leadership. Someone who's been trusted to look after the people who gather around them. Jimmy doesn't have leadership qualities, he has an inferiority complex and a child's temper!"

"He has been a little out of control lately," said Gem.

"All right, that's enough," said Pix, stepping forward and holding up a hand. "Whether or not Jimmy belongs here is not on the agenda for today. Has anyone heard from him recently?" No one answered, and Pix sighed. "Very well. Joel, Joey, Oli, and Katherine have all sent their apologies in advance for being unable to be here today. Now, the first order of business is…"

Scott barely listened as the meeting progressed. It took all of his self-control to stay in his seat, between his concern for Jimmy and his urge to get away from the creepy magic that emanated from Sausage and Shelby. Armor now, escape plan later, he reminded himself every time he caught himself eyeing the exits for too long. Focus. Don't show your vulnerability. That was an especially important reminder right now, he thought, given the way Sausage looked directly at him every time he teetered on the edge of bolting.

When the meeting concluded Fwhip stepped toward Scott, clearly intent on speaking with him. Scott met his eyes, then very deliberately turned his back on him and strode away. He checked the straps on his wings before unfurling them, and after a brief glance to check for any wear or damages he headed straight for Tumble Town.

Scott hadn't been to the mesa for some time, and while he had heard rumors of the dwindling population, he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Tumble Town was eerily quiet, and as Scott glided down from the sky he realized why: it was empty. Not a single building showed any signs of life. No one peered out any windows or walked the streets. Houses and storefronts were shuttered, and crop fields were overrun with weeds.

He landed next to the sheriff's office and had one foot on the porch when the sound of shattering glass from the saloon broke the silence. He jumped and spun around as the sound repeated, and as he hurried over he could see Jimmy through one of the broken windows. The empty bottle that had sailed through it lay broken on the ground, and a wooden chair followed, knocking more glass out of the frame and splintering when it landed.

Scott pushed open the swinging doors just as Jimmy turned and scowled at the tall liquor cabinet against the wall. The sheriff studied his reflection in the glass door, chest heaving, and for a moment Scott thought maybe Jimmy had calmed down. He opened his mouth to speak, but before Jimmy's name could cross his lips, Jimmy screamed in rage and sent his fist through the face that stared back at him.

Whiskey and blood dripped onto the floor, and Jimmy let his hand fall to his side, staring dumbly at the overturned bottles inside the wrecked cabinet. Scott stood frozen in place, taken aback by the outburst.

"Jimmy?" he called out hesitantly, unsure of what he should do.

"Hm? Oh, hello, Scott." Jimmy's voice was far too calm and steady. It frightened him. "If you've come for business, I'm afraid we won't be able to conduct any today. All of our resources are a little, er, behind on production." He laughed, as if at some private joke. "Unless you're here for terracotta. Take it, however much you need, from wherever you want. Might as well."

Scott stepped a little closer, keeping his movements slow and easy to read. "I came to see if you were okay. You weren't at the meeting today." He spoke softly, as if he were trying to approach a wounded animal. He was, he supposed. Jimmy made no indication he was aware of the lacerations on his hand and arm, but it had to be stinging.

Jimmy turned to look at him, and Scott paused his approach as something dark flickered across the sheriff's face. "The meeting?" He tilted his head. "Oh. Right. I won't be attending those anymore."

"Why not?" He had a small first-aid kit tucked in his bag somewhere, he was sure. He moved a hand down slowly, feeling around for it. Jimmy paid him no mind, his eyes still on Scott's face but not really looking at him.

"Don't have a reason to." If Scott were to only go by Jimmy's voice, he wouldn't have thought anything was wrong. It didn't match the disheveled sight before him. "It's a gathering of regional leaders. The only thing I have left to lead is sand and tumbleweed."

"You're still one of us," said Scott. "You're still our friend."

Jimmy laughed.

He threw his head back and laughed as if Scott had told him the funniest joke he'd heard in his life. He laughed until he had tears in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his uninjured hand. Scott's eyes traveled over Jimmy's chest. His shirt hung open, a different injury on display. The gash across his chest was mostly healed, but the edges were still red and angry. Scott's own anger stirred at the sight, and part of him wished he'd confronted Gem about it at the meeting.

Jimmy's peals of laughter died down into chuckles. "What a sweet thing to say," he said when he calmed down. "And what a load of shit." He stepped forward, glass crunching under his boots. His smile was terse and venomous, and if it were anyone else approaching him like that Scott might have turned and fled. Jimmy came to a stop in front of him and leaned in. There were bags under his eyes and dirt smeared across his cheek. The hair under his hat was limp and oily. Scott wondered how long it had been since he'd slept.

"Why are you really here, Scott?" The calm, almost cheerful tone he'd been speaking in finally slipped into something bitter and full of grief. "I don't have anything left to take. All the jokes have already been made a hundred times over. What more could you possibly do?"

Scott could feel his heart crumbling at the pain that radiated off Jimmy in waves. He wanted to pull him close and bundle him away from the world and everything in it that had ever hurt him. He wanted to whisper reassurances in his ear that everything would be all right. He wanted to kneel before him and beg forgiveness for his own part in Jimmy's heartache. He wanted -

It took an explosion to shatter the tension between them. The building shuddered, and Scott stumbled into Jimmy as dust rained down on them from the rafters. A second explosion sounded, and Jimmy wrapped his arms around Scott instinctively, pulling him close and covering his head.

"Oh sheriff!" Fwhip's voice was far too cheerful as it rang out across Tumble Town. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Jimmy snarled in anger and shoved Scott away from him, stomping out of the saloon. Scott followed on his heels. "Fwhip, what the fuck!" screamed Jimmy. "What is the meaning of this?!"

"There you are! Thought I'd have to do this one next to get your attention." Fwhip grinned down at them from the roof of the jail and waved a stick of dynamite at them. Lizzie sat next to him, her hand on top of one of the bundles of TNT that surrounded them. Smoke rose lazily from the remains of the bank.

Jimmy's eyes snapped from the dynamite in Fwhip's hand to the office door below, fear flickering across his features. "Norman's not in there," Scott murmured to him, and glanced behind him to confirm the glow he thought he'd seen a moment earlier. "He's in the bushes behind us."

Jimmy relaxed ever so slightly at the reassurance and glared up at Fwhip. "Well, you've got it," he spat. "What do you want?"

Fwhip hummed and tapped his chin. "You know, I didn't actually think that far ahead!" He threw the dynamite from one hand to the other before setting it aside and leaning forward to look at them better. "I assumed you'd be hiding somewhere with your tail tucked, and we'd level this place and go home."

"I'm just here for a little fun, myself," said Lizzie. "We have so much extra gunpowder lying around, and an unpopulated area is the perfect place to do a little product testing."

"It really is," agreed Fwhip. "Hi Scott! You're on the wrong side of the street, buddy. Come over here where it's safe."

"I'm exactly where I want to be," said Scott, peering up at them and using one hand to shield his eyes from the hot sun. "Why don't you go do your product testing elsewhere?"

Fwhip clicked his tongue. "I was afraid you might say that." He jumped down and sauntered over to them, and Scott stepped forward to put himself between Fwhip and Jimmy. Lizzie watched them closely, running her fingers over a flint and steel.

"I mean it when I say you're on the wrong side," continued Fwhip. "Something's coming, something big. You can feel it too, right?" He was still smiling, but Scott could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "Whatever is coming for us, allies are going to be important. Friends are going to be important."

"I know," said Scott. "And we've been friends for a long time, haven't we?" Fwhip's smile softened at Scott's words, then vanished as Scott stepped away from him to stand firmly at Jimmy's side. "But I meant it too. I'm exactly where I want to be."

Fwhip laughed, dumbfounded. "You're a fool. I never took you for a fool before, Scott." He narrowed his eyes at Jimmy. "And all over this sorry excuse for a man. Amazing."

It was Jimmy's turn to step forward, placing himself in front of Scott even though he had no reason to believe Fwhip would ever hurt Scott. "Go home, Fwhip," he said tiredly. "I'm not a threat to you anymore. Just leave."

"Funny, saying you're not a threat when you've got a hand on your sword," said Fwhip, eyes moving to where Jimmy's hand clenched the hilt.

"I don't want to fight you," said Jimmy. "But I will, if that's what it takes to make you leave Tumble Town alone."

Fwhip laughed and moved back over to the jail, catching his mace as Lizzie tossed it down to him. "You wanna dance, little man?" he taunted, twirling the weapon with ease before gripping it firmly. "Let's go, then!"

Jimmy drew his sword and launched himself at Fwhip, but his movements were slower and clumsier than usual and the goblin sidestepped him easily. Jimmy cried out and dropped to his knees as the mace slammed into the back of his leg, and Scott winced at the blood and bruising visible through the fresh rips in Jimmy's jeans. Jimmy gritted his teeth and forced himself up, barely avoiding a blow to the shoulder, and whirled around to slash at Fwhip in return. His blade clashed against the head of the mace, sending a shower of sparks into the sand.

Scott caught a glimpse of movement near the ground. Norman slunk from bush to bush, and the glow that only Scott could see increased in intensity at the same time as some of the smaller wounds on Jimmy began closing up. But even with his deputy's help, Jimmy's strength was fading against the ferocity of his opponent, and new wounds were being inflicted faster than Norman could heal them.

"Norman!" yelled Scott in desperation. "Go get someone! Pix, maybe, I don't know!"

For a moment he thought Norman was going to ignore him, but when Jimmy moved out of his range again the cat let out a worried yowl before turning and darting away from the fight. Norman was fast, but Scott knew he wouldn't be back with anyone in time to stop the fight before it turned deadly. What he would need Pix's help for was the aftermath. Stopping the fight was up to him.

When Fwhip and Jimmy broke apart again, Scott drew his own sword and darted between them just in time to deflect Fwhip's swing to the side. He gritted his teeth, feeling the impact travel through the blade and up his arm. "That's enough!"

Fwhip's eyes widened and he took a step back, lowering his weapon. "Scott, what are you doing?" he cried out. "I could have hurt you!"

Scott pointed his sword directly at Fwhip. Behind him, Jimmy gasped for air. The smell of blood overwhelmed the smell of hot sand and gunpowder that permeated the town, and Scott resisted the urge to turn and tend to Jimmy's wounds right then and there. Fwhip stared at him from the other end of his blade.

Scott took a deep breath and fixed Fwhip with a steady gaze. "All alliances, treaties, trade deals, and other agreements between Chromia and Gobland are canceled effective immediately," he said sharply. "Likewise for Animalia."

"You're making a mistake, Scott," called Lizzie.

"You're not – you're not serious, are you?" said Fwhip. "Tell me you're joking." Scott didn't move, and Fwhip laughed in disbelief. "Scott, I'm your friend. Your oldest friend. Your first alliance."

"You are," said Scott softly. "And I've been grateful for your companionship, Fwhip. You've been a brother to me for many years."

"Then stop this nonsense," Fwhip pleaded, pinning his ears back. He let his mace drop to the ground and put his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'm done. I've made my point. Why don't you come to Gobland and we can talk about this?"

Scott looked at him sadly, but his mind was made up, and he continued his official declaration. "Sheriff Jimmy of Tumble Town is under my personal protection as the King of Chromia," he said. "From this moment on, any further hostilities against him, his citizens, or his territory will be taken as an act of war against Chromia."

"Don't," said Fwhip. "Please. Don't choose him over me."

Scott pressed the tip of his sword against Fwhip's throat. "Any hostility against Jimmy will be taken as an act of war against me," he repeated. "And Chromia will respond accordingly."

Fwhip's shoulders sagged, and Scott lowered his sword. "Has it really come to this?" asked Fwhip.

"It has," said Scott. "And I'm sorry it has. But you've made your choice, and I've made mine."

"So you have," said Fwhip quietly. "Goodbye, Scott."

Scott watched Fwhip and Lizzie depart, then sheathed his sword and turned to see Jimmy leaning heavily against the nearest fence, face pale and eyes unfocused. Scott sucked in a sharp breath at the injuries that littered his body. His first-aid kit would be useless. He was going to need proper supplies, and potions, and -

"You shouldn't have done that," said Jimmy unsteadily.

Scott furrowed his brow. "Of course I should have," he said. "I think he might have really killed you if I didn't step in." Oh gods. Fwhip might have actually killed him, he realized, a cold shiver running down his spine at the thought. All it would have taken was one missed parry, one inopportune blow to Jimmy's head or torso, and he could have been -

"Yeah. Might have." Jimmy shrugged, then winced at the movement. "Doesn't matter. I meant your alliance. You just burned two bridges for nothing."

"I didn't burn them for nothing," said Scott. "I burned them for you."

Jimmy managed a broken smile. "Yeah. Like I said. For nothing." He looked at the empty houses around them. "Don't you see? It's all gone. Everything is gone. All the people I swore to protect have either moved on or been buried under the damned clay." He kicked the toe of his boot against a swath of exposed terracotta. The movement threw him off balance, and he gripped the fence until his knuckles turned white. "I failed, Scott. I failed!" There were no tears in his eyes, but the haunted and hollow look he gave Scott was far worse. "I failed," he repeated dully. "I'm alone."

Scott stepped toward him and carefully, cautiously, cradled Jimmy's face in his hands. "You aren't alone," he said firmly, and swiped his thumb over a drop of blood on Jimmy's cheek. He meant to wipe it away, but it only smeared. "I'm right here, Jimmy. And I will die before I ever walk away from you again."

Jimmy stared at him with wide eyes, processing his words. "You know, I almost think you might mean that," he said slowly.

"I do," said Scott. "I've never meant anything more in my life. You are not alone."

"Oh," was all Jimmy managed to say. He pulled away from Scott's hold, lifting a hand to run it through his hair, then stopped and stared at the lacerations that had re-opened during the fight as if only just realizing he was injured at all. "Huh." He looked down at himself. "That's...quite a lot of blood, actually," he said weakly. "Scott, can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," said Scott.

Jimmy ran his fingers over his swollen arm and winced. "Can you feed Norman tonight? He gets rather upset if he has to fend for himself too many days in a row, and I have a feeling I'm going to be out of commission for a while."

Scott almost laughed at the absurdity of Norman's dinner being Jimmy's biggest concern at the moment. "Sure. I'll make sure he's taken care of."

Jimmy smiled. "Great. Appreciate it." His knees buckled and his eyes fluttered shut, and he crumpled forward into Scott's arms as he passed out.

Prev | series masterpost | Next

[starweavingwritings]

The Weakened Mind

----

Back in Mereldar, Saedre had retired to the spare room she had been given to live out of during the Consortium’s stay in Hallowfall. Sitting by the soft glow of candlelight, she nursed the jagged and fading claw marks upon both her arm and leg by the kobyss; utilizing the aftercare remedies she had been given to ensure it would not find itself infected. Aveem was all the more eager to assist his mistress however he could, seemingly in shock by her haggard return from assignment after she had left him behind to assist Arondyr with their research. 

The arcanist could still feel the lingering effects of the Light’s gentle touch upon her mending skin long after she dressed her wounds in clean bandages, serving as a reminder that the void had no power over her. And yet, she still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that loomed over her; a mounting pressure that was almost suffocating. The darkened gem they had found to be the source of the kobyss crazed power lingered heavily upon her, and a familiar voice tapping at the corners of her mind when she had looked into it only made her somewhat paranoid. 

“A reunion wrought by shadows closes in,” the familiar voice of her estranged father whispered to her from the depths of that cursed gem. 

His tone carried an icy edge, mixed with that familiar hubris that always made her feel like she was merely just a mockery there to amuse him. And his face was never too far from memory since the last time they had met. Twisted. Changed by the effects of the void’s influence after his unwavering devotion to it of the years that had passed. Those inky, ravenous eyes seemingly desolate of any other need other than hunger when they turned. A gaze that could make one's mind feel like their own sanity was dancing on the brink of madness.

Iaerian Starweaver’s words continued to repeat in memory as if he were right there whispering it into her ear, “You will join me there.”

Aveem nudged Saedre again and again, trying to get her attention. Staring into the glow of the candle’s firelight, the woman lost all train of proper thought as she found herself lost in memory of the events of the evening. When she had finally come to, the candle had burned about a quarter of the way down and she blinked, another voice falling upon her ears but this one was warm and it was here.

“You’ve the same haunted look I’ve seen time and time again on others,” Arondyr’s gentle voice came from the doorway. He didn’t step a toe into Saedre’s room, his arms folded across his broad chest as he leaned against the frame with a brow quirked softly. “Is everything alright, Lady Starweaver?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. I am fine,” Seadre turned, surprised to see the Arathi man there and her door open, “Didn’t I close that?”

Aveem tried to make himself as small as possible and Arondyr laughed gently at the familiar, “I believe your little friend here sought me out in concern for you. Please do not fault him for it.”

Saedre eyeballed Aveem for a moment before sighing and turning back to Arondyr, forcing a smile, “Well, thank you for indulging him but I am quite alright now. I believe some rest will do me some good is all. Besides, we have a busy schedule tomorrow anyway, do we not?”

“The Void is good at trickery of the mind. You’d do best to remember that here. Especially here,” he nodded to her and stood up straight. “Whatever you think you saw, heard, or felt - don’t feed into it.”

Remaining quiet for a time at the man’s persistence, even if for the sake of Aveem’s concern that pulled him up to her room in the first place, Saedre bowed her head solemnly. She knew this all well enough and yet it still unsettled her how much whatever had called to her knew of her unspoken concerns. It had been only a couple of years since she last encountered her father. That he knew how to locate her. And the void seemed to pick up on the paranoia that followed her at every turn no matter how well she appeared to be moving on with her life. The thought that her colleagues could have been in on it was absurd. Is that how the gem created the internal strife among the kobyss? Playing upon the perceptions of others?

“Are you sure you are alright?” Arondyr’s concerned voice brought her back from the tangled web of thoughts she fell back into. Looking back at him, she nodded, “Nothing a good night’s rest cannot remedy. Go now. You should get some rest yourself.”

“Very well,” he nodded with a skeptic's gaze, reaching for the doorknob and slowly beginning to pull it shut behind him, “I will meet you at the north gate in the morning and we can discuss the plan for the wards then.”

Once he had left, the sorceress let out a loud sigh of relief to be left alone again finally. Giving Aveem the stink eye, she moved to her feet and locked the door to her room, “That was… uncomfortable. Do not do that again.”

[tagedeszorns]

Upon leaving his chamber, Saqqara discovered a parcel waiting for him on the floor. Intrigued, the diabolist paused briefly before deciding to open it. As he did, a glint of steel caught his eye, causing him to withdraw his hand in surprise. A slight wound on his hand prompted him to examine the contents of the parcel further. Inside, he found a letter bearing a chilling message.

"Greetings, wayward son. Or perhaps I should say, wayward brother? It appears you have found solace in another's embrace, haven't you? But now, it is time for you to fulfill your destined sacred duty. This blade, stained with your blood, shall never know peace. Ah, but I misspoke. It will find peace once it has taken the life of the one who has done the most good for you. Or perhaps the one you love above all others. Or even yourself."

(wrong blog to ask, but I'll just reblog it with the Consortium)

The diabolist drops the letter, his fingers immediately reaching for one of the smaller bottles on one of his belts, carefully avoiding getting his blood on the seals. As he loosens the cork, he whispers spells of binding that cause flakes of ash to fall from his blacking lips. A colourless thread of smoke snakes out of the bottle, encircling the blade of the long dagger. Where the smoke touches the strangely archaic-looking surface, it hardens and a low, angry hiss can be heard.

Saqqara leans back. Stares at his hand. Wipes the ash from his lips and then stands up.

"An athame?!" Arrian didn't intend to shout, but the word ends up at a considerable volume. Fabius gives him a chastising look and clicks his tongue. Reaches for the hilt of the dagger. "Interesting. I don't remember ever having one of these in my hand."

Saqqara nods, exhausted. "They're not necessarily widely used, as there are easier ways to kill someone with the help of the gods. This one is a symbol."

"Erebus?" asks the Chief Apothecary, tilting his head. As much as he despises anything to do with the mumbo-jumbo of self-proclaimed gods, he knows full well that it represents a real threat. Especially in the hands of a gifted politician like the Dark Apostle.

Another nod from his diabolist. "I can't think of anyone else with such a long memory."

An arm of the chirurgeon with a microscope attachment approaches the athame. Fabius gives in to his curiosity. "Well, I'm on the safe side this time, aren't I? I've never done you any good on purpose." He smiles narrowly. "Even if I would be the easiest way out. Though I'd prefer not to sacrifice a body still that fresh and healthy, just to spite Erebus."

"Not really." Arrian points to a passage in the letter. "Fulfilling Saqqara's original mission is also a way to get the Athame away from him. And for that you are the target."

Fabius bares his teeth. "Afraid you'll be the one who dies?" But then he waves it off before Arrian can protest. "No. All this is unacceptable. I don't like being threatened. And that extends to my employees as well." - "Technically, Saqqara is more like Erebus' employee." - "Come now, details. I don't see that Lorgar's First Chaplain has made any improvements to Saqqara!" - "You riddled him with explosives!" - "Improvements."

With a barely audible sigh, Arrian gives up on this fruitless discussion. He looks at Saqqara, who is still staring at the dagger as if hypnotised, running his finger over the wound on his hand, which doesn't really want to close and looks strangely unreal.

Fabius straightens up. The Chirurgeon busily folds himself around his shoulders into a very aggressive position. The Chief Apothecary waves a servoskull over with a curt motion and begins to dictate.

"To whoever of the Dark Council of the Word Bearers is interested in my diabolist! I do not appreciate members of the Consortium being threatened, as I apparently have not made clear enough in the past. My mistake, sorry. So let me rephrase, hopefully without room for interpretation: Saqqara is mine. And anyone who would like to discuss this is cordially invited to a meeting on neutral ground. Yours sincerely, Lieutenant Commander Fabius, Chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children."

He makes a waving gesture. "Send."

Arrian whistles through his teeth. "You really don't like 'em, huh?"

Fabius smiles humourlessly.

[hippolotamus]

Helloooo

🌸🧡🌿

James!!!!! 🫶

🌸 Best compliment you ever received?

*sigh* going for the hard questions! I don’t know if this is the best but it always sticks out in my brain. Some feedback on a fic:

I would have no clue you wrote that in the wee hours of morning.

also, I have to tell you... that you have really grown as a writer. I can tell you've paid attention to suggestions and are more intentional in your wording and the choices you make. Good work, you.

🧡 a color you can’t stand?

Generally speaking, any kind of bright, neon situation. In a perfect world the Unicode consortium would approve a forest green heart emoji.

🌿 describe your favorite outfit

Jeans, black cami, zip up hoodie, black sneakers. Alternatively, my black dress with pockets, and Doc Martens lace up boots.

[askror]

Jade Lanolin opens the door to her office only to find herself to a more or less identical office, except it's clearly not hers...and behind the desk sits a younger Lanolin with a small fennec fox off to the side.

"Oh...it's one of these again." Jadolin sighed as she caught a look at the literal mountain of paperwork the younger sheep was dealing with. "And Maggie thought I was bad...she'd have a hissy fit if she saw this. You need some help?"

In that featureless, blank-walled little office, a beleaguered Lanolin looked up to see...

"Kit, I think it's finally happening," she rumbled dully, "I need you to-"

"Y-You're not having a caffeine stroke. I see her too." Kit said, looking at the... very different Lanolin ahead of her. The pair just gawked at her in disbelief. Jadolin sighed, scratching the side of her head just below one wooly poof as she realized this wasn't going to get anywhere without her assistance. The older sheep settled on letting herself in and nestling herself between Lanolin and Kit.

"Let's see..." She pulled a bundle of paper closer to her and plucked a pen from the cup in the center of the desk with impressive precision, speeding over the block letter forms and reports. Yes, she'd been talked out of being a complete office work addict in her world, but no one could truly banish the sheer clerical power of a Lanolin from her entirely, regardless of the world. "Expenditure reports... Replacing a vending machine that Knuckles punched in half... 'Priestess Consortium targets train'? That's a new name."

Her eyes flicked to the side, and she realized that the smaller version of herself was currently alternating between looking at one of her muscular biceps in awe and then flexing her own, with results that paled in comparison. She blushed awkwardly: "Look, it's not that wild. I used to work on a farm."

"So did I," the younger Lanolin quirked an eyebrow, "But I was driving the tractor, not pulling the plow with my shoulders."

"It also helps to get out instead of sitting in a chair doing paperwork half of every day," Jadolin said, giving her a slightly sharper glance.

"Yes, well..." That wasn't happening anytime soon, of course. So the younger Lan decided to change the subject, "Are you going to ever actually tell us where you're from?" She tried to quash her own blush of embarrassment over being noticed in comparing physiques by grabing a bundle for herself to start crossing t's and dotting i's.

"Another dimension," Jadolin shrugged casually. "Sometimes the veil thins, and things push through where they shouldn't be. It's usually a very temporary thing, so I'm assuming when I walk back out the door, I'll end up back where I'm supposed to ."

"Wait, that's real?" Kit said, gasping. "Then... The extradimensional UFO theory is true? Ultraterrestrials are real?"

Both sheep stared at him dumbly.

It was his turn to blush, entirely over his nerdout being met with confusion: "...T-The idea that 'alien sightings' are actually just beings from another dimension temporarily crossing into ours?"

"Um, no. Aliens are real," Jadolin said with a frown.

"Yeah. They attacked the whole world a few years back before Shadow drove them off." Lanolin confirmed.

"Oh." Kit slumped. Boring.

The paperwork train continued at full speed for awhile, the uniform white stack slowly but surely thinning between the three of them. Jadolin had to admit... It was kind of fun. Not only working with someone of similar talent, but being allowed this vice without Maggie around to lecture her. The little alien had been right; she absolutely had a problem with carrying all of this work on her back. But dipping into good, hard paperwork in isolation like this felt a little like slipping into a warm bath. Eventually, she was the one who broke the silence out of curiosity: "So... Another dimension, like I mentioned, but why do you bring Kit along to do this here? I don't think I could pay him to sit still for this long in my world. Wouldn't you rather be with Surge?"

It had been an honest question; mainly because Kit seemed fairly unenthused at what they were doing. It was nothing compared to the shadow that passed over both of their faces after she spoke, however. Lanolin reacted as though she'd been struck, shutting one eye and frowning deeply. Kit, meanwhile, seemed to almost instantly recede into shadow, going very still with his head down.

"...She's no longer with us," was what Lanolin finally said. The older sheep winced at realizing she had put a foot in her mouth, but also received a similar dose of sadness that began to clutch at her heart. She was a different Lanolin. She knew a different Surge and Kit. And yet all the same, imagining that loud boisterous tenrec who had come so far from her darkest moments being gone. No, more than that; imagining a different outcome to that story, where they had to explain that to Sang-mi. Imagining that tall girl just... Wilt.

"I'm sorry," she finally offered softly. Lanolin gave a grim nod. Kit, however, very slowly looked up at her. The expression on his face was a strange and twisted thing. Not happy. Not sad. She didn't know how to describe it other than slightly unhinged.

"Is she still there? In your world?" The stare could have burnt a hole through her. She hadn't seen Kit in this sort of state for a very long time; even when "the doctor was loud," he didn't turn into this strange creature anymore. A construct. Mechanical hope crashing into organic hopelessness to create a very mild sort of madness.

"She is. She's very different now." She knew exactly what he was going to ask next; if he could come with her. The younger Lanolin seemed to be able to guess this too, her eyes looking as though she had not been losing sleep so much as never having it. She had to fix this. "And so are you. You're there too."

Kit changed, on a dime; that intense programming-born need for his singular objective seeming to drain from him as he realized it would only make sense that if there was a tenrec, so too was there a fennec. Jadolin continued, "It was a long and hard road, but you made it work. And you're a lot happier now, even if you have some off days now and then."

A long stretch of silence. And then, finally, the fennec looked down at the paper he had been working on: "I see." And that was that, just as she knew it would be. No matter what the world, Kit was a good boy at his heart. And a smart one, too; he knew he couldn't just leave this world and supplant another version of himself. Not one who had seen so many of the same struggles he had.

The paperwork continued until the "IN" basket had been utterly cleared, the "OUT" basket now a veritable tower of pen-scrawled paper. Jadolin let out a little sigh, Lanolin doing the same, both of them falling back into the exact same routine of leaning back in their chair and looking up at the ceiling in satisfaction in supernatural union.

"Thank you for all your help, um... Buff me," Lanolin said. The older version of herself regarded her with a polite nod and a smile brighter than this version of herself could ever hope to achieve. At least at the moment.

"No problem. You two take the day off and go... Have fun or something. I better get back to my own... Well, everything." She pushed herself out of the chair, stretching an arm over her head, her shirt riding up and giving a glimpse of those washboard abs. Both Lanolin and Kit looked down at their own stomachs in disbelief; how the hell did she manage that?

Jadolin made her way to the door, hand going down to the knob, but she paused for a moment; Maggie would kill her if she just left at this point. So, one last time, she looked over her shoulder: "I know this probably sounds weird coming out of a mouth that looks so much like yours, but... Getting lost in work? It's not really self-care. It's just a distraction. And when the distraction's gone, the bad stuff will always be there. And if this world's anything like mine? There's a lot of people who will be able to help you."

She opened the door and headed through. And then, she was gone.

[nieithryn]

@misfittcd asked: "I'm your friend. It's my job to help you out." (From Obi-Wan to Bail!)

The stim he'd taken last night had worn off hours ago, and the crash from the vaping thing had left the Senator somewhat...groggy, if he were honest. A Security Committee meeting was not what he had wanted after such a long week, scant hours of sleep making Palpatine's smooth, silken voice a siren's call for the rest he desperately needed.

Unfortunately, neither his fellow Senators nor Palpatine particularly cared that he had just gotten back from the Mid-Rim with barely enough time to clean up and patch his wounds before taking himself to the Senate floor to speak against the latest in a long line of bills aimed at deregulating the banks and trade commissions. Nor, frankly, did he himself care, except that the endless meetings, domestic affairs, committees, and galactic affairs had finally put him at his limits. Or close enough to them that he knew it was best he retire, whatever the hour.

And then, of course, there was Obi-Wan, and what the poor man was doing hanging around the Senate apartments was anyone's guess. His presence was welcome, of course, and despite his exhaustion, Bail had found his heart lightening somewhat with the easy conversation. Still, perhaps it was far too much to hope that this particular Jedi wouldn't notice his present state. The galaxy could turn a blind eye, but he'd yet to meet a Jedi who could.

"Can you shoot me?" he finally replied wryly, steps slowing as he neared his private apartment. "If I have to hear Ralltiir go on about the Core World Consortium levies one more time, I might decide to give up politics altogether." The smile he gave was weary, and with a sigh he shook his head a little. "I'm fine, Obi-Wan. Just...tired. Nothing a few hours and a call to Breha won't fix."