#they are constantly pissing perimeters around one another

[amyisherenowitsokay]

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First off, big shout out to @i-like-pink-lolzz​ for letting me know this song even exists. I love Eden Project, but I fell off keeping track of them. As soon as I heard this cover, I knew what needed to be done.

As you can see, I do I already have clips of the new ep, which I loved, but as 99.9% of the video was already done when it came out, I just snuck it in a lil bit there. 

[omo-honey]

Okay so I almost had a real accident last night AND today and it was totally miserable, but you guys will appreciate it anyway 😭

I went out drinking last night with some friends at a bar I have never been to before. I had two waters and two drinks and they hit my bladder all at once. I talked with my friends a little longer because I was enjoying the conversation, and then I headed to the restrooms. I walk into the men’s bathroom and oh my god they ONLY had urinals. No stall. No toilet. So I leave and luckily they also had a unisex bathroom. So I knock. No answer. Try to open it. Locked. So I stand outside the bathroom door for 10 minutes, crossing my legs and shifting, trying to look casual. Eventually the person leaves and I have the HARDEST piss of my life. It was so relieving…I had to go again before we left about 30 minutes later. Luckily nobody was in there, because by then I was getting pretty drunk and don’t know if I could’ve handled waiting.

Then TODAY, for my sister’s birthday we (me and my two sisters) pile into the car for a 2 hour drive to a Japanese market that has food, shops, bookstores, etc. I went to the bathroom before we left, and had literally only half of a bottle of iced green tea and a few sips of water. For whatever reason, an hour into the ride, I’m suddenly feeling full. I press on my bladder, thinking, “maybe I’m not actually full and I’m psyching myself out.” Oof. That press hurt. Now I work in a restaurant and have an IRON bladder. I can wait hours to go to the bathroom. But I think the alcohol from the night before did me in, because not 20 minutes later, my bladder feels like a huge water balloon on the verge of bursting. I was legitimately scared I was going to piss myself. There was 40 minutes left of the ride and I was getting nervous. We were on the highway. I finally spoke up when the GPS said we were taking an exit in 2 miles. I asked if we could stop at the first gas station when we get off on the exit and they said sure no problem. I didn’t tell them how urgent it was. 20 more minutes later (20 mins left of the ride) I’m constantly shifting my feet and clenching and unclenching my muscles. There has been absolutely no sign of a gas station, convenience store, or ANYTHING. I’m scared I’m going to wet my tan shorts and have to literally turn around and go home after an hour and 40 minutes of driving, ruining my sister’s birthday. FINALLY, with only 12 minutes of the ride left, I spot a Walgreens. We pull in, and when I got out of the car, I felt like I had a fucking boulder sitting above my hips. I couldn’t stand up completely straight, it was that tight. I manage to carefully walk at a slightly faster pace into the Walgreens. I don’t see a sign for a restroom, and the cashier was busy, so I walked up to the pharmacy counter. There was one man back there. I said “excuse me” before realizing he was on the phone. He held up a finger to give him a minute. I did NOT have a minute left. I’ve never been this desperate in my life. I hobble around the back of the store, I’ve now walked almost the entire perimeter of it and there’s a creeping horror that this Walgreens might not have a public restroom. I’m starting to freak out, because if they don’t, I will NOT make it to another place before my bladder gives out. Finally, I see a hallway. No signs or anything. Go down past a break room, and FINALLY see a bathroom. There was one stall in that bathroom. Someone was looking out for me, because it was empty. When I sat down, my bladder had a hard time letting go for a second…and then it gushed out of me so hard I’m sure anyone could’ve heard it from outside. I peed for a minute straight and then it stopped…another gush…stop…another gush…and kept going on like that for another minute. By the time I finished, my shorts felt loose!

I couldn’t believe the irony of the whole situation, I was TERRIFIED Y’ALL. Anyways.

TLDR: I almost pissed myself and ruined my sister’s birthday.

[80s4life]

The Thought Of Losing You

Word Count: 2,507

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: Lethal Weapon 1987 {1}

A/N: This follows sort of around the ending of the first Lethal Weapon film where both Riggs, Murtaugh, and Rianne were being tortured in separate ways. I know it sounds brutal, but trust me, it isn't that bad. AND! Happy ending! (Spent all night on this!)

Relationship: Martin Riggs x Reader

Summary: When a team is formed, Roger Murtaugh and Martin Riggs are solidified together once Y/N is added to the mix, squeezing in perfectly. Although very fiery and stubborn at heart, childish games and teasing became common place for sergeant Y/N and Martin, unable to let the other out-trash their own trash talk. But, when there is a complication during the final breakthrough of the whereabouts of the heroin-trafficking cartel, Y/N is separated from the duo. Only coming together when a kidnapping sends her in a desperate spiral trying to save the people she loves, especially Riggs.

Warnings: violent themes, kidnap, manipulation, torture, violence, language, attempted!self-surrender/suicide, 18+ audience suggested, read at own risk

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

Prompts: #67, #68, #100 (from this list @palettes-and-prompts) & #6, #8, #17 (from this list @waiting-for-motivation)

{I do not own any of the prompts, credits to original owners above, nor do I own the gif below -> @leofromthedark}

Strolling around to the back of the supposed drug dealer's extravagant condo, Murtaugh, Riggs, and I engage in light conversation, silently noting and observing our surroundings. Stopping just near the edge of the rather expensive-looking below ground pool, Murtaugh and Riggs catch sight of two brunette women inside. Rolling my eyes, I expect Riggs to do something flirtatious, a painstakingly common reaction to almost every woman he lays eyes on. Every woman... except me. Yet, I pay no mind, Riggs' crazy nature probably too much for me to handle anyway.

Murtaugh flashes his gun, indicating to the women that he is armed. In a flash of a second, just merely after he had shown his weapon, the women duck and run from within the glass-paned wall, just in time for a man to blast a shot from behind. More specifically, the source being a shed occupying the space on the opposite side of the pool we resided on, destroying bits of its siding from the sheer distance and voracity of his attempt of subduing at least one of us.

But, we came prepared, although we were slightly taken aback, Murtaugh's swift abilities with a gun coming in handy as he lands on the drug dealer's right knee, lower thigh area. Splitting off, Murtaugh and I take either end of the pool's side, desperately trying to corral the person of interest. All the while as Riggs takes the women from in the house outside and to the nearest tree, in case of them being suspects as well, handcuffing their wrists together around the tree.

Once the task is done, Riggs hurries over to our aid, following our one, sole purpose: keeping the suspect alive for questioning.

Coming around the perimeter of the pool, Murtaugh reminds Riggs of this rule, replaying it to refresh his sometimes questionable mind. This, however, does not work in our favor as the man pulls yet another gun, this time a pistol, as Riggs had went to pull the man up.

"He's got a gun!" I scream, yet it's all in vain, as Riggs tries to act just as fast as his reflexes would've allowed, lifting the man's aimed arm as the trigger was pulled.

Yelping in surprise, I clench my teeth as the copper red liquid instantly encompasses the injured area, jerking as far away from the incident as possible.

"Y/N!" Murtaugh yells, instantly coming to my side as I go crashing to the concrete floor, catching my head and my left side as I now slowly lean into the ground below me, clutching the stinging injury to the right of my abdomen.

As Murtaugh had come to my side, Riggs took care of the suspect, unfortunately not being able to accomplish our sole purpose of being here, but overall getting rid of the threat.

"Cocksucker," he all but grunts, as he makes sure to shoot the man once more, pissed at the fact that I had gotten shot, although that fact being unbeknownst to me. "I'll call the ambulance," he all put spits out some time later, not making any attempt to check on my well being nor even making eye contact, stalking back through the side gate we had entered through.

//Some time later//

Now nestled safely and securely, I lay within the gloomy walls of the hospital, hooked up with some anesthetics and monitors, all for separate purposes. The stitches surely going to leave an awesome scar, only adding to my aggravation and exhaustion as the day finally settles and the slightest of movements constantly sending sharp pains within my whole body.

The doctors, coming in every so often, had reassured me of a discharge after the course of at least 2-4 days, only needing to ensure the proper sanitary measures are used and stitches being durable and strong without issues or tears.

Staring off at one of the four blank and colorless walls, in a daze, my ears perk up at the sound of a knock on my door, followed by Roger and Martin entering the room.

Handing me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, I smile at Roger as he pulls a chair beside my bed, asking, "How ya' feeling, Shortie? How're they treatin' ya' here?"

Giggling at the nickname, I respond with an, "I'm doing just as good as I can I guess. It's not so bad here either. The nurses are nice, although they're all pitiful glances and meek gestures, coming in and out as quickly as possible. I guess bullet wounds aren't their preferred cases?" I joke lightly, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

Roger catches on instantly, having caught wind on Martin's rather uncharacteristically quiet sulking in the far corner of the room. Turning to look at him briefly, he all but shrugs at me as he comes up with no response or solution to his partner's unknown issue.

Checking the time, I make up an excuse, assuming Riggs just didn't want to be here maybe? "Damn, look at the time...It's almost 9 pm guys, don't wanna be late for Trish's cooking do ya'?"

"Shit, really? Come on Riggs, you know the ass whoopin' I'm gonna get? Let's go, minus well feed you too, huh?" Murtaugh says, getting his coat and squeezing my shoulder, giving me a sympathetic look that I swipe away quickly. Riggs just gets up, side-eyeing me once quickly, but above all, ignores my presence and leaves the room. With one final look from Rog, he shuts the door, leaving me to my boredom for the remainder of my stay.

//Some time later//

Having been discharged, Roger had caught me up on the recent news, and how they had left to finish the job a day before I had gotten out of the hospital, that being yesterday evening, and it now being a full 24 hours of no communication from them.

This had struck me as odd, given that they were very advanced in their fields. Finding the whereabouts was the last big hump of every mission, the rest supposedly coming easy. This had all changed as soon as I had stepped foot onto my front porch, a not left hanging slightly within the pocket of my mailbox.

The words shocking me to the core;

"Come to xxxxxxxxxx if you want to save your partners. 8 o'clock. Sharp."

Rushing to my car, I waste no time, pulling out of the driveway and to the given destination, the time being almost too close to the deadline as I preferred it to be.

Once outside of the destination, an old, run-down warehouse stands gloomily in front of me as I slip my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Another, tucked against my ankle within my boots.

I move quietly, staying alert as I enter the warehouse quietly, instantly hit with the cries of what could only belong to Riggs, my heart wrenching. A new feeling that I instantly push aside. Following the pained screams, inching closer to the source, I catch wind of yet another's set of booming cries as well, recognizing it as Murtaugh.

With this new set of knowledge, my heart does another painful flip, as the sheer terror now courses through my veins as if it was my blood. They were the toughest men I had ever known. At least that is how I had always felt, how I feel right now, but with their pained screams, it makes me feel utterly hopeless.

Drawing my gun, I aim it before me, right beside the wall I hide on, lining it up around the corner, my full intention at being able to at least shoot down one of the three men guarding one of my teammates; their identity unknown to me at the moment with the unfortunate dimness.

Taking the shot, I hit one man, the two now swinging to guard the area, looking my direction. The man held captured, Riggs, tied to the ceiling, consistently doused in water, making the homemade shock therapy increasingly unbearable with multiple relentless blows.

"Come out now, Little Rabbit, or I pull the trigger," a booming voice commands, me now peeking out from the corner to see none other than Mr. Joshua, the man we've been after, pressing a firm gun to Riggs' limp form.

Coming out from my hiding space, Joshua motions for his goons to grab me, now taking Riggs off the hook, and into another room. The room we are led to happens to be the room Murtaugh is in, his daughter beside him, both incarcerated and handcuffed. Moving Riggs to the chair beside the pair, he is tied down just as I am, the four of us now completely helpless.

Mr. Joshua, confident and prideful of his work, moves Riggs to the center of the room, starting his interrogation, answering with beatings and threats here and there. The cause: the information given by Hunsaker on his heroin-trafficking cartel.

Just as Joshua leaves yet another powerful blow, Riggs' strength starts to run low, just watching him making me squirm in my chair, wanting nothing but to take him in my arms and drag him as far away from here as possible.

"If you have to kill one of us, kill me. Take me instead, please? Just stop! Stop all of this now," I say breathlessly, doing anything in my will to get their hands off of Riggs.

"What would I want with someone as pathetic as you?" Mr. Joshua answers bitterly.

"Information. That's all you want right? You just want details about the business, you went through all this trouble, and for what? Just to kill us in the end? I know your type. You can't get off without getting what you want, and this would've all gone to waste without it," I respond, determined now.

"So, what do you want? To strike a deal?" I nod. "So, if I let them go, you'll give me what I want?" I nod again.

"Y/N no," Riggs says, now worried about what you're going up against.

"Shut it," Joshua states strictly.

"Y/N, listen to Riggs! You can't do this!" Murtaugh adds, now borderline terrified as everyone in this room is filled with the most important people in his life, all threatened with the only thing that could take them all away: death.

"SHUT IT!" Joshua all but screams now. "Fine. I'll take you up on your little deal. However, you fuck with me, I'm killing them."

"I don't agree with you unless you cut them loose right now, and I am assured that they are out of this building," I say confidently, yet shaking with fear.

He nods his agreement, showing a security camera view from one of his computers, watching as Rianne, Roger, and Martin are all led back outside, handcuffs removed, and all moved into my car, them pulling away from the warehouse.

Pulling the computer's view away from me now, he turns to me sharply, my gaze turning upward as my arms are still strapped behind my back, behind the chair. "Now," he starts, the voice strict like a parent beginning to question a toddler, "The information. What did Hunsaker tell you?"

Taking a breath in through my nose, I exhale through my mouth as I ponder my response, "Just as much as he's told you."

With this, Mr. Joshua lets out a scream, landing a punch to the jaw, my body leaning in on the stitches. Taking notice to my sharp intake of breath from the movement, Joshua uses that to his advantage, grabbing a knife, lifting my shirt, and pressing the cool metal along the line of handiwork. The only thing keeping my skin together at the moment.

"Let's try this again, what information did you receive from Hunsaker?"

"I told you. I. Don't. Know."

"Bullshit!" He digs into the skin, smirking at the cry of agony and shaking engulf my body.

"I-I don't know anymore than you do! Please! He was killed before we got anything from him!"

"Bullshit," he answers playfully now, dragging the blade of the knife wherever he pleases now, enjoying my pleads.

As he opens up my stitched bullet wound, he goes to start at another spot, the attempt being short-lived as a bullet wound of his own goes through his skull, the source standing in the doorway alongside Murtaugh with Rianne tucked under her father's arm.

Crying now, I sigh in relief as Riggs rushes to me, cutting me loose and lifting my limp body. Carrying me to the car, we make our way to the hospital once more.

During the wait and multiple switching of rooms, Riggs stays, waiting for me, only getting up once I emerge from the exit, patched up and clean. He smirks at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading me to Rog's car, taking us to the only place we find comfort; his house.

//Some time later//

Getting settled in at the Murtaugh residence, Riggs and I share Rianne's room, which was so generously offered as one of the youngest decide to have a sleepover with her.

Looking over at Riggs, he looks at me, covered in open cuts and bruises, dirt and grime, and, taking a first aid kit from Rianne's desk, I make it my priority to get them fixed up.

"What are you doing?" Riggs asks, tiredly amused.

"Taking care of you, it's the least I can do," I reply determined once again.

"Awww! Someone's got a little crush on me huh?"

"Hey! When I finish patching you up, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you," I say jokingly. Riggs replying by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer.

Locking eyes on one another now, I couldn't help but joke once more, adding a sly, "Is this the moment that we kiss?"

Giggling, he looks down, placing his head on my chest, murmuring, "I think I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do. I mean, I've been married before, and I- I lost her and I don't wanna lose you too- I couldn't live if you go too, I-"

Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head upwards to meet my gaze, "Look at me, Riggs. Look at me. I love you."

Eyes watering, he leans in for a kiss, my hands finding way to his hair, while his pull my hips into his lap, wrapping lightly around them. After leaning back for air, we giggle once more, leaning our foreheads against one another.

"I never want to ever feel the fear of the thought of losing you again, okay? So don't be a dumbass, Dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah," Riggs answers once more, leaning in for another kiss.

[writefightandflightclub]

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog​ runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters. 

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go. 

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Dangerous Love (Pt. 08 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09)->

{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

×

Home isn't Always a Place

You're pushed forward, a gun on your back. You step down the ramp, the sunlight blinding you for a while. The headquarters were built here, in some sort of field. There as soldiers everywhere, and they're immediately aware of you. Of course they are, you're a threat. With a gun on your hand, seven bullets means seven men on the ground, crying in pain. You hardly miss.

“Sister!” A yell gets your attention, and you turn to its source. Harley comes running, throwing her arms around you. “So good to see you. Where have you been?”

In paradise. “Same place as I've been for the last year. Isn't it obvious?” Shrugging your shoulders casually, you try not to look to misplaced. Wait. Why would you look misplaced here?

“Well, now we get to have fun and some family bonding.” As she speaks, a soldier walking by gets her attention. “Hey, you. Can you help me with something?” She says in a flirting tone and walks away.

“Now it's a party.” A rough voice says, and you soon recognize the owner.

“Killer.” You greet him with a smile and a quick hug. “Nice to see you'll be here to have my back. Who else is here?”

“Deadshot is arguing with a soldier. Diablo is seated in some corner whining.” He smiles, gesturing at his left. “Long time no see. How's life?”

“Life's fine. As fine as it could be.” You start walking over where Deadshot is, watching as the soldier rolls his eyes. Floyd is gesticulating a lot, which means he's pissed.

“I won't have it like it was the last time. Now go, be a good puppy and tell this to your boss.” He says, turning his back at the man. “Havoc. Hi.” He says, exchanging a glance with Killercroc. “Ready for another stupid mission?”

“It's not like we have a choice, right? I–”

“Listen up, assholes! Your dirty things are in these boxes. So change and let's get the hell out of here. You have five minutes.” A man shouts, and everyone rolls their eyes.

You make your way to your things, and as you expected, your box is filled with your old clothes. All in shades of lilac, purple and pink. As usual, the soldiers just stand around you, not caring too much, as you change. You never liked that. Harley doesn't seem to care, and many eyes lay on her. But you do care. And you care a lot more now.

“Guys. A little help?”

Floyd and Killer grab some of the dark plastic bags that lie on the the floor, as you take a dark purple sleeveless jumpsuit. You move to stand near a wall, and the guys turn their backs at you, holding the bags high so you're shielded from anyone's eyes. They did the same on the first time, and you're very thankful for that.

“Thanks, guys. I'm done.” You tell them, fixing the jumpsuit on your body. The hard material makes you feel strong, like Havoc again.

“You're welcome.” Killer says.

“To the trucks! Now!” A man barks and you have no choice but to do as he says.

All of you go in the back of one of the trucks, together. Harley seems to be the only one excited about it, since she's trying to flirt with a soldier named Tom. You wonder what Joker would think about that. Oh. He's stuck on a bed for the rest of his life. He won't be saying anything, you bet.

As you move through the town, you can't help but think about what you did before leaving the house. The kiss. You can't believe you actually kissed him. What in hell were you thinking? You're very brave to do such a crazy thing like that. And you should've at least stayed to see his expression. To see if he was mad or not. But even if he didn't like it, you trust him enough to know he won't break his promise. He still keep helping you after you beat him up twice, so it's not a peck in the lips that will make him change his mind.

Being sure of this is a weird feeling. Your head is so much clearer now, you're not as scared as you were. And you're liking who you're becoming. This mission is just a inconvenience. It'll be over and you'll head back to the house, back to the way of getting a real life. A good life, a life you'll actually enjoy having.

You stop suddenly, and you're ordered out of the truck. “There's a small group here. Eyes open. They might have put mines here so... Don't blow up.”

You get two guns, one in your hand as you walk the perimeter. Harley stays close to Tom, but it doesn't bother you. You walk near Killercroc and Floyd, your head too far from this place.

“Hey.” Floyd elbows you. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I'm just... Thinking.” Shrugging your shoulders, you need to focus on being casual. “How's you daughter?”

“She's great. Best student of her class and she's in a hella good school. The best of Gotham.” He looks at the sides, making sure nobody is too close. Killercroc is a few steps ahead and he doesn't really care about these stuff anyways. “You will never guess who put her there. And also guaranteed her a good University, any one she chooses.”

“That's freaking amazing, Floyd. Who did all that?” It couldn't be Amanda. She's not that good.

“Batman.” The mention of Bruce makes you blush, your heart aching from his absence. You look down, running a hand through your hair.

“Batman? In like the man you hate with all your strength?”

“How can I hate someone who does that for my kid? No, no. I respect him. Even admire him now, doing this after I tried to kill him half a dozen times.”

“Floyd, he's...” You need to let out out your chest, and having someone to talk about it would be nice. And you know you can trust Floyd, even more now that his hate for Bruce is gone. So the words roll out your tongue in a whisper as you both stop walking. “...Batman is the one helping me... Rehabilitating me.”

“Oh. So the rumors are true. I knew they took you somewhere else, just didn't know where.”

“You two. Walk.” Someone says and you start moving again.

“Yes, he... I'm going well. I...” Floyd looks down at you, raising one eyebrow. “He said it was mostly just me, but he did help. He treated me with kindness, believed me. I don't know how to explain but I'm different.”

“I did notice something was off with you. But I'd never guess.”

“Really? I was trying to keep it cool.” As you speak, three man come from the corner, immediately shooting at you. You duck behind a car, peaking just enough to lay eyes on them and aim. But they're easily put down without you having to shoot.

“All clear!” Harley says, smiling.

“So...” You continue when you start walking downtown again. “I didn't want to come, but he promised me it would be the last time.”

“Uhm... He's making promises?”

“Yes.” You don't get his tone. “He's very kind to me. Unlike anyone else... He even threw me a birthday party.”

“Happy birthday by the way, and sorry it's a little late.” You turn the corner, carefully at first. “How kind?”

“Kind.” What else can you say? That his touch is so soft, so gentle that you couldn't help but fall in love with him? “He... Cares. I think.”

“You fell for him.” Floyd bursts out, and it's not even a question. It's an affirmative. How did he get there so fast?

But you're fast to dissimulate. “What? No.”

“It's called Stockholm Syndrome.”

“It's not like that!” You exclaim. “You know I've been kidnapped before. Twice by the Joker, who kept me hostage for five months... I did spent three of them just to play tricks on his mind and get some of his money but you get what I mean. Batman didn't held me hostage. He spoke to me, helped me get clean of the drugs they used to give me at Belle Reve, he... He won't let the door locked anymore. He wants me to be able to live in society again.”

“I was teasing you. But since you went into great lengths to defend your relationship with him... You did fell for him.”

“Shut up, Floyd.” You mutter, too much on your head. Increasing your pace, you reach Killer, walking beside him.

Your feelings are pretty clear, as much as you don't want to admit it. And hear it like that just makes it even worse. The kiss... All you think is about that kiss you shouldn't have given.

You're thankful when the action starts, because you have something else to focus on. It doesn't resumes in shooting, you eventually get into hand to hand combat. And you can deal with it pretty well. Of course, it's easier because the guys have your back. You guess they somehow noticed you have no pleasure on doing this anymore. Diablo, as usual, doesn't participate much.

When you stop, hours later, you feel your body complaining a little, but you know it'll get worse. But you also know you can deal with that. And you will, because this time you have somewhere nice to return to.

The commotion goes on for a couple of days. It gets messy, and it only gets worse when the granades start falling from the skies. You're all bruised up again, but not as bad as you were in the hell hole. How is it possible that you're in the middle of a war and you're not as much hurt as you were inside a prison?

As you approach the terrorists base, things get worse, and even the soldiers seem to get anxious. So that means they're extra evil to you. One of them denied you a bottle of water, what made Killercroc almost get his head blown out for arguing with the man. That reminds you that you don't have an explosive this time, but the soldiers told you they will put a bullet through your head if you try anything. But they can rest their minds because the only thing you want is to end this soon.

A week later, the soldiers decide to settle for the night, and push you into a half destroyed house. Harley uses all the hot water, so you have to endure the cold. But it feels good to clean up, and you can take a look at your wounds. A few cuts and purple bruises, nothing you can't deal with. The only bad part of the times you stop to rest a little before start moving again, is that your mind involuntary floats back to Bruce. You can't help it, everything comes back. When he left his gala to dance with you, the dreams, the birthday surprise, the kiss... Why can't you take this man out of your head?

You're alone in a room where half of the wall is down. The others are downstairs, but you want to be alone. You can see the stars from here, and you wonder if Bruce is staring at them too. “Hey, freak.” A soldier comes in, throwing a small radio at you, that looks like a very rustic cellphone. “Someone wants to speak to you. You have five minutes.”

Watching as he leaves, you lie back on the floor, approaching the radio from your ear and mouth. You know who it is, and your stomach goes crazy, with a thousand butterflies flying around.

“Hi.” He answers. “How are you?”

His voice is so familiar, like home. “I'm surviving. Enduring. Just want this to be over soon.”

“It will. And you'll be back here.”

“I hope so... We're near their base now. So only a couple of days more and we'll reach it. Take them down.” You close your eyes, hoping that his voice will be enough to make you dream of him tonight. You would give anything to have him here... Or to be back home. You mean, back at his house. “How's everything there?" Stupid question, he's fine, everything is fine.

“It's weird not to have you here.”

A smile comes to your lips. “Is it?” You whisper, taking a deep breath. You're scared you'll lose control, and the words will roll out your tongue. “Our time is almost over but... Thank you, I... It's good to speak to you.”

“Just remember I'm waiting for you.” You hear his heavy breath, as if he's suffering too, tired, exhausted.

Then you hear a little static, and you know he's gone... There's a weight on your chest and you can't help but let a single tear roll down your cheek. You keep the radio near your face, as if you could hold Bruce with a little longer. “I miss you so much.” You say, barely recognizing your weak voice.

“I miss you too.” The sudden answer scares you, your eyes widened.

“I- I thought you hanged up.”

“No, I'm still here. And I miss you very much, sweetheart.”

The pet name makes you lose it, and now you're crying. “Bruce, I–”

“Time's up, Havoc.” The soldier comes back, hand reached out. “Say goodbye to your protector.”

“I gotta go. I... I miss you.” You burst out before another sentence, far more dangerous, leaves your lips. You give the man the radio back, curling up on the floor, bracing yourself.

From tomorrow, you'll fight harder. You need to go back.

• • •

“Their base–” The soldier who announces is shot in the throat, right beside you. You're duck behind the barricades, waiting for the big guns to arrive. You cannot approach with the risk of being blown up, and they're not allowed to spend you just yet.

“That's it. Shoot to kill, that's an order.” The commandant yells, and the bodies start dropping faster. But not from your gun. You keep aiming for their knees, but another bullet always finds the man you leave collapsed on the floor. “Are you deaf, slut?” He barks at you, leaving his post and pulling you up by the shoulders. “Don't you think you can trick me just because the Bat took you into his wings. Do what you do best and kill those terrorists.”

“I don't kill, sarg.” You tell him, making your way back to your post. But the grabs your arm violently, squeezing right on a wound you got. You groan, trying to pull away.

“You don't kill? Nice try. You will do as I say!” He yells right to your face, and you can feel his disgusting breath. But you won't back down, and you won't take a life just because he told you to.

“I don't kill.” You repeat, standing as tall as you can, head up raised up to look the man in the eye.

His gun makes sudden contact with your face, in the apple on the right cheek. Your head jerks to the side, and you're knocked down, a sharp pain spreading through the skull.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” Killercroc comes running, and you see through the corner of your eyes as he engages in a fight with the man.

You're done here. Crawling away from the fight, you hide yourself behind a building, seated on the floor and resting your back against the wall. They seem to be dealing with that very well, so they don't need you. You're tired of fighting, tired of being in pain.

“Havoc?” Floyd calls, startling you a little. “Are you ok? Your cheek is–”

I'm (Y/N). “Yes, I'm ok. But I'm not going back there.”

“You'll have to tell them you're feeling unwell or else–”

“I don't care, ok? I just need to go back home. I'm sick and tired of this shit.” You burst out.

“Home?” He questions, not seeming too excited to head back to the battlefield.

“Yeah, just... I'm confused, I'm hurt. I'm not thinking straight.”

“I have to head back. Sorry.”

Nodding, you close your eyes, taking in the explosions and shooting. The only thing you want is peace now, silence... Bruce's arms. A heavy, cold rain starts falling, and you're soaking wet in a matter of seconds. Your head spins around, and you lie down, eyes closed tight.

Suddenly, you're pulled into a heavy sleep.

• • •

“Lucky bitch. We should be taking her back to where she belongs.” A rough voice wakes you up, and you sit up, eyes opening slowly. You're in a truck, in the back, on the metal floor. Your hands are tied by huge metal handcuffs, that cover both hands, reaching the middle of your forearm. It's heavy.

“Let's teach her a lesson. Just like old times.” A man say, and you recognize two out of six, both were your guards in Belle Reve.

“Don't leave too many bruises. She'll be with Batman in ten minutes, he'll notice.”

Ten minutes... You're going back. This truck in taking you back. Lowering your head, you smile, breathing deeply.

“She was with the Task Force. He'll think she got them there.”

“Fine then.” You're pulled back, a dark, heavy fabric covering your head. “This is just to remind you of who you are, Havoc.”

“And to give you a nice memory of home.”

The beating starts, and your body easily collapses to the floor again. But you're lifted up, again and again. You should fight. You should do something, but you can't. You're not the superpowerful girl you thought you were. You break too, and you get hurt. And you are hurt, with countless cuts and wounds through your body. When you were high on whatever they gave you, you could keep moving. Now you can't. Being vulnerable, weak, feels awful, but there's just no strength in you. You just need to make it through the last ten minutes that separate you from home.

Home.

When exactly did the house became that?

Or is it Bruce? Is he the one becoming your home? Is it even possible? You hope it is.

×

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

[the-irish-mayhem]

This is a series of short, unrelated vignettes/oneshots that was supposed to be posted for Fosterson Week a year or two ago and I finally got around to finishing it. Enjoy!

5 Universes In Which Jane Is Worthy and 1 Where She Isn’t

Read on AO3

1.

On the top ten list of bad ideas she’s ever had, this is so, so, so bad the number one spot doesn’t even seem adequate. The guy who thought he was Thor clearly got caught trying to get her stuff back, and so she is  so  screwed unless she goes in herself. God, why did she go along with this again? He’d claimed he’d fly out once he got what he was looking for (which,  god , again, why had she kind of believed him?)

Her feet crunch quietly against the hard-packed sand leading to the hole in the plastic tarping making up the walls of the facility that Thor had kicked a guy through, and she, without nearly as much hesitation as she should probably feel, hops in.

The place isn’t huge, and it doesn’t take long for Jane to find the main room.

Thor had helpfully drawn nearly everyone in security away from where her equipment is stowed, next to a… hammer in the dirt. Literally, they built this entire site around a hammer? What the  hell , archaeologists never get this much funding and government attention. And what does her equipment have to do with it?

Jane shakes herself. She has a lot more important things to do instead of trying to puzzle out the weird and wild workings of shady government agencies. Things like capitalizing on their inattentiveness and getting her gear back.

She grabs her notebook first, stuffing it into her back pocket, and then trying to figure out how she’s going to cart out at least two hundred or so pounds of equipment.

“Hey!”

Jane nearly leaps out of her skin and turns, seeing a pair of security guards sprinting towards her from one of the halls.

“Shit,” she spits, and frantically looks around at her equipment. Lightest and hardest to replace… Radio spectrometer retrofitted for wormholes. Yep, that one. She scoops it up in her arms and takes off.

Even running as quickly as she can, the guards are still within arm’s length of her before she’s taken five steps.

Oh, they are not taking her work. Absolutely not. Erik isn’t here to hold her back this time.

She reaches an arm out, barely managing to hold onto her spectrometer as she grasps the handle of the hammer. Old or valuable, the thing is still a hammer, she can still swing at them with it.

A crack of thunder. A blinding flash of light. The feeling of grabbing a live-wire running through her body for a handful of terrifying seconds until the euphoria comes.

If she be worthy , she hears.

May she possess the power of Thor.

Oh, Jane thinks.

Oh,  fuck .

 2.

“No, I don’t know what… That’s why I’m coming out here to… Look, all the issues with our readings at the site are originating from this one spot, so yeah, I’m going to go take a look,” Jane says into the phone.

“Who is it?” Darcy whispers. Their truck rumbles along a remote road in Norway leading to the coast, and the interference from their mystery site makes it so they don’t get any radio stations, so Darcy is starved for entertainment.

Jane covers the mouthpiece and whispers back, “Caplan. He’s--” she uncovers the mouthpiece. “No, there’s not any danger. You--no… No… Wait, but that time wasn’t actually my fault, so…”

“Being a dick again?”

Jane’s eyeroll is all the answer required. “Look, we’ll be ba-- in--” Jane makes an almost comical crackling noise in the back of her throat. “Wha-- interference from the-- thr-- breaking up--bye.” She hangs up without any further discussion.

Darcy contains a laugh. “You’re gonna pay for that later, you know.”

Jane rolls her eyes again. “Well, it’s my being at his facility that’s even getting him funding in the first place, so, you know.” She shrugs. “If he wants to fight me, I’m the one with more published papers and theories that changed the laws of physics.”

Darcy pumps a fist. “Fuck yeah.”

She waves a hand. “He’ll be fine. He’s pissed we took the Mule without asking.” Where they plan on going, there’s no vehicle access, so the ATV was their only recourse. “If he thinks I’ll be satisfied with this one spot fucking up my results over and over again, he’s got another thing coming. Speaking of which,” the device that rests in Jane’s lap begins to ping, “pull over here.”

“Woo, off-road time,” Darcy cheers, and follows Jane’s instructions.

Another hour of driving in the Mule later, they reach the geographic nexus that’s been screwing with their readings.

It’s a pretty spot, bright green grass running all the way to the edge of the cliff, where a sheer drop would land them in the ocean. Norway’s fjords are always breathtaking, and Darcy counts herself lucky yet again that she gets to visit places like this and get paid for it. All in all, a pretty rad job.

“Can you set up--”

“Magnetic perimeter and radiation scanners?” Darcy finishes. “Yeah.”

Darcy unloads the equipment from the back of the ATV as Jane approaches the nexus.

It looks like a storm is beginning to swirl overhead, and Darcy eyes it nervously. Without any cover, they are pretty much sitting ducks if any rain starts to fall, god forbid if lightning starts. Where the hell did all these thunderheads come from? This blew in awfully fast.

Jane crouches down and reaches for something on the ground. “Darcy, you should come look at this,” she calls out. 

Quite suddenly, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck stands straight up. The sensation is so strong and sudden that it literally causes her to gasp in shock.

“Jane--” she starts but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Faster than the blink of an eye, a massive bolt of lightning tears from the sky, slicing straight down to where Jane kneels.

Darcy barely has time to scream.

She is thrown backwards by the force of the lightning strike, and she thinks she hears a voice whisper before she hits the ground behind her.

If she be worthy.

When she looks up again, she knows she hears it.

A strange woman stands where Jane once was--massive, tall, blonde, with impressive armor and Mjolnir in her fist.

May she possess the power of Thor.

 3.

Fragile isn’t a word that could ever have been used to describe Jane Foster, but with her cheekbones hollowed out by weight loss, neck and wrists gone skinny and tendons standing out against her skin in sharp relief, fragile almost seems generous. A plastic band wraps around her wrist, stamped with her name, attending physician, allergies, and a barcode encoded with all her patient information.

She is tired, often, but with Darcy’s help still manages to go through her research and rough out an outline for her next paper she plans to publish.

Jane likes to plan, likes to say things like there’s a conference next September that this paper will do really well at, and Jane knows that Darcy is trying to hide her heartbreak at these statements. Darcy used to not hide anything from her, used to barely have the capacity, let alone the desire, but it’s strange the effect dying can have.

Her hospital room is outfitted with several whiteboards scribbled over with notes and formulae, the answers Jane constantly seeks waiting to be pried out of the clutches of the equations she can spend hours puzzling over. It’s a good use of her time, when she’s not--

Elsewhere.

Jane is careful to hide the hammer. It’s her secret legacy, her last hurrah, her hidden responsibility and duty--

Mjolnir is many things to her, but burdensome is certainly not one of them.

She swings her legs over the side of her bed, gripping her IV pole to help her stand. She walks over to the window, where the sunlight of the early afternoon has been shrouded over by storm clouds. She slides open her window, the cool wind of the storm washing over her face.

In the distance, she hears the rumble of thunder.

Jane Foster smiles.

 4.

His axe is buried in Thanos’s chest, and there’s a blinding moment of what feels like sour vengeance--so many have died already, and now the Mad Titan will perish for his crimes.

He presses the blade of Stormbreaker in further, for Loki, for Heimdall, for every one of his slaughtered people.

Then Thanos whispers, “You should’ve gone for the head.”

And he feels his heart drop.

And then, and suddenly as Thor himself had dropped from the sky, another streak of lightning blazes in from the east, and Thor can feel it--  Mjolnir .

But how?

He can’t even tell who is wielding it until the hammer smashes Thanos’s skull in, and the Mad Titan is finally felled. The Infinity Gauntlet drops, the stones unused, the universe saved.

The woman holding Mjolnir is tall, with shining armor that looks well-crafted, including a helmet that hides the upper half of her face. In spite of that, he can see her eyes.

Eyes he would know anywhere in the galaxy.

She looks almost as stunned as he is.

“Jane?”

 5.

The cell phone footage is grainy and difficult to make out. Shot by a civilian in Garching, Germany, the shaky video peeks at the action from behind a brick wall. A voice out of frame whispers,  “Dude, I think it’s Thor!”  and is quickly hushed by the one holding the camera.  So at least two more witnesses to track down,  Natasha thinks tiredly.

The observation, though, is rather striking in its accuracy. The figure has a red cape and flowing blonde hair, and displays a command of lightning that Natasha hasn’t seen since Thor more-or-less retired after their last showdown with Thanos.

The opponents are a small gaggle of aliens, impossible to fully make out but probably more scavengers who’d come to pick the bones of Thanos’s last battlefield. In the two years since the Snap, they’d been getting a steadier stream of extraterrestrial threats looking to take advantage of Earth’s vulnerability.

“How is it that we have holographic video technology widely available, but every civilian who has useful intel has a Nokia from 2004?” Natasha grumbles, squinting and trying again in vain to enhance the footage.

From her place next to her, Okoye chuckles. “I think we’ve demonstrated that we have the worst luck imaginable,” she jokes darkly.

The figure is still hard to make out aside from the gaudy cape and lightning. The electricity in the air made the audio on the video spotty at best, mostly static and a few loud bursts of accurate recordings of a fight, but mostly useless. Then a few video frames give them a clear view of the front of the figure.

“Pause,” Natasha says, sitting forward in her chair. “Go back three frames?” The computer obeys her voice command, ticking back to the moment when they had the best view.

Both Okoye and Natasha freeze as they take in the image.

There’s a shard of disappointment that goes through Natasha when she realizes, once and for all, that it definitely isn’t Thor. That disappointment turns swiftly into suspicion because she does not know this person, and they certainly have powers that would’ve landed them at the top of a SHIELD watchlist back in the day.

It’s a woman. She’s massive, arms and legs thick with muscle, and extensive armor that could be Asgardian make, but with the graininess of the video, it’s hard to tell. Her helmet covers almost her entire face, only exposing her mouth and jaw. Some sort of chainmail on her legs, perhaps, and a sleeve on her left arm. Her right arm is bare, and clutched in that hand--

“Mjolnir,” Natasha breathes.

“I thought it was destroyed,” Okoye says.

Natasha nods. “We all did.”

Despite the video quality, there’s no mistaking that hammer. Especially when Natasha resumes the video and the mysterious woman throws the hammer, and it returns to her hand moments later.

“We haven’t seen any new powered people since the Snap,” Okoye says, breaking the silence. “With our…  situation  being what it is,” she continues, tactfully calling the mess they’d made of the world a  situation , “we should either ascertain if this woman is on our side, get her on our side, or terminate her as soon as possible.”

Natasha nods in quiet contemplation. They cannot afford to have a powered person running around the world unchecked, not with the way things are. They’re barely managing to hold it together as it is, and the Avengers are spread extremely thin. Not to mention their help is often rejected in an official capacity, a lionshare of the blame for what happened falling to the World’s Greatest Heroes who failed to save the world. It’s a PR nightmare, and there are many nights when Natasha wishes that she’d just been dusted along with the half of the world who didn’t make it.

But she didn’t. She’s still here, and someone needs to lead.

“Want me to track down Thor and ask him about her?” Okoye says. “Based on her strength from that video, she’s probably Asgardian.”

Natasha’s kneejerk reaction is to say no, that Thor can’t handle this, that he’s been in an almost constant state of inebriation and/or depression for the last two years and she won’t expose her friend to something that might be painful for him. Then her rational mind kicks in and she nods at Okoye. Thor is their best lead. “I’ll come with you.” (Then her vicious mind raises its hackles and says if she’s got to wade into the shit that is the post-Snap world, then Thor should have to get right into it with her.)

That night, the evening news features a story with the grainy footage Natasha could’ve sworn she’d managed to scrub from everywhere (but alas, she is no Vision.) The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads The New Thor: Who is she, and can we trust her?

***

They find him at a hightop table in a hole-in-the-wall bar in New Asgard, and if Natasha had been serving him, she probably would’ve cut him off at least four drinks ago, but the bartender doesn’t seem concerned with denying their monarch his alcoholic solace.

“Do I need to go get Brunnhilde?” Okoye whispers to Natasha.

Thor sways in his barstool, hands clasped around a large stein of beer, but seems coherent enough to answer their questions.

“Not yet.”

“Wha--?” Thor mumbles, eyes half-lidded. “What’re you saying?” His words are disturbingly slurred. Maybe getting Brunnhilde wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Natasha refocuses. “Have you watched the news recently?”

Thor snorts and takes a drink of beer. And doesn’t stop taking a drink of beer until the stein is half-empty. Natasha’s eyes widen when he lets out a loud belch.

“Apologies,” he says, not sounding apologetic, “but you’ll have to excuse me for not keeping up with current events.”

Okoye cuts in, “How about this current event?

She slides a set of photos out of a manila envelope, laying them down on the bar table. The paper sticks to the surface of the table.

Thor shakes his head once, as if trying to rein in the spinning the room is likely doing around him. He leans down and squints at the photos. “That--” He cocks his head. “That isn’t me.”

“No,” Okoye confirms. “It isn’t.”

“These photos were taken two days ago in Garching, Germany. Know of any Asgardians who settled there?”

Thor swallows, and doesn’t immediately answer. He raises his free hand not on his beer to the photos, and the tip of his middle finger drags over where Mjolnir is inked onto the paper. “I thought it was gone,” he mumbles.

“So did we,” Natasha says, tempted to reach out to him at the abject sadness in his voice.

Okoye slants a glance at Natasha.  Focus , she seems to say with her eyes, before redirecting Thor, “Are there any Asgardians in Germany?”

“A few,” he says. “None that look like this woman.” He looks up at them. “Do you know how she found Mjolnir?”

It’s his most coherent question yet. Natasha shakes her head. “We just found out about her. She looks pretty confident with it, so maybe she’s been training somewhere.”

“I don’t underst--” Thor loses his battle with his balance and gravity and falls off his barstool. Natasha and Okoye both reach out to steady him, but he manages to catch himself before he hits the floor.

Natasha goes to Thor’s side, her heart falling quickly as she puts an arm around him. It’s hard to see Thor like this, especially knowing the kind of man he used to be. (Of all the people she thought would stick with her, after Clint and Steve left, she thought that Thor would be the one to stay. He’d fought through so much heartache, sided with them in New York against his own brother, protected the Earth from the Dark Elves after his mother’s murder, faced down Thanos even after his planet had been destroyed, and yet he’d always been ready to fight. It’s downright unnatural, utterly tragic to see him laid so low.)

Turning to Okoye, Natasha says, “Go get Brunnhilde.” Okoye doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Thor,” Natasha prompts, getting the man to look at her. His eyes look pained. She’s sure hers must reflect his. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“Stop what?” he mumbles.

“You know what.” She hesitates before offering, “You could come back, you know. Join the Avengers again. I really could use the help, and you’ve got more experience leading than everyone else on the team combined.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No.” Clear, concise, and completely at odds with his drunkenness. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

His answering smile is sad. “I have nothing left to offer you.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha answers softly, but based on his tone, this isn’t an argument she’s going to win. Not today, at least.

A beat passes. “You really didn’t know about Mjolnir?” she asks, one more time.

“I’m not worthy anymore,” he whispers. “Why would it call to me?”

Natasha doesn’t answer that. There’s a lot of layers there that she doesn’t think she’ll ever fully understand.

Okoye returns with Brunnhilde at her side. She says to Okoye, “You know, sometime you’re going to have to visit me when it’s not for the purposes of picking his sorry ass up off the floor.”

Okoye chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Brunnhilde proceeds to pick Thor up in a bridal carry, making Natasha stumble a bit when his weight is no longer against her. “Come on, your majesty,” she says, tone almost bored. “Let’s get you home.”

Natasha bites her tongue against all the questions she wants to ask.

How often do you do this for him?

How is everyone around here blind to what’s happening to him?

Where on earth is he getting enough alcohol to regularly get drunk?

Before she can even think of pursuing another line of questioning, she gets a call from Carol--she is needed urgently back at headquarters.

She sighs. The hunt for the new Thor will have to wait for now.

***

It’s only once Natasha and Okoye are on a quinjet and flying back to their base that Brunnhilde unceremoniously drops Thor on the ground.

He huffs, but quickly stands up and brushes himself off, perfectly sober. “Unnecessary.”

She glares at him. “How long are you going to keep this act up?” she demands. “Those are your  friends .”

“Natasha is a friend,” Thor corrects, “Okoye thinks I’m a worthless drunk.”

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. “Because she’s never known you as anything else.”

He grits his teeth. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling yourself, but they  know  about her. What’s your act doing to keep her safe now?”

The muscle in Thor’s jaw works furiously, but he calmly answers, “They don’t know her identity. They think she’s a rogue Asgardian.”

Brunnhilde bristles and brusquely pulls a folded manila envelope out of her back pocket. “Okoye gave these to me, said to ask you about them again when you sobered up.” She quickly opens the envelope and tears its contents out and holds them right in his face. The edges of the photo paper crease under the force of her fingers clenching down on them. “You see this? The better she gets, the more this is going to happen. And you know what’s eventually going to happen?” She jerks her head backwards. “Your friends are going to find her. She’s on a crash course, and then she will be a part of this. You can’t stop that. It was a fantasy to think you ever could.”

“I didn’t think I could keep her from it forever,” Thor replies evenly, and he wraps his fingers around Brunnhilde’s wrist and lowers the photos from his face so he can look her in the eye.

“Then  why ?” she asks.

“Because she needs to be better than me,” he says, like a release of steam from a pot. “She needs to be better, and she’s not yet.”

Brunnhilde shakes her head. “I don’t know if you’re going to get a choice for much longer.

   and the one time…

“Jane.”

His shoulder jumps under her head.

“Hm?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh,” she says groggily, and pushes herself off Thor’s shoulder. “Oops,” she says when she notices the spot of drool on his shirt. “Sorry.” The weird half-sleep that comes along with car rides is slow to depart, clawing at her eyelids until she reaches to her right, where a bottle of water sits.

After she downs half the bottle and truly wakes up, he gives her a soft smile, one that says he probably wasn’t far behind her in terms of falling asleep. “It’s no matter. I thought you’d want to be awake before we arrived.”

She stretches her hands over her head as much as the towncar’s roof allows, and a series of satisfying pops go down her spine. She grunts in satisfaction before saying, “I need to go over my speech one more time.”

“I’m fairly certain  I  could give it at this point with how many times I’ve heard it.”

“You’re a good person to practice with!”

“I’m only teasing,” he says. “And besides, this is hardly your first time doing this.”

“This still feels bigger, somehow.” 

He makes a soft sound of agreement. Jane offers the water to him, which he accepts and drinks his fill before capping it and setting it aside.

Jane continues, “It’s one thing to get, you know, a big science award. Like, the last time I got the Nobel I felt almost old hat at it, you know?”

Thor gives her a look. “I recall you saying that you felt like you were going to throw up before you went onstage to give your speech.”

Jane flaps her hand at him. “Okay, sure I was nervous, but I was….used to the shape of it? This is a completely different type of thing.”

“Yes, excelling at heroics is something you usually leave to me.”

“Hey, I have plenty of behind the scenes heroics!”

“Of course, dear,” he says with a laugh, “but none of those behind the scenes heroics resulted in a singlehanded defeat of the Infinity Stones, handicapping Thanos’s plan, and saving untold lives.”

Jane tilts her head back onto the headrest, a smile spreading across her face. That day, that last fight that Strange predicted would end in only one way, would be permanently emblazoned in her memory as long as she lived. Thor had asked her to stay away from the battlefield, and initially, she’d agreed. She and Tony had been theorizing about the nature of the stones, and they hadn’t had time to parse out the quantum entanglement theories together before her thinking buddy had to jet off to try and save the universe.

It came to her like a lightning strike only minutes after the team had left for the last battle. She’d built a frequency jammer that would disrupt the quantum entanglement of the stones in thirty minutes flat, and then raced out of the Avengers compound like a bat out of hell. She’d just have to get within range of the stones, and they’d be rendered inert, their effects immediately reversed, and they’d just be ordinary stones, and then they could be destroyed.

And, incredibly, even though the science of it was shaky at best, and she’d had to improvise on the fly when some of the wiring on the jammer had shorted out, it worked.

The army from the past was gone, snapped back to their original chronological configuration; Natasha and Gamora were spat out of whatever pocket universe they’d been trapped in; and Tony hadn’t had to use his gauntlet, hadn’t had to sacrifice himself for the universe as she’d  known  he’d planned on.

(Dr. Strange had sputtered, shocked, saying that of the fourteen million six hundred and five futures he’d seen, he’d only seen one possible outcome where they won, and it wasn’t this.

Jane shrugged, breathless, dirty, bloody, and grinned. “I found number fourteen million six hundred and  six .”)

“And all without a single power to her name aside from her intellect,” he finishes.

“I am pretty cool.”

“Both pretty and cool, much agreed.”

She lets her head fall to the side so she can look at him. His beard is long enough to be braided, and he’d done so this morning, and he’d taken care to braid some of his hair as well before pulling it back with a tie. He looked good. Great. Amazing, even.

She reached out her hand closest to him, trailing a finger along one of the braids in his beard. A streetlight from outside catches on her wedding ring just so.

After the Snap, she and Thor had drifted back together, partially out of shared grief and guilt, but had ultimately rediscovered why they’d worked together for years before the distance had become too much strain. They’d officially tied the knot a few years after Tony and Pepper had. (Steve had been Thor’s best man, and Darcy Jane’s maid of honor. Tony walked Jane down the aisle in Jane’s mother’s absence. Morgan had been their flower girl.) 

She wonders if any of this would’ve happened if they hadn’t found each other again. If they hadn’t rekindled their love for each other in the horrible aftermath of the Snap, would she have been around to help? Would Tony have reached out to her with the time travel issue? Would he have invited her to collaborate on the quantum entanglement of the stones if she hadn’t re-integrated herself into the Avengers circle? She likes to think so--they were friends, at least somewhat, before the Snap (but their closeness now was only formed in those last five years of wounded peace.)

“What are you thinking about?” Thor asks, and mirrors her position so he can look at her.

“Just that I’m really glad I married you.” She nudges forward so she can kiss him. “Really, really glad.”

“I’m glad you married me, too,” he answers. “Not many women would have had the fortitude to put up with me for as long as you have.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it over to her lap. “How many people did Pepper say were going to be here?”

Thor shrugs. “Less than two thousand, but there is the webcast as well.”

“ God .”

He squeezes her hand. “Go through your speech once more. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d feel better if we could skip past the ceremony and go right to the drinking and partying portion of the evening.”

Thor laughed. “If only I were planning the evening, Jane Foster. Now start from the top.”

Jane laughs, and closes her eyes. With her husband’s hand in hers, his warmth a steady reassurance at her side, she recalls the words she’s memorized and feels her nervousness retreat as she begins to speak.

[kerwritesthings]

The Start of Our Love Story

Summary: Before there was a me and you, there was me and there was you

Word Count: just a hair over 7k (buckle up y’all)

Warning: fluff and feels, a little bit of angsty longing, a little bit of messy, a bunch of sweet

Author Notes: So this is another one of those that festered from a tiny germ of an idea after something @fallinallincurls​ said and it kind of became, well this. It’s how it all started for these two. A look at their backstory. I kind of really love this. For me, I always want to make things I write feel real, that it’s not too much of the storybook, easy cliché. I want it to feel like this could actually be a thing that happens. This one feels more like that than anything I think I’ve written. I’m quite proud of it. 

As always, this falls in my yet to be named verse. The rest of my works can be found here at my newly cleaned up and shareable masterlist. This honestly, if you’re just starting to read my pieces now, would be the first to read, then follow the rest as I’ve got them down on the master. However, it can be read as a solitary one shot. Much love to @whenidance​ for listening to me whine constantly at stupid o’clock that I’m writing more fic yet again and to @fallinallincurls​ for being the kickstart to this and for being the best damn cheerleader.

Toronto was never in your plans. Work wise, you were grinding away, working like crazy to make a name for yourself. That’s what mattered. Nothing else outside of work, your tiny apartment on the Upper West Side, brunches at Sarabeth and Jacobs Pickles and abusing Class Pass studios with your best friend Didi made it on your radar. But when the SVP of Charitable Corporate Giving came to you to chat about the expansion of their presence through the other international offices outside the US, more so growing and figuring out new ways  to introduce corporations with their donations and their CSR programs with new charitable efforts; specifically an opportunity that would have you sitting possibly between New York and Toronto for a few months, eventually leading to full time position in Toronto, you sat up to listen. She immediately sets up time for you to head to Toronto along with a dossier of meetings with key folks there.

Didi came with you the first time you went up to Toronto for the exploratory conversations. The both of you came to love your time traipsing through Canada, Toronto and Montreal specifically. Plus, you both have friends scattered between the two. “This also means we can go harass the shit out of Hirashan, who we have not seen nearly enough of,” she trills off gleefully. “Plus, you know he throws killer parties, if we both visit you know he’ll do something fun.”

She was right. As soon as Hirashan found out you were coming into town, aside from the key smash that you may be in town for more than a brief trip if all works out well, a calendar invite for dinner shoots through immediately, then with a quick follow of ‘my friend Tristan is already having a few friends over for drinks that Friday night, we’re crashing’ which had you and Didi rethinking your packing knowing how Hirashan rolls.

After a day full of productive, thought provoking meetings that have you questioning everything back in New York, dinner with Hirashan, his boyfriend Miguel and Didi was exactly what you need to put the heavy thoughts in your head back a bit, at least for now.

“Tristian’s place is like Architecture Digest worthy,” Miguel raves, arm in arm with you as you head into the building. “The views of downtown and the CN are ridic. I’d say splurge if they want to drag you here and give you budget, but I’d much rather have you closer to us.”

“There is no way I’d be able to afford this building, let alone this neighborhood,” you quip, heels clicking on the tiles as you head up past the front desk to the elevators. Tristian’s ‘few friends over’ was tamer than you had expected, a solid number of people are scattering through the condo, but enough room to still feel like you could breathe.

Hirashan introduces you around like a proud parent, it’s sweet and not nearly as embarrassing as you thought he would be. There’s no way that you’ll remember everyone, your brain already feeling at max capacity after the day you had. However, luckily for you after the first full round of the room, you fall into an easy conversation with Tristian. He’s down to earth, a transplant from Georgia, and someone you could easily see becoming friends with if this move becomes an actual thing

“I have to introduce to my friend S,” Tristian says his thick southern twang bleeding through, craning his head around looking for him. “Normally, you can’t miss him he’s so dang tall. Whenever he gets here though, I must make the intro. I think y’all would get along well. He’s my neighbor, well not directly, but he lives in the building too.”

Didi and Miguel pull at you, passing around shots, and passing you around to meet and talk with other people. Your head is spinning, less from the whiskey you’ve been plied with through the night, more with the sheer fact that this night is making you see that Toronto may have to become a thing; and you’re smiling.

“Wait, here she is,” you hear Tristian first, before you feel him tug at your elbow before you go stumbling forward before tipping sideways. Another pair of hands come to steady you at your waist.

“Easy Tris, don’t break the girl before I can meet her,” the voice belonging to the hands at your sides retorts. He helps right you on your feet and you’re met with a pair of the prettiest eyes you’ve seen in awhile.

“As promised my dear,” Tristian grins, throwing his arms around the both of you. “This is Shawn.” 

He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t place it or him. He’s quite stunning though, gorgeous really. And unlike some of the others around the apartment, he’s dressed for the occasion. A well put together man is a weakness for you. Let alone one with eyes like this, a swath of riotous dark curls and a bright smile.

You fall into talking easily, not even noticing when Tristian leaves. This Shawn of his is well spoken, funny and it feels like you’ve known him for much longer the way the two of you chat. You wander into the kitchen at some point to grab another round of drinks, a glass of white for you, a beer for him, continuing the conversation of why you were up in Toronto this week in the first place.

“Sorry man, I need to borrow this one for a few if you don’t mind?” Tristian calls from over the breakfast bar. “Couple more folks I need to introduce her to before they head out.”

“It was really lovely talking to you Shawn,” you say, smiling. “I’ll find you before I leave.”

A few minutes turns into an hour, Tristian and Hirashan passing you around through a new group of people that just arrived. Next thing you know, it’s almost 1:30 am and the boys are starting to fade. You’ve lost track of Tristian, as well as his friend Shawn. You were hoping to see them both before leaving.

“Can I steal you for a minute before you go?” Shawn inquires, as you’re grabbing your coat from Didi’s outstretched hand. Miguel just smiles, elbowing Hirashan and pushing Didi towards to the door.

“We’ll go down and wait for the Uber,” Miguel says, nudging you forward.

You slide into your coat as he walks you around the perimeter of the living room, out the French doors to the balcony.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, especially your friends,” he gets bashful, a light pink flushes his cheeks. “But I really liked talking with you tonight, getting to know you. Can we stay in touch? Even if Toronto isn’t in the cards for you, I’d still like for us to talk more. Become friends even.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that. Here’s my card. Everything is on there. Cell, email.”

“I’ll text you in the morning, so you have mine,” he replies, squeezing your hand after sliding the card from it. “Let me walk you to the elevator.”

He loops your arm through his, guiding you back through the groups of people in the apartment, down the hallway and to wait for the elevator to pop back up.

“You don’t have to wait with me,” you say softly, hands in your pockets so you don’t do something like reach out to grab a hold of his.

“Yeah I do,” he smiles, and it seems like he shifts closer to you. You get a whiff of his cologne, and you hope in lingers in your nose for the rest of the evening.

The elevator doors slide open. “Thanks for the lovely night, Shawn.”

“We’ll talk soon,” he responses with a smile and a cute little wave before the doors close in front of you.

“Good night?” Didi asks flopping down onto the bed in your hotel room. “I saw that look on your face a few times, this is gonna be a thing now isn’t it? I should warm up the Star Alliance frequent flyer number soon, eh? Figure out the best flights from LaGuardia up here.”

“It’s feeling good, I want to really think on it though once all the big brass talk everything over,” you start, changing quickly, the day finally catching up to you. “And more so what they’re thinking with transition plans and comp package.”

“You do realize though you were all chatty flirting tonight with Shawn Mendes, right?” Didi fights through a yawn once they’re in bed. “Major thing to throw in the plus column for this. He looked all smitten kitten too, especially when he came over before we left. Get it girl.”

You’re suddenly not as sleepy as before. “What the fuck, no way Dee.”

“Mmhmm, why do you think the three of us let you guys be for as long as we did. Tristian mentioned him coming by. Thought right off the bat you two would get along after you and Tristian got to chatting. Tris was right and I’m glad he made that happen,” Didi mutters, face smushing against the pillow. “Plus, he’s so your type. One of us needs to tap that, and I think Tomas would be beyond pissed if I did, so it’s your mission now. And you must share all the details once you get dicked down by that hot piece of man candy.”

You throw the smaller decorative pillow on the bed over at her face. “I didn’t, I mean. We were just talking Dee. He looked familiar, but. Oh god, Didi,” you grab the other pillow and place it over your face to scream.

You try to put it out of your mind, especially with everything else going on around the Toronto whirlwind. Even more so when a few days go by and you don’t hear from him. He flat out asked for your number, you slid him your card which had your cell and your email address. He said he was going to text you, so you had his number, and he wanted to stay in touch. You thought he was being sincere. You try not to let it get you down. Thinking of it now after everything, he’s a massive pop star, what would he want to do with someone like you? He was probably just being polite. You’re about to pop into the meeting with the SVP of Charitable Corporate Giving, when a text pops up from a number you don’t have in your phone.

Hi it’s Tris! Found your card in my guest room, must have slipped out your bag at some point when you were here last week. Let me know when you make your decision. Welcome to crash here until you find a place if the decision is a YES!

The only card you gave out that night was to Shawn. Did he lose it? Did he leave it there? Too many questions, you had an important meeting to get to.

Your apartment is almost completely packed up, the movers coming in a few days to take everything. It was a no brainer to say yes, though it meant less time of a transition and more of an immediacy in Toronto. You decided to spend your last full Sunday in the city at some of your favorite places. Breakfast at BEC, a facial from Facehaus, a wander through Strand Book Shop and an afternoon at Té Company. You manage to snag your favorite table: a half-padded booth in the back corner next to the window. A pot of tea and a book that has nothing to do with work and you’re ready to take a deep breath or three.

“That young man asked me to bring you over a fresh pot of whatever you were having,” the server gestures, swapping the steaming pot in her hands with the cooling one you have on the table. “Shall I bring over another cup?”

You look up from your book, and from her, to see him. Your breath catches for a moment. He’s got a shy smile, looking straight at you. Beat up black boots, dark jeans, cozy grey sweater, a vintage black leather bomber. Curls a windswept mess and eyes bright. He looks like he belongs here, in your perfect Sunday afternoon in New York City. You don’t know how you feel about the fact you’re thinking that way, especially after everything. Damn your subconscious. You’re too polite to ignore him or flip him off, so you nod and wave him over.

“Of all the gin joints, Shawn…” you sigh out softly.

“This is so crazy, that you’re here. Hi. So, I owe you an apology,” he explains carefully, sitting down across from you despite wanting to slide onto the bench next to you. “Because the nervous asshole I am, I totally put your number in my phone wrong. I tried texting you a few times, and nothing. I figured when they weren’t going through as iMessage I got it wrong and then I realized I lost your card, so I had absolutely no way to check or get in touch. I also didn’t want to look desperate or completely pathetic tracking down your friends through Tristian to hound them for your number when I had already asked for it myself, especially the way I did, or stalk you on social that would have been worse.”

He’s adorable when he’s flustered. “Take a breath, Shawn,” you smile softly. “Tris has it. He texted me the following week that he found it in his guest room.”

“I went in there after I walked you out,” he runs his hand through his hair, messing his curls about even more than they are already. “Needed a minute cause the pretty girl I talked with all night actually wanted to keep in touch too. I sat on the bed and put your number, or what I thought was your number, in my phone. I thought I slid it back into my pocket, it must have jostled out.”

“I thought, well, honestly I didn’t know what to think,” you begin. “I didn’t realize you were, well you until after I was back at the hotel with Didi. I thought you looked familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. Then when you didn’t reach out, I was like what would this guy, this Rockstar, want to do with me?”

He shakes his head at first. Then, he slides his phone out of his coat pocket, flipping through a few things before sliding it across the table to you. “Go ‘head,” he nudges it closer to you.

There were four or five green text bubbles in the open message window, an 8 in the place where the 0 should be in your number.

I know I said I would wait until tomorrow, but I just wanted to say how nice it was to talk with you tonight. It’s Shawn btw :)

I know you’re probably crazed with just getting back but wanted to see how decisions were shaking out? I’m bias but I’d be happy to talk up Toronto some more.

Let me know when you’re back in town? Would be great to see you.  

I may be in New York soon, would love to see you in your element. Can we grab a drink if you’re around?

Chat soon?

“He was kind of taken with you right away. Because that night? He got to just be just this guy Shawn talking to the prettiest girl in the room, who also happened to be so easy to talk to and laugh with,” he says honestly.

“It’s happening by the way,” you respond, pouring him a cup of tea despite your shaky hands. “Toronto. Next week. It’s my last full Sunday in New York, I’ve been hitting some of my favorite spots today as a last hurrah, including here. Movers come Tuesday; I fly out Thursday.”

“I found this place on my first solo trip to New York, and have been coming here ever since,” he sips at the mug that looks awfully small in his hands. “How many times do you think we crossed paths here and didn’t even know it?”

“We did on the time it really matters though didn’t we?” you smile over your mug.

You’re there for hours without even realizing it. Talking about whatever comes to mind. Everything from Toronto to New York to music to hockey, life and everything in between. After the second pot of tea, he moves to sit next to you on the banquette. By the third, he’s turning to face you straight on, head resting on his left hand with his knee pressing warmly into your thigh. Not once did anyone come to interrupt or bother the two of you, no wonder he’s gravitated to this place. By your fourth, you’re mirroring him, turning towards him. It’s comfortable, he’s comfortable. It’s easy, too easy actually. There are no awkward silences, no weird blips in conversation. It scares you. You’re already on the precipice of something majorly life-altering. You’re not sure you can take up another major change. And you believe him and his rambling explanation before. You do. But there’s a part of you that’s scared. Maybe you were just meant to have these pockets of time together, these brief beautiful moments. Nothing more. Your head is a swimming mess of emotions.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two, but we’re getting ready to close,” the older gentleman you’ve come to know as one of the managers explains.  

“Holy shit, it’s almost 8,” you stretch, popping your shoulders. “I didn’t realize it was that late.”

“What time did you get here?” he asks.

“Only 20 minutes before you did,” you say, timidly, resting your hand over his that’s resting on his knee. “But this was a really good way to spend my last Sunday in New York. Honestly.”

He flushes brightly, “I’m really glad I came in here today.”  

“Now, may I please see your phone?” he questions, a sly little grin creeping up one corner of his mouth.

You nod, reaching for it out of your bag and unlocking it.

Shawn takes the most ridiculous selfie, you can’t help but fight giggling, then flipping back to poke at the screen before handing it back to you.

“You’ve got mine and I sent a text to make sure I’ve got your right number this time,” he expresses, his finger tracing over the knuckles on your hand. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate and it’s all going to be crazy for a good while for you, but I’d like to keep whatever this may be going.”

You duck your head, threading your hair behind your ear, nerves suddenly rearing their ugly head. Your stomach flips at his touch.

“I don’t want to lie to you Shawn, or lead you on,” you exhale, voice shaky. “This is all a lot. The new job, the move, this, you. I’m pretty fucking terrified as it is. But then add this in? Especially cause you’re you and… This isn’t a no, but it’s not a yes. It’s a not right now and I know that’s a lousy answer and the last thing I expect is for you to wait, because why would you. I’d like to text, when I can, at least for now.”

You know that answer wasn’t what he was expecting. Honestly, it wasn’t what you thought you would say to him either. You want but you also know you to listen to what your gut is telling you, despite your head and your heart fighting to have a say in this too. You’re afraid to look up, to meet his eyes, as you fear it could be the last time you see them up close and in person like this.

“Hey,” he replies softly, nudging your chin up with his pointer finger knuckle. “You’re turning your entire life and everything you’ve known upside down. I get it. It also means a hell of lot to me that you’re being honest. It also means you’re not placating me, which I’m appreciative of. It’s actually really refreshing and kind of a turn on. I’ll be here and I’d really like it if you still texted, call if you want even. I promise you I’ll answer, anytime ok?”

You nod, trying to fight back the fog shifting across your eyes, a small sniff breaking through though. “I’m going to just…” you say gesturing to the ladies room.

“I won’t leave,” he states.

You quickly splash water on your face, blow your nose, grateful you had your facial before, so you don’t have a mess of makeup to clean up. Taking a few more deep breaths, you head back out. He’s got your bag in hand, your coat over his arm. He’s making this whole not now thing hard to stick to, but you know truly know that if it’s meant to fall into place, despite everything, it will.

“What about the…” you start, looking around the table for the billfold the owner left.

“Taken care of,” he cuts in before you could finish, holding out your coat to help you into it. You itch to hold his hand as you head out and down the steps, but you don’t want to go back on everything you just said. Instead, you set to order an Uber. You peek over, and it seems that he’s doing the same, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as well.

The nip in the early spring air is out, now that the sun has set, and you snuggle further into your coat. He shifts closer, rubbing his hands lightly over your arms. You’re coming to realize how much touch is a part of his language.

“I won’t let you say goodbye, because it’s not that. I won’t let it be that,” he murmurs. “It’s a see you later, ok? And, I’d like, if you’re comfortable with it, to give you a good luck I’m here for you hug before you go.”

You nod, thankful it’s dark so he can’t see you blushing. He takes you in his arms easily and holds you close. He’s warm and solid, he smells like fresh laundry, boy and springtime wrapped together and it feels like you fit just so. He leans his head down to rest on top of yours, squeezing his arms around you tighter. “I mean it,” he whispers. “I’m here ok? However you need me to be, whenever you need.”

He keeps you in his hold until a car pulls up, and of course it’s yours that comes first; the driver calling your name through the open window.

You pull away slowly, reaching for his hands and squeezing them in yours. “We’ll talk, I can promise you that, Shawn. Just bear with me?”

He nods, squeezing your hands in return, “Travel save and go be awesome.”

Your resolve lasts a whole four days, texting him simply a photo through the plane window of the approach into Toronto.

She’s looking all pretty for your arrival – welcome to your new home! he texts back with a Canadian flag emoji and a red heart.

It’s not easy, you knew it wouldn’t be. Your new apartment is lovely but it’s still not feeling comfortable and like your home yet. You’re thankful that you have friends that have taken time to wait for the cable guy, accept furniture deliveries and your moving truck because you don’t have the time. Not with work. Work is hard, harder than it was in New York. They throw you right into the fire immediately. It’s new office politics, it’s a new role, new everything. Even the fact you don’t have your favorite Starbucks baristas nearby anymore to supply you with your afternoon pick me up the way you like it when things are crazy irks you. You look back through your texts, hovering over the chain you’ve got with Shawn. You haven’t texted him since that flight photo. You want to, but it would just add more to an already full plate.

Bringing you dinner and a surprise! LMK what you’re jonesing for comes through from Tristian late Friday afternoon after your second full week in the new office.

A gigantic bottle of white? you text back with the side eye tongue out emoji. He’ll think you’re kidding. You’re not.

I’m bringing a few bottles and Japanese. I’ll use the spare I need to drop back off. See you in a bit!

The surprise, you come to find, once you’re both on the couch with chopsticks in hand, is even a mystery to Tristian.

“I couldn’t say no,” he fights out around a mouthful of shrimp teriyaki, pointing at the package on your coffee table with his chopsticks. It’s carefully wrapped in butcher paper with a pretty silver ribbon. It’s a box, thin and flat, nothing too large with a white notecard underneath the ribbon. “I’m not going to butt in on what’s going on with y’all, but we had drinks after he got back from New York. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that besotted, but all he’d tell me was that he’s playing off your lead. He’s not pushed or anything. So, when he asked me to help get this to you, I had to. At least I didn’t give him your address, girly.”

“It’s complicated,” is all you can really give to Tristian to explain or encompass it. Because that’s exactly what it is. You slide everything off your lap to exchange it for the box. Carefully, you unwind the ribbon, it’s too pretty and something you’ll want to keep to use in another way. It’s two notecards under it, and they fall out into your lap. They’re handwritten in deep blue scrawl, to match the border of the card. You pull the shorter of the two notes out first.

I’m really hoping this isn’t too much or crossing any lines. I saw this and thought of you immediately. It’s just a little something as you’re conquering the world. – Shawn

The little something is a gorgeous journal, soft deep midnight blue leather covered in silver embossed vintage maps with a silver pen slipped in the loop.

“Damn,” you mumble, fingers tracing carefully over the leather for a moment before snagging the other notecard.

I know you’re probably still figuring everything out and exploring. I’m giving you a list of some of my favorite places in the city, so don’t go spilling my secrets ok? :) If you go to the link at the bottom, it’s a Google Maps planner so you can save it to your phone.

“This boy,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the couch. It’s sweet and thoughtful and just on the right side of tugging at your gut. Damn him.  

“Tell me why y’all aren’t knockin’ boots yet?” Tristian quips, leaning over you to grab a Spider roll.

“Because I still don’t know my head from my ass up here yet and he’s Shawn fucking Mendes, Tris,” you take a large sip of your wine. “And I’m just some girl.”

“By the looks of it, you’re not just some girl. Just saying,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

Well after a few bottles of wine are polished off and Tristian on his way back home, you’re finally in bed. You’re still not used to the sounds of this city and you’re fidgeting, tossing your phone back and forth between your hands. It’s late, too late to call. So, you do something completely out of character, you record a voice memo to send to Shawn.

“I wanted to call, but it’s too late and I’ve had a little bit of wine that would make my resolve even weaker if we actually talked on the phone and I heard your voice. But your delivery boy came by this evening,” you speak quietly and carefully. “Thank you, Shawn. It’s perfect and so beautiful. I’m going to start using it on Monday. Then that list, with that Google link? That’s the absolute sweetest. I know I haven’t reached out and I’m sorry, really, I am. This is a lot harder than I thought. I miss home, this doesn’t feel like home yet. I know it will, but it’s not right now. Work is kicking my ass, and I’m grateful they trust me and for the challenge, but it’s so different than New York. It’ll all come together, but right now it’s just a fucking lot. I think though that this weekend, I’m going to try some of your list and I’ll try to share my adventures along the way. I promise you though Shawn, I am thinking of you and I want to get through this and feel like I’m good to talk more to you, with you. Thank you again, sweet dreams.”

You can’t bear to listen back, so you just save it and quickly shoot it off in a text to him with an old school t9 heart. You wait a solid 20 minutes before setting your phone on do not disturb, plugging it into charge and flipping over to try to get some sleep.

The next morning, your phone is scattered with different alerts: a missed FaceTime call and a handful of text messages, some with attachments, from Shawn. You press play on the memo first.

“So, please forgive me for trying to FaceTime, especially at like 1am, but you sounded so defeated in your message and it just killed me. Then I realized what time it really was and hoped you were already asleep, or your phone was off, and I didn’t wake you. I was in the studio head down working on something when you sent that, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you right away especially after I told you to reach out at any time,” he rambles before taking a breath. “First off, you’re welcome. I spotted it and knew it belonged with you. Please do let me know what you think of these places, I’d offer to come with you especially since you’re having such a hard time, but I’m going to respect your wishes. Just know, if you do need company, I’m good for it. I’m sending you a couple things to read and to listen to, too. Things that have helped when I’m on the road and just feeling overwhelmed or scrambled. I hope they help some. I’m here, remember that ok?”

You send him a video of your mug of tea next to the journal on your coffee table, steam swirling from the mug with his latest album playing in the background.

Step one – making this journal about me and for me, not about work, with my favorite tea at the ready and I may or may not be listening to something special today to get me started.

You do something you haven’t in a long time, you write. You journal, and you let yourself feel and get everything out. Including about this darling boy who keeps making his way into the forefront of your mind.

I feel honored – need to know what your fav is, you know for reasons ;) I’m hoping it gives you a bit of a breather that you’re needing.

You spend the day concentrating on you, hitting two spots off his list: the tea shop and the record store, purchasing way more than you need at both. Once you make it back home, you feel lighter, more at ease. You spend time setting up the new record player, immediately sliding the first item you searched for onto the turntable and snapping a quick picture.

You sound better on vinyl btw – please don’t make me pick a favorite, I kind of love this whole entire album.

From there, you keep randomly texting, haphazard things, no rhyme or reason. Just talking and photos and whatever comes to mind, and it goes both ways for the both of you and you keep that up for a few weeks. It’s easy, it’s fun, neither of you putting pressure on the other for what’s next or what’s to come.

A touch over a month after you sent him the vinyl photo, he texts you a Dropbox link one afternoon.

A little something since you liked the album so much. Hope you enjoy.

That little something? It’s the whole album, acoustic, just him and his guitar stripped down. It’s soft and intimate and absolutely amazing.

Shawn, are you kidding? This is stunning. How come I haven’t heard any of these before?

It’s only late that night when you’re about to fall asleep that you think you hear your phone chime. You don’t pick up, waiting to look at the message the next morning. There as plain as day is his very simple response.

Because I worked on it for you.

You want to call to really talk to him, hear his voice, you want to see him, something, anything. But you can’t. You’ve got an important meeting at 9 am sharp that you cannot be late for, a jam-packed schedule the whole day and an event that night with one of the new clients, a charity benefit showcase at Horseshoe Tavern they asked you to go with them to. You don’t want this to be a brief tete-a-tete either with him. You quickly send off a string of every heart colored emoji there is because right now that’s what it feels like, your heart is exploding in its feelings.

The club is filled to the brim that night, your clients are overjoyed and your new boss keeps texting how she’s pleased the clients are happy. However, you’re frowning at your phone. Nothing from him, not a peep all day. You normally wouldn’t be concerned, but after yesterday, you’ve got a little bit of worry niggling at your stomach. You can try him after you’re out the doors of the club later, but for now, you need to put on a smile and make sure the rest of the night goes smoothly. The talent wrangler for the evening is dragging you backstage with your clients. A surprise guest is coming to perform and the CEO wants them to all meet before this person heads up to the stage for the last songs of the night, a thank you to your clients for their support of the charity. Backstage is a shit show to say the least, you’re jostled around trying to make your way back to the green room before being slammed by one of the sound guys and his massive rig bag.

“Watch it,” you call out, rubbing at your hip as you try to catch up to the rest of the group ahead of you.

“Damn, are you ok? It was a hell of a hip check if I ever saw one,” you hear from behind you.

You know that voice. “Shawn?” you ask, turning around to face the voice.

His eyes grow wide, his smile even wider.

“Oh, I see you’ve met our special guest,” the wrangler says, nudging Shawn forward. “Shawn, you can head back with this group if you don’t mind? I need to find a few other folks for this meet and greet.”

He agrees easily, shifting closer to you as you head back to the green room. “Fancy seeing you here. An unexpected surprise for sure. The best one really.”

You nod, biting your lip, the corners of your lips quirking up. “It is. Let’s get the business stuff out of the way first. Then maybe, after everything, and the show’s done tonight, we can talk?”

“I’d like that,” he snags your hands, squeezing them in his before he lets you go to you knock on the door.

The green room is small given the venue, but it’s a loud cacophony of sounds and people, and you’re both pulled in opposite directions immediately. You can’t help but catch sight of him here and there, he’s one of the tallest in the room so it’s not difficult. He looks good. His hair’s a little longer, curlier. You can’t help but smile, for a few reasons now, but at this moment you hear his laugh from across the room and it’s bright, infectious. It simmers in within you, but you can deal with that after the event’s over. The rest of the evening flies smoothly. You manage to sneak a drink from the bar in time to catch Shawn taking to the stage. You stay out of sight, tucked in the corner, wanting to observe him in his element.  Him performing is nothing like you’ve seen before, especially in such a small venue. This could easily become something very addictive. Just as the show wraps, you shoot him a quick text.

Need to get my clients out the door then I’m free, maybe take me 10 more min. Somewhere around here good for a drink of some kind? Quiet?

His answer is quick, quicker than you expect, in two rapid texts.

Yes, Suite 114: https://www.suite114.ca/

It’s a 20 min walk from here, about 2km not bad - but I saw your heels so there’s none of that tonight. Uber over? I’ll meet you there as soon as I’m done with packing up and I have to say goodbye to the club owners. Promise I won’t be long.

Once you’re wrapped, an Uber comes quickly, surprising for a Friday night. It’s a quick hop over and the bar is cozy, dimly lit and decadent. A modern-day speakeasy vibe. He’s right though, it’s quiet, not overly full and there’s a couch you can claim towards the back of the room. You order something simple, a champagne cocktail with grapefruit and St. Germain, to sip on as you wait for him. Something light and celebratory. It was a good day all around.

“Am I allowed to say you look beautiful tonight?” you look up to hear him say, your cocktail and a rocks glass in hand with a few fingers of something dark in it.

“Only if I can wax poetic about seeing you perform live tonight,” you reply, fingertips brushing his hand as you slip the glass from his grasp. You may have done it purposely.

He blushes, settling down close to you with his arm stretching across the back of the couch. “I just might have switched songs at the last minute, after seeing you. Wasn’t supposed to do Lost tonight, but it just felt right.”

“Special in a room like that, like that small and intimate yeah? It felt that way at least, from watching it. You’re something else up there, Shawn,” you muse, twirling the flute carefully between your fingers, eyes catching his.

“Had a pretty girl I needed to impress tonight, so,” he drawls, looking down at the drink in his hands. “It was the best thing seeing you there tonight.”

“I wanted to call you this morning,” you begin, sliding your free hand to his forearm on the back of the couch. “But I didn’t want to rush the conversation. I had meetings, this tonight. I just. I had to send something, so I exploded all those hearts in that text. I needed to make sure I had the time I wanted, that, after your text with what you said, and that Dropbox. Shit, Shawn you’re making me all jumbled and to be perfectly honest? After seeing that text when I woke up? All I wanted to do was to hear your voice, talk, laugh, spend time with you, hug you tightly. I didn’t expect any of that. Whatsoever. It’s thrown me for a loop. A good loop, but still a loop.”

He places his glass on the table next to you, slides yours out of your hand to take a hold of it. “The last thing I want to do is scare you or overwhelm you. But. Is it okay if I say I feel the same? After Tris’ thing, then even more so after New York, I knew I needed to have you around, whatever way you’d let me. Your call and your speed. I was drawn to you in a way that I hadn’t been to anyone before, and I didn’t want to give that up. I was so glad to hear from you, after Tris got you that package. Your voice I mean. And then, the last couple weeks, not going to lie here. I’d look forward to your texts, those random little photos you’d share of those looks of how your life was settling in here. When you went to Sonic and it was my album you got and started listening to, it just hit me and I went into my studio at the condo to start laying those tracks down for you. That was, it meant a lot to me, so I wanted to just do something for you just as special.”

You lean your head on your hand, the one that’s still laying on him, now closer to his wrist and take a deep breath. “Honesty continuing? I’m scared. This whole being here is still such a rollercoaster, and then add in what this could be, especially… You’re you, Shawn. Shit, I don’t want to sound like that but it’s there. There’s a lot that goes with it, you get that right? I don’t think…”

“Take a breath,” he murmurs, slipping a piece of hair that’s fallen across your cheek behind your ear and trailing his finger down your cheek ever so lightly before tanging his fingers with yours. “I understand. I do. I’d like to, if you’re game, see where this goes. No pressure, nothing but the two of us. Only the two of us. Can I take you out on a proper date? I’d love to, please?”

This boy, this sweet, kindhearted adorable boy, this ridiculously famous pop star, really wants to take his time and spend it with you. This time, you listen to what both your head and your heart are telling you. Take the jump.

“I’d really like that, Shawn.”

 TAG LIST: @whenidance, @parkerdavis, @sinplisticshawn, @hollandraul, @fallinallincurls, @itrocksmysocks, @rainbowshawn, @lasingphomustra, @illumecherry​

[inktrailing]

SPN: purgatorio (snippet)

Still haven’t settled on a replacement title lol.

This is... currently in the teens for chapters. Still too early for a chapter count and I won’t know my timeline until I actually rewatch s8 and decide when they’re getting thrown back in.

Last time I posted a snippet I wasn’t sure where pairings where fully landing. It’s definitely slowburn poly Dean/Lucifer and Dean/Cas, with Benny continuing to be a wildcard lmfao.

There’s some rando probably inaccurate field medicine in this chunk that will be replaced at some point after I finish researching for it.

(As a refresh this is my s7/8 AU wherein Lucifer was trying to use the hallucinations as a way to manifest through someone and ended up helping Cas out a bit but popped out in Purgatory when Cas got there).

Previous Snippet.

Warning for explicit language, canon-typical violence.

CHAPTER

“You act like you have any idea where you're going,” Lucifer tells Dean.

“I do,” Dean says. “It's called moving. Getting a lay of the land.” He spins in a circle, arms spread wide, then points at a particular rock that had an odd blue-tinted moss covering one of its sides. “I know that rock,” he says with a grin. “I know this area. Do you?”

“It's all the same,” Lucifer drawls.

“Uh huh. That's what I thought. Cas?”

“Um.” Cas glances between them. “There's a vampire nest that roams here.”

“Exactly. We hopped territories. I thought it was all a free-for-all chaos. But nah, it's organized chaos. That's your jam, ain't it, Lucifer?”

“Don't dare to presume anything about me, Winchester.”

“So that's a yes, then.”

Lucifer moves for him and Cas steps between the two of them, hands out.

Dean smirks. Lucifer scowls.

“You don't start learning the ways of the land, Lucifer, you're gonna be our weak link.”

*****

“Monster 101,” Dean pants, “please have an answer, right the fuck now.” He presses into the packed dirt wall. He turns his attention to Lucifer. “What the hell is that?”

“Well,” Lucifer says casually. Way too casually. “If someone tells you God made the 'first' beasts don't you think there might be a... oh, second, third. You know. More than one?”

“So which one is that?!” Dean hisses, swiveling his head in the direction of the open-air marshlands.

“Behemoth, if I remember correctly,” Lucifer answers. He reaches out and pulls Cas closer into their hiding spot.

“They don't look as though they have a lot for their maneuverability,” Cas says. “We might be able to lose them in the woods?”

“Can't either of you just fly us out of here?”

Cas shakes his head. “Like the Leviathans... they're grounding me. Unless...” He glances at Lucifer.

“No dice,” Lucifer answers.

“Seriously? What's the point of being an archangel anyway, then?”

Lucifer huffs. “Dear old Dad liked his toys. Also,” Lucifer risks a glance around the wall. The beasts were scouting. “I think they might be after me. So, really, sure lacking on those Archangel Benefits right now...”

“Then they can fucking have you,” Dean snarls.

“Dean,” Cas warns.

“What? How much else is gonna want to snack on him? He's a liability.”

“So am I,” Cas argues.

“No, it's not the same—”

“Yes, yes,” Lucifer interrupts, “we all have something nasty on our heels. You have the sheer numbers after you, Winchester, I think that makes things minutely more difficult, thank you. Castiel is right: if we make it into the woods, we should be able to lose them. I'll draw them off if I must.”

“Lucifer,” Cas starts, stricken.

“Please, I'll be fine.”

“I don't think—”

“See, he wants to play bait, Cas. So we should let him.” He pats the back of his hand against Cas's arm. “Let's go.”

When he moves, keeping low, Cas follows. Good. He wasn't sure what else he could say to convince Cas to come with him. Lucifer darts out in the other direction, making himself blatant, juicy archangel bait. Dean knows the moment the beasts catch onto the scent and it's the first direct look Dean gets of them as the three whirl around to stare at Lucifer.

One of the giants, already free from the marsh, charges. The two behind are slower, rising up from the water, dragging muck and grasses over smooth, short-haired skins. Dean sees the jaws open, rows of flat teeth big enough to crush his head if they get close enough.

Their bellows shake the lands, one call after the other, a chorus of unearthly groans all vibrating the air and when they move it's as though that same land moves for them, quickening their gait.

Dean tries to ignore the fact that Lucifer flinches. He pulls Cas after him and doesn't look back after he sees Lucifer peel around the other bank, leading them away.

“Dean,” Cas pleads.

“We can't do anything for him!” Dean hurriedly says. It's not a lie. “We'll only distract him. We'll find him again, okay?” Dammit. “I promise. We'll look for him.” Cas stares at him earnestly and he must be able to tell that Dean's being honest with him because he stops protesting and follows.

Dean's suddenly going to be real pissed if Lucifer gets himself eaten because he's not sure he'll be able to pick up the pieces of Cas if he finds his brother torn to shreds.

How's this become his life?

*****

“Everyone else under the sun can find the bastard and yet it's been over a day and here we are still trudging around, like damn, did the dude finally fly or is he just doing this to screw with us...”

Dean's been muttering to himself for the last twenty minutes. He knows it's not safe but he's tired and he needs sleep and he's going on being awake for twenty-five hours which outside of Purgatory he could do, but inside... Fuck. He needs sleep. This constantly-being-hunted thing weighs on a guy. Exhausts him faster than he can cope with. Cas needs sleep, too. Dean's held up by the Hunt. Cas is held up by Stress.

It's not a good combination!

Fucking Lucifer. This is all his fault.

He rubs sweat and grime off his face. They need to go back to a river. He'd like to get this film off of him.

He stops walking and turns to Cas.

“Just power nap, Cas. An hour.”

“I'm fine, Dean. I can keep moving.”

Dean rolls his eyes skyward. “Cas, if he needs healing when we find him you're gonna need to be more on your game. Sleep. I'll stay on guard.”

Cas sets his jaw but sinks down to the forest floor and coils himself against a tree, tucking into his trench coat, nearly black from their travels. It makes a good camouflage, but Dean still kind of wants to wash that, too. Seeing Cas like this throws him back into an unkind future Zachariah zapped him to.

Dean shakes his head and walks away. He makes sure Cas is in sight, raising a hand to block out the sunlight streaking through the canopy. They have several hours til nightfall. Dean's not sure he wants to go another night of being on the move. He'd prefer taking shelter somewhere and wait til dawn, but if night's bad for them, it's just as dangerous for Lucifer.

Dammit, Cas. Why'd you have to get attached to the devil?

“You fucker,” he mumbles when he knows he's out of earshot, “if you're doing this on purpose then you can go right back to Hell. Cas needs you and every hour we can't find you is gnawing at him.”

He drops his head. “I can't believe I have to do this,” he says more to himself. “You'd better be hurt. You'd better...” He glances back towards the small shape that is Cas, trembling in his fitful sleep. Dean sucks in a harsh breath, curses, and spits out the last words of his prayer, “I can't track angels. I need a fucking sign, man.”

He sighs and heads back for Cas, walking a perimeter around his tree.

*****

“Dean.”

Dean pauses and turns to look at Cas, awareness flagging. The sun's going down. All he has for dinner is some leftover scraps of meat from days ago and some weird leafy green tufts that Cas said were full of nutrients and good for him and when Dean asked how Cas knew that, Cas said the plants told him with a weird little smile.

Dean hates salad but he'd eat them if it meant Cas would feel comfortable smiling again.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean asks. Cas is staring off to their west, head tilted, eyes concentrating. “What is it?”

“It's...” Cas opens his mouth, closes it. Frowns. Tilts his head the other way. “Holy.”

“What?”

Cas looks to Dean. “It's... familiar. But off. Home, but not.”

“Home like Heaven?”

Cas nods.

Dean wonders if it's coincidental.

“How far?”

“I think we could get there before sundown on foot. Flying may be... dangerous.”

“Yeah, no, and I'd rather not wear you out. Of the two of us, you're the one lighter on his feet right now. Let's go. Lemme know when we get close so I can prepare in case it's an ambush or something.”

Cas nods again, and then he takes the lead.

In the end it's not a trap. They find a deep tear in the ground like a meteor plowed into Purgatory. There's a ring of felled trees at the top of the pit and at the very bottom is a strange white-flamed flickering fire and a hunched-over devil.

Cas's relief latches onto Dean.

“Cas, blink us down there,” Dean asks, and then fumbles for his footing an instant later after they're relocated. Cas is already kneeling by his brother, hand on his shoulder to push him up. Lucifer twitches to the touch and Dean can see lacerations down his side that must be taking too long to heal.

“Lucifer,” Cas says, trying to rouse him.

Dean flops down across them with the makeshift fire in the middle, looking more closely at it. It has the makings of a normal fire, wood and kindling, but Dean thinks he understands why Cas picked up on holy. It's grace-fueled. Actual, honest-to-God, holy fire.

“Lucifer,” Cas says again.

“Castiel,” Lucifer finally responds.

“Cas, can you fix him so we can go?”

“I...”

Cas slowly looks over to Dean and Dean has a real bad feeling real fast.

“I can't,” Cas says.

“Why not?”

“I-I don't...”

“Beast trumps angel,” Lucifer groans. He reaches up a hand and closes his fist. The holy fire vanishes. Well, Dean had been concerned about it drawing any other attention.

“Fine,” Dean says. “You gonna stay alive til morning?”

“Mmm,” Lucifer responds. Barely.

“Okay. Morning, then. We'll do this the human bullshit way. Cas, you talk to your plants or whatever and try to find something we can use as a salve and bandages and shit.”

Dean's really not sure if Cas can actually talk to plants or if it's just something getting him through his daily life to think he can, but either way he thinks Cas can suss out something to use. Trial and error, anyway. If Lucifer's gonna die it's because his Dad made something bigger and badder, not because of some plant goo Cas will slap on him.

“I think we're sitting ducks down here but the fire's out,” Dean continues, “Cas, you good enough to take watch?”

Cas looks from Lucifer to him and nods, a little off balance, but determined.

“Good, because I'm exhausted. Can I borrow your coat?”

Cas strips out of it and hands it over to Dean. Dean balls it up, caked Purgatory and all, and uses it as a pillow and lays besides the dead fire wishing that grace left any coals and heat. He meets Lucifer's glassy expression, glares at the devil, and then rolls over, putting his back to both the angels.

CHAPTER

In some world-turned-upside-down bullshit, Dean is keeping watch while Lucifer rests. Not that Lucifer's moved much since they found him the night before. Cas is gone. Has been gone all morning to do his plant thing that hopefully also involves bringing Dean back something to eat.

He should be the one out there but Dean can't tell one plant from another and keeping an eye around the top of their pit is the best use for him.

The company's shit though.

“You prayed to me,” Lucifer says two hours into the boring morning.

Boring is good. Boring means no monster attacks. Boring means no getting separated and having to try and find another angel.

“Desperate times,” Dean mutters. “You saw Cas. He barely holds it together on days he doesn't think you're dead. You must've done a real good job convincing him you're not an asshole.”

“I'm the only reason my brother is a functional person.”

“Sure, whatever.”

Lucifer scoffs. “Believe what you want.”

“I'll do just that.”

The sun's beating down on them from above when Cas returns with arms full like he just came from a Farmer's Market. There's some dried blood that trickled a path down his forehead. He found a canvas bag somewhere, or maybe he made it. Dean's not entirely going to judge him right now, even if he left Dean alone with Lucifer for hours on end.

“You find what you need?” Dean asks.

“I think so,” Cas answers. He sits down between the two of them and sets his bag in front of him, slowly pulling out small bundles wrapped in twine. He tosses one to Dean and Dean curiously loosens the twine and unfolds the large fronds. “Don't eat the outside,” Cas tells him, “that's just the vessel.”

Dean thanks a God he doesn't believe in that the fronds contain a plethora of small berries.

“You're the best, Cas,” Dean tells him.

Cas's smile is brief, but worth it.

Dean eats and watches curiously as Cas continues to pull things out, including a few rocks of varying sizes that make sense to Dean as he takes a cylindrical one and starts grinding various plants and other matter on a flat one.

“Purgatory's first doctor,” Dean jokes.

“I imagine there had been others in the past.”

“Yeah, slapped-together medicine before they get their heads chopped off. Not a lot of long-term teamwork going on here that I've seen.”

“Or there is,” Lucifer says, “but they only pick off stragglers.”

“Outnumber people. Cowards.”

Lucifer shakes his head.

Dean's finished his berries and the rest of his meats that he didn't eat last night by the time Cas has some concoction of paste gathered on one of the fronds and is looking at Lucifer with some hesitance.

“Get it over with, Castiel,” Lucifer says in way of permission.

Cas nods and lifts Lucifer's shirt and Dean looks away when Lucifer winces, but it isn't quick enough to miss the mottled blacks and purples marring Lucifer's side around the slashed skin, and he looks back just as fast.

“Shit,” Dean says, ignoring Lucifer's glare. “Cas, you got any water or anything we can clean that out with first?”

“I don't, unfortunately,” Cas says.

“It'll be fine,” Lucifer mutters.

“It looks infected,” Dean growls.

“I just need enough healing so that my body's natural response can kick in.”

“Oh, and it can naturally heal beast infections, right? Because it's doing so well with whatever that was.”

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean gestures at the injury like it makes his entire argument.

Cas frowns.

“Put it on, Castiel,” Lucifer instructs. “If it gets me mobile, we can... worry about the rest when we've moved away from here.”

Dean makes a face in mockery but stays quiet as Cas seals the frond over Lucifer's side.

[goldenfawnwriting]

Birds of A Feather- Part 11 Hawks fic

Summary: It’s been a long work week and Finch finds herself going home alone again. How long will this last? On the other side Hawks is asking himself the same thing as he watches her walk away.

Warnings: Angst, violence, catastrophe y’know the good stuff. 

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy!

Finally the work week was over. Finch was beyond tired and stressed from the blatant tenseness between her and her boss. She was way too excited to get off and run for the door, as she knew Asami was waiting on her at their usual bar. 

Hawks almost stopped her. He didn’t know what in the world had her so excited but he brushed it off, sitting at his desk for some time longer. He really couldn’t get her out of his mind but at the same time, he was kinda pissed off at her. He didn’t understand why she was being like this, so stone cold with him. She never did that before, she never really cared what he did. Not that there was another woman in the picture then either. But he was being honest, she was just a friend that came to visit. Nothing was going on between them. 

Finch didn’t care. Even if he was telling the truth she didn’t want to risk getting her heart broken and possibly losing her job. As she rushed off to meet her best friend she shoved the thoughts out of her mind of him. She had worn something a little fancier than usual to work today and Hawks had half a mind to ask what was going on but he kept his mouth shut. A pinkish red blouse, swooping down and showing her bare back, a slightly shorter pencil skirt, and a pair of nude heels. She wasn’t usually in brighter colors, he noticed. She had also stopped wearing the hair pin he had gotten her, which hurt his feelings a bit but he wouldn’t admit it. 

When she got to the bar they began drinking, laughing and dancing, having a good time. Finch was relieved to not think about Hawks for just a moment but that soon ended. As a good looking man with an odd quirk approached her, she gave Asami a knowing look.

“Hey girls! I’m Yanaka, we just wanted to know if you guys might want to join our group?”

Asami glanced over, spotting the three guys across the crowded bar. She looked at Finch, who was obviously what he came here for.

“S-sure we’d love to!”

She replied, her face reddened with alcohol. As they moved to where the other group was Asami kept an eye on Finch, squinting when Yanaka ran a hand across her bare, lower back, leading her across the room. She didn’t know about this guy and his group of friends. She was really concerned about how Finch was acting, she usually was more reserved and it didn’t bother her at first but now she was a little concerned. 

The night was going well enough, she kept her eye on Finch who eventually went out to the dance floor with Yanaka. She was trying to keep an eye on her while holding up a conversation with the other two guys, They talked about a bunch of everything and nothing but it was getting harder to keep track of doing both. She didn’t even realize when she lost sight of the two, looking back while laughing before it hit her, her eyes widening in panic. They were gone from the dance floor. 

About 20 minutes later when Finch still hadn’t come back into sight she started to really get worried. The other two guys were constantly trying to change the subject and change the topic, which only made it worse, Asami getting up and excusing herself to the restroom, the only place she knew they wouldn’t follow. Locking herself in a stall she pulled out her phone, trying to call Finch, text her, still not getting any reply and after 3 minutes she was in tears. She was praying nothing happened like last time, that maybe she was just freaking out for no reason, but she couldn’t calm herself down. 

In a last ditch attempt she texted someone she knew Finch wouldn’t agree with.  She was desperate, typing with shaking hands, begging him to do anything.

When she wiped her tears in the mirror and rejoined the group she was still scanning the dance floor looking for Finch as the two guys talked her ear off. She never got a reply from Hawks but about 10 minutes later she spotted him from across the room, walking towards her. She gave him a desperate look as she made his way to her. 

“Hey miss sparky, who are these guys?”

“U-uh, this is Aito, and Haruma, Yanaka was with Finch, I’m not sure where they went.”

She exchanged information smoothly and without suspicion, smiling as she introduced the two men sitting on each side of her. 

“Ya, man, he’s probably just having a smoke or something, no big deal!”

Auto assured him. Hawks gave Asami a look and she shot on back.

“Well, uh, why don’t you stay here, and I’ll get us some drinks Star.”

She nodded a little too quickly but knew she could play it off as if she just had a crush to the two other men. She swallowed hard, watching Hawks walk off into the crowd. She knew he wasn’t too pleased with what was going on but, he was the only one who she could think of that would help.

He walked the perimeter of the club and bar, scanning through people. He knew she must be wearing the same clothes as earlier, it was too early for her to have stopped to change. As he made his way to the back alley of the club his stomach sunk. He just had a bad feeling. Right before he rounded the corner into the alley he stopped, posting up against the wall as he listened. It was her voice. 

“I-I don’t know Yanaka, we should probably get back, Im sure my friend is worried by n-now...”

“Aw peach, don’t worry~ This’ll only take a second...”

“Yanaka please, I don't-”

“Aw just be a good girl for me ya?”

Hawks was so very close to rounding the corner and stopping him but he waited just a second longer, just until he heard Finch squeal and the sound of a slap. He raced around the corner, setting eyes on the girl, her wings trapped against the brick wall and the slimy guy pinning her there. 

He was silent as he walked up behind the guy, Finch’s eyes squeezed shut as she waited for what he assumed was another slap across the face, judging by the red mark on her cheek. He grabbed the guys shoulder, catching him by surprise as he turned him around, punching him square in the jaw. The man’s yell was cut off as he fell, scrambling away from Hawks with a hand holding his jaw. 

“H-hey what the hell man!”

“Finch it’s time to go.”

Hawks growled, grabbing the girl by the arm and dragging her out of the alley. Finch was stumbling behind him and Hawks was getting more and more frustrated, whipping her around in front of him and steadying her once they got out of the alley and away from the sleezeball. 

“How do you not learn?! Why did you come back here after what happened last time?!”

She stuttered, her face reddened. He couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or alcohol. 

“I-I didn’t need you to s-save me-”

She slurred. Hawks sighed angrily and picked up her phone from her hand, calling Asami.

“I’ve got her she’s fine. Just get home please. I don’t need another person to worry about.”

He grumbled, hanging up without giving Asami time to respond. 

“What the hell is with you? This is the second time you’ve done this- It’s like you want something to happen-”

“I didn’t want anything to happen Hawks! I just wanted to have a good time!”

She yelled back at him, ripping her arm away from his grip. He quickly caught it again, pulling her closer.

“All you ever do is get yourself in trouble Finch, and I have to come save you-”

“I didn’t need your help! I was fine!”

“Oh ya, fine! Totally fine! With the pervert groping you up in a dirty back alley?!”

“Maybe!”

Hawks didn’t respond, the pause giving her enough time to let it sink in as her eyes started to water.

“Oh- don’t cry-”

It was too late. She was full on bawling.

“I’m fine! I can be fine on my own, I don’t need anyone to take care of me like a child!”

She cried, furiously wiping away her own tears with her sleeves. Hawks wasn’t sure what to do.

“S-stop crying, let’s just go home, you’re drunk.”

“I don’t want to go home with you, I’ll make it home fine by myself, leave me alone.”

She started walking down the street by herself and Hawks had half a mind to let her, but after what had happened he wasn’t even sure she’d remember tonight, let alone make it all the way home. 

“Come one love bird don't be like that~”

He called, giving her his best sultry voice. Maybe if he played nice she would mind. She froze where she stood.

“Let me at least make sure you get home alright.”

He requested. She sighed before nodding, still not facing him. And so he followed her on her walk home, staying a few feet behind her the whole time. He didn’t want to push her any more than he had. 

“Hawks, why did you come tonight?”

“Asami called-”

“Ya but, why did you actually come? You could’ve just told her it wasn’t your problem.”

“I-I’m a hero, I save people, it’s my job.”

She was silent then. It was just his job, not his feelings. There was nothing meaningful about it, just his responsibility. She silently sighed, getting to her front door of her apartment and fumbling with the keys. Hawks gently took them, unlocking the door for her. She paused before she went in, turning back to Hawks to say something when suddenly he was kissing her. After a second she responded deepening it as his hands gently ran across her waist and his fingers grazed along her bare back. 

“I’m sorry for tonight...”

He panted when they separated. She only nodded silently. 

“And I’m sorry for kissing you-”

“Don’t be.”

She cut him off lowly, suddenly aware of how short her skirt had became, getting hiked up slightly throughout the night. She pulled it back into place, brushing off her blouse. 

“Um... Can I kiss you again?”

He wondered, giving her a look with pin prick pupils. She cleared her throat. 

“H-Hawks, I had a question actually...”

Her wings puffed slightly and she tried in vain to smooth them with her hands. 

“Can I tell you something first?”

He stopped her, his eyes hooded as he looked over her. She nodded and waited and after a moment of him not replying she went to speak but was cut off. He pulled her into another kiss, her face blushing hotly as he wrapped his arms around her, braking away to kiss at her neck.

“H-hawks~”

“Call me Keigo sweetheart.”

Finch let out a low gasp, as she let her head fall back slightly to give him more access. 

“Why don’t we go inside gorgeous?”

She only nodded in reply, pulling him inside the apartment. They continued their make out session on the couch, Hawks pushing her down onto her back gently. 

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for awhile now...”

He trailed off. She replied before he could continue. 

“Ke-Keigo, I really like you.”

“I’m in love with you Finch.”

She blushed hotly and carded her fingers through his hair gently, pulling on the locks slightly. 

“Then kiss me again.”

She replied, blushing hard. He gave a coy smirk before granting her wish. 

[silvereddaye]

Of Silk and Gold - Preview

I’m working on a new smut Anidala / Vaderdala fic called Of Silk and Gold. This is the first chapter. 

Warning: This preview is for a smut fic that will be rated E and NSFW. This preview is however SFW. 

-

Summary: Padme Amidala has dedicated herself to stopping slavery, especially girls forced into harems as slaves. However, a rescue mission goes wrong and now Padme finds herself on the auction block. She is sold into a harem. Into the harem of Darth Vader. 

-

Chapter One

Gold eyes stared at her from under a dark hood. Padme could barely see the man’s face, but she could make out his eyes were gold and there was a smile on his face. He had stood in front of her dais for a while now. His eyes traveling up and down her body. He had once or twice nodded his head in approval. Finally, he had walked away to stop at the next dais and the next girl on display. 

Padme’s hands twisted in the set of binders that were hooked to a metal chain belt around her waist. However, the belt and binders were hidden under layers of silk and satin and gold. It would affect her sale. Her sale as a sex slave most likely into a harem of one of the many rich men or the occassional woman who was attending the slave auction. 

She was . . . going to be sold . . . She clenched her teeth together. She could not believe this. That she, former queen of Naboo, was going up on an auction block like a piece of meat to a bunch of horny bastards. She took a sharp breath through her nose. Then she took another. She needed to calm down. It would be impossible to escape from the auction house. For now she would have to wait. A better opportunity may present itself, and when it did, she would be ready. 

Padme sadly knew all too well of this cruel world. Harems had come into fashion when the Republic had died and the Empire was born. The new Emperor kept a harem, and soon many others of the galaxy were copying him. The sex slave trade exploded. Young human women were in high demand, especially those from Naboo, as that was what the Emperor kept in his harem. Young women and girls started to disappear from the streets of Naboo. Some from their homes at night. 

Padme had heard the rumors, but thought such things were happening in the countryside. Not in Theed. Then Sache, a handmaiden to the queen, had disappeared. When Padme’s term as queen ended she dedicated her time to finding Sache and taking the slave trade head on. She created a network of informants and safe houses. If a girl or family contacted her, Padme would secure a safe place to live. Sometimes that meant off planet. 

It was hard work. Over time she had gained a trustworthy reputation, but there were many others out there who weren’t. Others, including women, who offered sanctuary only to turn around and sell the girls into slavery. 

She knew the risks. She had pissed off a lot of people. Slavers were not kind. Bounty hunters had been sent after her. Attempts against her life had been made. That was how Yane had died. It was during a raid in one of their safe houses in Theed. 

But somehow she had never thought it would happen to her. She was so aware of the risks. She knew all the signs. She had stopped so many abductions, raided so many slaver ships, and even pretended to be a slaver herself. And yet, things had gone wrong. She had been hit with a stun shot. When she woke up, she was drugged and bound. 

And now she was here. She wasn’t even aware where here was. She had visited auctions before. Bought slaves from them so she could free the girls. But this one was different from the shady hovels she had been to. No, this one was on a whole other level. It took place in a multi-story large domed room. Pointed lanterns hung on delicate gold chains from the ceiling that was draped in dark red and purple silk. Around the perimeter of the room were the raised circular daises where each girl was displayed. In the center of the room were various couches and chairs for people to relax on. There were also a few tables for people to enjoy a meal or perhaps take up a gambling game. 

The atmosphere was like that of a party. The party goers were all well dressed. Many of the men seemed to have brought their wives or a favorite harem girl. The latter were always easy to spot due to the collars they wore around their throat. The same to the gold one around Padme’s. Many of the party goers were human as were many of the slaves. But there were a few aliens mixed into the mix including a group of Neimondians who kept looking over at her. Padme could feel the bile rise in throat from the idea of having them purchase her. 

The party wore on. Padme’s body started to ache from sitting on a mound of pillows. She had been done up in an outfit that was inspired from an outfit she had worn as the queen of Naboo. It was blasphemous. A mockery of Naboo. While her face wasn’t completely painted white, they had applied a lot of make-up to lighten it up. They of course had then applied bright red lipstick and the two red dots. Her hair had been spun up in several braids in buns. Gold pins with red gems in it stuck out the coils. 

Around her neck, over her slave collar, was a thick gold piece of fabric. Gold lace flowers flowed down from the top and unraveled into strings of beading. It was the only top she was wearing. If she shifted too much, the beading would reveal her breasts. At least she was properly covered in her lower half, but that was only to hide the belt and the cuffs. However, her bare legs were on full display. 

Some of the other slaves were not as lucky. Some stood completely naked on their small stages. They weren’t allowed to sit. Padme examined the women. Before the party, in the preparation room, she had listened in the gossip. Most of which was shared between the women getting the slaves ready than from the slaves about to be sold. The women would try to soothe the young girls who were clearly upset about the whole thing. 

“It’s not all that bad,” one older woman said as she brushed one young girl’s hair. “Hopefully you get a good master.” 

Padme huffed. That was an oxymoron. As if there was such a thing as a good harem master. Though she had listened to tales of slaves she had freed. There were better masters. Some who were kind to their girls, especially to those who pleased their masters and kept them happy. But there were also the horror stories. Padme had seen the scars and disfigurements on plenty of girls to know what could happen if you angered your master. And these were just from the survivors. What about the ones who hadn’t survived? 

Padme believed that was what had happened to Sache. No way would she have willingly gone along with being a harem girl unless they kept her drugged up the entire time, which was a possibility. Padme’s theory was that Sache had been given to the Emperor. Padme had learned to go into that harem was a death sentence. The Emperor was always getting new girls. The old ones eventually disappeared never to be seen or heard from again. Rumor had it they were killed once the Emperor tired of them. 

And what kind of harem girl will you be? She asked herself. Whatever kind of girl it was, it would be one that would escape. She had met the lucky ones who had managed to break free. It was possible, and Padme would do it. She had to. 

The lights of the room dimmed. Spotlights turned on to highlight a large stage in the center of the room. A man in a bright red outfit stood on the stage. 

“Dear guests,” he announced, “Please take your spots. The auction will begin soon!” 

The party goers arrange themselves around the stage. One by one the girls was brought up on stage and auctioned off. Thus it started. Girl after girl went on stage. The bids would be offered, and the girl sold. Eventually, large hulking men came for Padme and brought her up to the stage.

“And here we have an incredibly rare delight!” the man in the red suit announced. “This beauty comes to us from the lovely Naboo, but this specimen was once a queen who sat on Naboo’s throne. Just look at her grace.”

Padme bared her teeth and growled at the man. He only laughed. 

“She is a novice, and may need to be broken into,” he said as he turned and faced the crowd. “Shall we start off at 50 thousand credits?” 

The bidding started and Padme just stood there. The lights were bright in her eyes and she had a hard time making out who was bidding on her. The bids kept going higher and higher. Soon they were making jumps of a hundred thousand for each bid. 

“700 thousand to the Neimodians,” the man called. 

The Neimodians had been constantly bidding for her. Oh let them try to touch her. She would bite off their dicks and rip off their balls. 

“A million,” a voice called out. 

The room fell quiet. Even the announcer stilled for a moment. That was a big jump in bids. 

“One million!” the announcer shouted. “Do I hear one million and one hundred thousand?”

“One million and a quarter!” a Neimodian shouted out. 

The announcer started to announced the bid, “One million and a--” But he was cut off from the same voice from before. 

“Two million.” 

Padme squinted. She could just make out a man standing by himself. A man completely covered in a long dark cloak. It was the man from before. The one with the golden eyes. 

“Three million!” a Neimodian desperately shouted. 

“Four,” the man replied before the auctioneer could announce the new top bid. 

“Five!” the Neimodian shouted. 

Everyone was intently watching the bidding war. Many people were whispering to each other. They eyed the mystery man and the Neimodians. Would it keep going? Would the man fold?

“Do I hear six million?” the red-suited man called. 

Nothing. A rock fell into Padme’s stomach. She would rather take her chances with the mystery man then the Neimodians. 

“Going once,” the announcer called. “Six million? Do I hear six million for a queen of Naboo? Going twice!” 

“Twenty million,” the man called out in a calm and even voice. 

The room instantly stilled. Soft gasps were heard. Even Padme’s mouth fell open. Twenty million? That was outrageous! 

“Twenty million,” the man said again as he walked up to the stage.

“Twent-- twenty million, sir?” the auctioneer asked. 

The man pulled down his hood. Gasps were heard. 

“It’s Vader,” someone said. 

Padme stared at the handsome face staring up at her with a cocky arrogant smile. He had tanned skin with dark blond hair that fell in loose curls around his face. A scar slashed next to his right eye. And his eyes. His eyes were gold. 

But she knew this face. She had seen this face plenty of times on the holonet. Everyone knew Darth Vader. He was a known playboy and flirt. The holonet gossip sections loved to cover his exploitations. And it was no secret he had an impressive harem. In fact, as far as harems went, it was the most sought after one for a harem girl.

For Darth Vader was the Emperor’s heir. And to bear a child of Vader’s, would be to bare the future of the Empire. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Thunderhawk”

Ok guys, I am finally back with a story and let me tell you, I had to do a lot of research to finally realize my cool idea isn’t scientifically freezable without some tweaking, making up new technology, and artistic licence. I had to do way more math for this than I wanted, so forgive me for any inaccuracies, I did my best, and I only had google to consult, so I hope you like it. 

Irus, home planet to the Rundi (the oldest race known to the universe, pinnacle of the law, and seat to the Galactic Assembly. It had survived billions of years in the light of a distant star sibling to 11 other planets revolving about its singularity. In those years of its existence, and the comparably short time in which the Rundi had ruled their solar system, they had set up hundreds and thousands of defense outposts manned by a constantly rotating batch of mechanics and engineers tasked with maintaining the vast defense nexus that kept their planet safe. If it weren’t for the Rundi, their planet would have been obliterated thousands of years ago as their solar system was in a slow binary rotation with another galactic anomaly constantly spitting rocks towards them at odd thousand year intervals.

Some of the nexus stations had been due for repairs for hundreds of years, kept at a constant state of near disrepair on behalf of the Rundi’s legendary and infuriating bureaucracy. Sure, you could blame the council for its foresight, or the engineers, but who could really blame them. Peaceful times made the watchers lax in their duties.

Someone was not manning their post that day. Sure, no one had needed to man that post in the last thousand years, but it didn’t matter. It was never determined who exactly it was that had shirked their duty that day and it was a freak coincidence that at this time, and at this place it was to happen…. Where that entire splinter of the nexus was obliterated in a single explosion unheralded by the proximity alerts that should have been put into place, and unhindered by the rail guns that should have ended the problem before it began.

When they were to know, they knew to late noticed only by armature star gazers, who, unlike their more professional counterparts, had their eyes turned to things close at hand. Even then, by the time the news reached the Assembly, it was far too late. They would have detached another splinter of the nexus and brought it to cross paths with the object, but as it was, a detachment would not have arrive in time. Perhaps they should have kept splinters of the nexus closer at hand for just such emergencies, but again, hindsight is 20/20.

As the center of galactic law, there were many visiting delegations from other planets, cargo ships, and auxiliary soldiers, but none of them were willing to stay long. As soon as they were alerted all delegations, representatives and friends of the council fled to their ships returning to the stars with all due haste. For a long moment the atmosphere was crowded with their panic as “Friends of the council” Fled leaving them to their inevitable fate on the face of the doomed planet. The airfields were silent and deserted.

Mass panic, overtook cities as thousands of civilians thronged their way towards any available civilian transport off planet. Crowds thronged ships, backed up onramps stuffed themselves inside until the ship was grounded due to sheer weight, and an inability to fly without the possibility of mass casualties. Rundi bureaucracy broke down as panic took over. And due to that panic thousands more were slated to die.

***

A team of soldiers quickly escorted the UN representative from the building. Captain Kelly was forced to shout over the roar of the engines, “Don’t worry Madam. President, we will have you out and into warp back to Earth long before the asteroid hits, though I daresay you have remained here far longer than I would have liked.”

The chairwoman of the Galactic assembly followed behind them at a dejected pace staring with a pained expression up into the sky as the last of the ships began takeoff. The humans were the last of the alien delegations to remain on planet, but the enterprise was already fueled and ready for takeoff. From where it sat on the staging ground, engines roaring, it rose above the sound of mass panic happening on all sides, but despite this, the human ship remained otherwise uncrowded as soldiers nervously patrolled its perimeter.

The President turned her head back towards the chairwoman an expression of clear agony on her face like none of the other delegates had yet to show, “But there must be something we can do… the ship has rail guns doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but we barely have enough time for takeoff and even less time to prepare the rail guns.” A hand was placed on her shoulder, “We cannot ask thousands of people to give up their lives like this.”

The chairwoman had to agree, the humans had done what they could. Their concern far outweighed that of the other delegates, and they had offered to take as many civilians aboard as they could in a certain amount of time trusting their abilities to control the scared throng.

It had almost failed, but they had done what they could, and now there was nothing more.

“But we aren’t doing nothing.” Captain Kelly responded as President turned as if in question. However, a firm had shoved her aboard the ship and turned to look at the Chairwoman motioning her after. But, Rundi shook her head slowly and sadly, “I cannot in good conscience leave my people as they die while I flee….. it was a pleasure….”

The Captain of the ship shook her head sadly before, “If it means anything, we leave you with one last hope.”  The chairwoman stood at the base of the ramp in confusion as the humans disappeared inside. She stepped back away from the ship just in time to see a line of soldiers march onto the grounds outside the ship. She stepped closer to see what was going on.

“You men are the last hope for this planet.” On closer inspection, she saw that all the humans were wearing the same tinted green spacesuits and grey helmets tucked under their arms, “No one is asking you to throw away your lives. You can board the ship right now, and no one will judge you. We are ASKING for volunteers. You will NOT be ordered to do this.” She watched in hopeless silence as the men stayed quiet. Behind them a row of strange human warships were being rolled down the line.

Silence.

The ma sighed, “Very well, on the ship, the lot of you.”

And that’s when she knew it was hopeless, not even the humans were willing to try it.

“WAIT…..” She turned at that moment shocked the voice was not coming from the line of men. From the top of the ramp, a light-haired figure bounded scrabbling with one of the grey helmets as he adjusted the suit around his chest. He tripped towards the bottom of the ramp, but the older human caught him, “Ada- Lieutenant.” The man said voice strained in a way she had never heard a human strain before, “Get your ass back on that ship.”

The young human shook his head, “No sir,” His voice cracked, “I have to….. I can’t let all these people die.”

The older human pulled the young man tight to his chest growling, “You stupid boy.” He pulled back, “I can’t ask you to do that. I promised your old man I wouldn’t let you die.”

“But you’re ok letting them die?” He wondered motioning to the other pilots, “No, sir, you asked for volunteers and…. And I’m volunteering.”

“You’ve never flown an active mission in your career son, this is suicide.”

***

What had he done? Inside the cockpit of the jet Lieutenant Vir sat slowly accelerating the thrusters gaining altitude after takeoff followed by only two other pilots. Three pilots in all. He took a deep breath slowing his shaking hands on the controls. All he could hear was his own breathing inside the mask as the ground receded below him. He closed his eyes for only a moment wondering about his mother, his father, his brothers. The F-16k’s computer sent a nerve impulse up his hand reminding him to stay focused as he opened his eyes.

His hands were sweating horribly. He slowly brought the jet upwards accelerating at appropriate speed. The F16k (Thunderhawk) was the first and only piloted jet capable of reaching escape velocity. It was expensive, it was rare and it was a terror to fly.

He had only ever done it in simulations.

It had your standard jet engine on it of course, but utilized psudofusion technology in order to reach the appropriate mach 33 or 33 times the speed of sound. He could feel his suit slowly constricting around his legs as his acceleration brought the Gs upwards. The small crafts accelerated much faster than the larger ship cutting the 15 minute breach time down to ten. He gritted his teeth against the acceleration and the rattling. The voice of the veteran pilots rang in his ears as they moved upwards in formation.

“Keep it together kid, you’re drifting.” One of the pilots commented, and he pulled her back on course doing his best to focus.

He was terrified.

Below them, thousands of stranded alien civilians watched their ascent, counting on them….. their last hope.

Why was it now that he suddenly needed to pee?

He was expected to save the world, and instead of being all cool and macho like he wanted, he was a terrified sweaty kid who was probably going to piss himself before this was over…. That wasn’t really how he pictured going out, and if he died they were going to find out that he had ruined a 50 million dollar space suit because he couldn’t control his bladder.

He would rather crash into the massive deadly space rock.

Inside the cockpit of his aircraft, he could almost imagine the roaring sound of his engine. At mach 33 they would be leaving behind them a wave of sonic thunder. He could see the curvature of the planet now, mostly green, and some dusty brown only a few specs of blue here and there. He gritted his teeth against the rattling as the sky above faded form light blue to dark blue, and then to black. With the pedals at his feet, he rotated the secondary maneuvering engines for their functioning. He could see the rock clearly now. It was a tiny, far off speck trailing a wash of dust behind it. Calculations said it was about 6 miles wide, and that was big (Big enough to cause a mass extinction event and kill almost everyone planteside) odd, how it looked so small from here. At six miles wide it was no puny thing, but in the vastness of space it might as well have been a speck of dust.  

Looking out at the dark expanse of space, he felt his heart leap into his throat. Sweat poured down his back now eyes wide knuckles white. A simple sheet of acrylic between him and absolutely nothing. He felt himself growing dizzy, but bit it back as another impulse was shot through his fingertips.

“Priming missiles.” He announced into his mike stoking a thumb down the side of the joystick to trigger the release catch. He could both hear and feel the metallic ca-chunk as the 16 megaton bunker-busting nuclear warhead dropped from the ordinance bay of the ship. The calculations said it would take about 48 megatons to pulverize the space rock into dust, and though their weaponry had come a long way since the birth of the nuclear bomb, it was determined it would take at least three thunderhawks to carry enough ordinance to take it out.

“Synchronizing targeting systems.” He ordered engaging another button on the left side of his lefthand joystick. Now this was the dangerous part; If they missed, they were done for, but they couldn’t just get close, they would want to stay as far away from the blast as was humanly possible, and that meant targeting the rock early on before it got any closer, and before they were unable to escape the blast radius, and that meant using Neuro-targeting. Controlled completely by the brain it relied solely on the focus of the pilot to target a system and fire. Any break in concentration could send the missile rocketing in the wrong direction, which is why it wasn’t a widely used piece of technology. He would have had one of the more experienced pilots do it, problem was, he was the only one trained on the system.

“Systems synchronized.” The other pilots said through the line. He could hear their gritted teeth over the com as he engaged the targeting protocol.

The neuro net was blisteringly cold as it suctioned to his skin pulling tight against the muscles at the base of his skull. The restraints constricted tight around him as the small probe pierced his skin. A whimper broke through his lips at the pain, but suddenly, the display before his eyes lit up, not on his visor, but on his EYES, altitude lines, gravity curves, orbital paths all laid out before him on the surface o his iris.

With some difficulty he swept all that away thinking hard about the targeting system to pull it up.

“Please kid, focus.” One of the pilots begged. He ignored the man taking a slow, deep breath and allowing his body to relax.

Targeting System Engaged.

He barely felt his hands on the joysticks, barely noticed the other planes flying at his back, barely noticed the three circling moons winding around at a distance, barely noticed the enterprise as it broke atmosphere and roared in the opposite direction. Inside, he felt nothing, saw nothing but the rock looming in his vision in the vastness of space.

Target Lock.

He clenched a fist slowly.

Fire.

All at once 3 16 megaton nuclear warheads detached from the underside of the thunderhawks rocketing off into space in a tight triangular formation. Pieces of missile dropped off as they closed together rotating slowly around to attach themselves to the point missile turning 16 megatons into 48 megatons in a matter of seconds.

As soon as the missiles dropped, the lieutenant dropped the targeting systems reversed the forward engines, and rolled the jet around in a loop so tight the edges of his vision went black, and the suit around his legs squeezed till he felt like he was going to pop open.  As soon as he was facing the other direction, he hit the throttle, and accelerated as fast as was advisable slamming himself back into his seat as the weight of the Gs thrust hi backwards. Engaging the fusion engine, he accelerated as fast as he could manage till near blackout. Mach 97.75 nearly 75,000 miles per hour, manually. If he hit anything at all going this speed, he would be obliterated.

In the minute it took the missile to hit he made it around 1,250 miles. With his visor engaged, he was still nearly blinded by the blast of light unhindered by atmosphere or other obstructions. He didn’t feel shock wave, and if there was EMP, the faraday cage composing the inner cockpit left him unaffected. He reduced his speed for fear of crashing, and when he could see again, he found that he had passed the planet by. He took his jet in a wide circle to examine the blast. Nothing was left now but a massive hunk of expanding dust and particles.

His heart hammered in his throat.

Cheering from the other pilots rose in his ears. He would have cried out of sheer relief if he wasn’t too stunned to do so.

And if that weren’t for the debris of fist sized rocks hurtling towards them at unwarranted speeds.

***

The three human aircraft roared into the atmosphere with the power of rolling thunder trailed by a massive meteor shower as, what was left of the rock, burned up it atmosphere. Lights dotted the sky as the three tiny jets approached. From the ground, they came into view long before the sound of their engines did. They dropped low in a triangular formation, powerful manual weapons roaring over the crowd with a crack of thunder as they broke the sound barrier using jet engines, hardly comparable to the speeds they had been traveling before. But even that seemed to be drowned out by the relief of the crowd below.

Video of the blast traveled across the galaxy at speeds that made the jets look slow. The humans of earth couldn’t have been more proud….. and one human in particular, never so proud in her life, but very much inclined to smack the boy when he came home for putting himself in danger like that.

But she supposed she could forgive him if it meant saving the world

[alder-reid]

Foe in the Forest // Alder // Self Para

Alder didn’t like when the group split for anything. Last time, it had resulted in Star’s death, and he wasn’t interested in being responsible for another one. As far as he was concerned, the three of them should stay within each other’s line of sight, always. Memphis and Marino didn’t exactly seem to agree- Memphis in particular. He’d been restless the entire day, and it seemed as night fell and the temperatures didn’t fall with it, his anxiety peaked. It wasn’t that Alder didn’t get it- he did, he constantly felt the crawling under his skin, the need to burn excess energy, the pit in his stomach, but perhaps the crucial difference was that Alder was used to it. Memphis was not. It had started small, first with some fidgeting, then some pacing. Eventually, though, Memphis declared he needed to move, evidently too restless to keep sitting at their camp- if deciding to sit in a circle on a patch of forest floor could be called as much. Alder didn’t like it. He couldn’t tell Memphis what to do though, right? More, Memphis would be no good to them or himself if he couldn’t find some level of calm. So swallowed down the protest ready at his lips, allowing him to disappear into the trees. Five minutes. He’d be back in matter of minutes, he told himself. Five minutes passed, give or take. But maybe Alder had misjudged, so this time he counted out another five, fingers tapping against his leg. As soon as he finished, he stood suddenly. “It’s been too long,” he told Marino, eyes darting wildly along the treeline. He half expected a cannon to ring out. “Something’s wrong.”

Alder retraced Memphis’ steps at a fast clip, insides twisting under a litany of “what ifs” streaming through his brain. As he put more distance between himself and camp, the bad feeling in his gut only grew. Why would Memphis wander so far? A hiss pierced the air, not far away, then the sickly thud of something hitting a tree. Alder broke into a run, heart leaping into his throat as a reptilian, guttural screech followed. Had to be Memphis. Had to. He skidded to a halt on mud and leaves. First, he saw the... thing. Its skin was like a snake’s, a scaly, thick armor the color of moss. A massive fin protruded from its back, like a leather and bone fan ending in sickly, bony spikes. Its claws dug into the dirt, sharp and wicked, and Alder had no doubt they were every inch as deadly as they looked. The thing saw him too. As Alder’s eyes flicked to the form of Memphis slumped against a tree about fifteen feet away from him, the lizard turned its beady eyes on Alder. It hissed in warning, exposing several rows of needle sharp teeth, and even in the dark Alder’s stomach turned as he realized they were already stained in crimson.  Much to his surprise, it turned away again, closing in on Memphis’ still body. Shit. No, no that couldn’t happen, he was not going to have someone else die. Barely thinking, Alder scooped up a rock from his feet, hurtling it at the lizard. Alder wasn’t much of an accurate shot, but it did the trick, nailing it in the neck and leveling its attention back on Alder.  It screeched and recoiled, Memphis forgotten. Which was good, but now he had to contend with a pissed-off lizard mutt, and his planning hadn’t gotten that far. Alder shuffled back several steps, and the creature whipped around to face the assailant denying him dinner. In a matter of seconds, it closed the gap between them. 

Diving to the side, Alder dodged the worst of the ambush, but one of the creatures claws caught him in the shoulder. He didn’t so much feel it as he did vaguely notice it, feel the tearing of his clothing followed by a rush of heat to his arm. No time to worry about that- he had to run. Alder plunged into the woods, no plan, no thoughts, just run run run and survival instinct keeping his legs moving, winding around trees in hopes that it wasn’t quite as agile as he was. The creature followed in close pursuit- this wouldn’t last. Alder was a far cry from athlete, and this thing had every Gamemaker-gifted instinct to kill.  The river burst into view, cutting Alder’s path off. Shit. Shit. Then it occurred to him- this wasn’t far from where they’d crossed earlier, and they’d seen several of those quicksand pits Marino had fallen prey to as they retreated. Even gotten good at identifying them.  It gave Alder an idea. He took off, now running parallel to the water. They’d seen so many, there must be one around here. Then finally, miraculously, he spotted the telltale patch of missing foliage, murky, silty dirt surrounding it.  Alder came to a dead stop, turning around to face the lizard, heart in his throat. It closed the distance at lightning speed. Alder felt a boot start to give into the earth. Breathing heavy, he watched it approach at a full charge. Not yet, not yet, one more second-- At the last moment, Alder threw himself to the side. His boot slipped off his foot, sacrificed to the perimeter of the quicksand. He hit the ground hard, sending a painful jolt through his whole body. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he half expected hot-lizard breath in his face, but instead the creature wailed, shrieked, all four feet trapped in the quicksand now. The more it thrashed, the quicker the sand seemed to engulf its unfortunate victim, sucking it down to its belly, its tail, up its back. He watched for a second in numb shock, unable to believe that had actually worked. The plan seemed like a stupid, certain death, but he was still breathing. Another screech from the creature brought him to his senses, and Alder scrambled to his feet. Memphis. Memphis still needed him. He took back off into the woods at a full sprint, following the heavy lizard tracks back toward his friend, hearing one last breathy scream come from the creature behind him, quickly drowned out as it was fully reclaimed by the earth.

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 9

[ And so the journey begins.  Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously.  Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine?  Please Like, Share, and Follow us!   We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] -  Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

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[ L. K ]   The group of females were now sealed in a room that was much darker than the last; there was even less natural light due to the fact that they were deeper into the crypt now.  

The floor was still thick with a pool of blood that remained constant no matter where they would be going; and despite the sense of calmness that may have come over them due to the drumming beat of the hearts and the locust swarms coming to an end; they were far from safe.

Suddenly toward the back of the room they were standing in; a pair of torches would ignite in a red blaze of energy about halfway up from bottom of the wall.  The torch sconces were on either side of a hall that led them deeper into the darkness.  

But as they stepped closer toward the opening, another brilliant set of torches just several feet from the last would ignite similarly to the last.  This would progress further and further as the lead person began walking down the chamber.

From the depths of the long red lighted corridor that again was only about 10 feet in height and 12 in length, there was a muffled sound that came across as sounding human.  It echoed from the walls and seemed to surround them as they continued into the lighted hall.

The further they got, the more clear it became.  It was the sound of chanting, a deepened baritone which was being spoken in a language that none of them could understand.  

The closest thing they could make out is that it was a repeatable chant.  The first and third line were matching and the second and fourth were different.

"sanguis autem infirma...."

Their chant would beckon them all closer, deeper into the nightmare that was being presented to them.  The select few that were still alive had no choice but to press on.  With Lazarius and Marseille both gone, it was clear to the group that they would have to end this; or die trying.  There was no going back.

"omne cælum os eius..."

When they reached the end of the very long hall, the final torches would ignite on the exit which led out into an absolutely massive chamber. The burst of light would then begin to ignite the torches all the way around the perimeter of the room, a rhythmic beat to their glow as they encompassed the entire room with their eerie red glow.

"sanguis autem infirma...."

The room was filled with figures; all of which were hooded, cloaked and standing in a gathered group scattered in no real rhyme or reason. There had to be nearly fifty strong of these chanting cultists that all seemed to be facing the opposite wall that the group had come from, with their backs to them.

"et congregans omnes vos..."

[ V . D ]   Pame had begun carefully removing the cold hard steel of her swords from her hips in preparation, her eyes glaring into the darkness without as much as a flinch-- Though to be fair the grip om her swords could have been enough to strangle a full grown human man.

It wasn't a matter of if she was nervous or not, but how long her mask of calm would last. So far it was strong and impervious, even as the suspiciously timed igniting of torches occurred.

Though it had made Pame hesitate from walking deeper, her eyes moving to inspect those remaining before facing forward once more.

"Not suspicious at all,"

Pame murmurs, then reaches to pluck a torch off the wall.

"Stay close. Wade carefully."

With these remarks lingering in the air has the kaldorei pressed forward, calmly and gracefully gliding her legs through the blood, gliding forward with minimal splash or loud waves from the tremor vibrations of her walking.

"What do you think that thing was? A grotesque mutation of Raelyndias experiments?"

Verzatea wondered aloud toward both women, her grip constantly readjusting to better hold the boy in her arms, her eyes often switching between lowering to inspect if he was well and looking back toward the path that lays ahead,

"I hope it wasnt an actual man... Ive seen that before. A test subject whos soul was twisted, broken and deformed then placed into the body of a lab created beast. T'was an awful sight.. He didn't suffer long, thankfully. Soul was too battered."

Until the chanting began... In which Verzatea's original state of shock and horror disappeared, replaced with some rising bubble of passion within. She was plain pissed. Irritated. Wounded. She'd not allow herself to be so weak as to fail those who remained, like she failed Marseille.

Right now she focused solely on the well being of all three individuals surrounding her, and as the highest ranking officer alive among them, it wouldn't look well if she started sobbing like a lost child looking for someone else to fix the problem.

Besides... Tea had beef with Raelyndia, for all evidence of her corruptible touch and what history has shown Tea of the infamous Mistress of the Nine. Tea wouldn't fall victim, and she damned sure would prevent more of her own falling victim.

And if that meant more fighting, surely she could find a good place to rest the boy before unveiling her swords and wreaking her own havoc, relieving all that pent up energy and excitement. But for now she trudged along quietly and observed, her alertness high whilst watching as the scene changed.

Even as the chanters came into vision, Tea and Pame held steadfast, watching them all closely whilst backing in to their group to ensure the four of them were close-- Safety in numbers, sure... But when the safe numbers were out numbered, alas Tea was confident in their abilities... Few in number, but not few in strength.

[ L. K ]   Though it would soon become clear that they were not only expected, but welcomed.  The chanters continued to repeat what they were saying over and over again, it was their mantra that caused the hearts of the intruders to feel unwelcome and unwanted.

As they got closer into the open room, the cultists soon began to turn.  Their horrors bestowed upon the three women. First and foremost each one of them was lacking a head.  The blood soaked stump of the jagged cut was clear that they were decapitated in the most painful of ways; multiple hacks.  

The blood that seemed to be filling this place was in no short supply from these headless monsters.  As they turned to welcome the intruders not only was the fact that their drawn hoods stayed aloft without heads but their bodies were exposed on the front.  The robes were open completely.  Each man, and woman was horribly mutilated.  

Some of the men lacked genitalia, only a blood soaked stain was left.  Some of the women too had been carved; their breasts taken.  Many had missing chest cavities and organs that had been removed, all of them were bloodied and horrific to look at.  Their flesh open and rotting; fetid to the stale air around them yet their chanting never left the hall. 

“Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin, Jursol of the Zandalari....”

The feminine voice would return and shadow them like they were all expected.

“You have come, kneel and take your place within the Order of Nine.  Join those who have come before you.  Only then will you be free...only then will this end.”

At the furthest end of the room there was a large altar, and behind the altar was a massive glass tank structure holding a coagulated blood substance.  The glass was several inches thick; no breaking it.  It seemed to be resonating the sounds they were hearing.

“Do not resist, only through your assimilation will you be forgiven...”

[ V . D ]   "Forgiven?"

Verzatea laughs dryly,

"From the look of things it isn't us who've done wrong,"

With this the Confessor begins to slacken her hold on the boy to lower him to the floor at her feet. A sudden wash of uncertainty befell her, a sort of sensation which had her instincts in overdrive and extra sensitive to the situation.

Perhaps it was nerves, given the high tension and Raelyndia's home advantage. But the three genuine members of the Nine were high alert, they stood a fighting chance. As Tea looked about the room her voice projected forth a query with every ounce of confidence she could muster,

"Forgiven for what?"

Though she played dumb, Tea had an idea what their sins were. Rejecting the Old Gods and abandoning the Black Empire surely didn't bode well for Nzoth and his followers, she could only imagine what they had waiting for the group if they were to reject repentance.

Thus her hands move toward her wrist, hesitating here in preparation to whip free her sword-bracelet-- But first she'd linger and listen. Pame was equally focused, her eyes moving back toward Jursol and her raptors, then to Tea and the boy whom had been sat on the floor in the blood and slumped over his own lap, his spine managing to keep him upright without aid. Pame quickly steps back, taking position to join Tea in circling the child, protecting the weakest in their circle.

[ J ]   Jursol had remained on high alert, focused, silent. She followed the others from behind as they moved further down into this mess. The torches seemed odd to be lit. Something was clearly wrong here. Her eyes scanned their surroundings as they moved further in.

The sound of chanting cause her and the raptors to glance at each other. Something about it caused them alarm. Brushing it they continued onward with the others. This had to end. As they entered into a new room, her eyes cast daggers at the cultist. Grabbing her weapon as she waved a hand to the raptors.

Each one moved into a new position as they circled the group.  As they got a better look at the mangled ripped bodies of the cultists, Jursol was in disbelief.

“By da Loa......not even death be sparring dem.”

Her head turned to face the body of a female. The voice seemingly coming from no where out her on edge. It was worse since they seemed to be expected.

“Who da.....”

Jursol stooped short as she listened to the female, a snort coming from her at the idea of forgiveness. She gave a sharp whistle as one of the raptors moved to surround the boy. The other two remained by her side. Jursol snarled like an animal as she glared at the female.

“We be doing no such thing. Dis be where it ends!”

Looking to the others as she readied herself.

“Dey be dead already, der must be a way ta finish dem off.”

Her gaze was on Tea, as she perhaps was the best one to know how to finished off something that is already dead.

[ L. K ]  After they spoke, a chilling pause resonated before the voice responded.

“You do not understand your sins....but I shall make you see...you will bend; or shatter beneath all that I have built.”

The voice taunted them; the vial at the head of the chamber began to bubble and hiss.  As the voice spoke so too did the vial.  It was clear that whatever was in the massive jar was speaking to them now.

“There is nothing more you can do.  You have all forsaken the Nine.  A curse upon your hearts for I shall be reborn.  And I shall restore that which has been blasphemously ruined in your ignorance.”

A flash of light then burst toward them as a red cosmic hand slowly tore from the ceiling; it’s dripping bloodied fingers curled around a subject.  It was lowered onto the elevated platform and placed standing up.  As the cosmic energy reformed and took its place as a chain noose around the neck of the figure, it became clear to them.

“Behold....”

The man was covered in blood, near death and being secured by a red energy chain that fed back to the large tank of blood substance.  It was Marseille.  His right arm was completely torn off, and his body had multiple teeth wounds across his legs, chest and neck.  He was alive.

“At this moment I have already systematically begun reclaiming all that is mine.”.

The voice said as the chain was jerked back and Marseille stirred to life.

“You will all suffer.  Scattered to the wind by my doing...torn from the place you claim and infest with your hideous stench.  But... as you have left it defenseless, I am curious how many more will be decimated before I reach my goal....I sense one of you has left something very....very important in my home....”

The voice said in a sinister tone.

“Pity....”.

In case it was not obvious that was a dig at Verza, she did leave something very important at home.  Something that was not easily replaced. And then the sound of laughter filled the air with her tone echoing over the chanting of the corpses around them.

[ T ]   As the laughter echoed around the chamber, a new scream was heard. This one was coming from the boy, who has just been finally jerked awake from nightmare after nightmare from merely entering the damned place.

Lazarius’ absence might have also played a part in allowing him to wake. As he woke shrieking, he curled up, only to go silent in his terror as he found himself sitting ankle-deep in blood.

[ J ]   Jursol looked around the room as she tried to think of something. Anything they could do at this time was better then nothing. However a plan was needed before acting. A raptor remained near the boy as he woke up. It purred as it tried to nudge him.

[ V . D ]   After all was said... For a moment... There was silence. To Tea, the shock of witnessing Marseille fall into display for the women and child was but a hazy flash of blurred images.

The cry Pame let forth was a distant noise to the sindorei, even as the kaldorei was standing just a little in front of Verza. The hollering of the boy, the noise from the raptors, the chanting. The threat. The laughter. It all came full circle and caught Verza's attention, the warnings resonating in the back of her mind, its many euphemisms unraveling into dozens of possibilities.

There were many things important that Tea has left behind in places that Raelyndia could have deemed home. But only one really stood out, something so undeniably invaluable... A powerful little girl of the void, a gift from the Gods themselves.

Verza's assumption led to a stiffened posture, her face flushing with blind rage whilst stepping forward as if she would charge the tank, a growl of hatred in her throat as she snarled out with the ferocity of a scorned mother.

"If one death was not enough to put you in your place, a second time will!"

Tea growls, her claw designed nails digging into the armor of Pames extended arm, her passionate spiel continuing as she spits out,

"If I must cross the realms and enter death to deal with you myself, then I swear upon the Duskflame name your reign of terror will cease as swiftly as it began!"

Vehemently she tore and dug her words at the disembodied figure, her excitement and fear pairing boiling to a point of being full of chaotic rage.

"You will once more be forgotten, made insignificant, I will personally wipe every shred of evidence of your existence from this world!"

Before Verzatea could risk herself, and the others by abandoning the group, Pame reaches an arm out to catch the ferocious little elf. Pulling her backwards the kaldorei whispers to calm the woman.

Tea had her arms pinned to her chest by Pames single arm, the sindoreis frazzled appearance indication of just how quickly the idea of her daughter in danger could rile her.

All the while Tea squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths, looking as though she were fighting to regain her composure-- Though really she was projecting her thoughts as loudly as she could in hopes Lazarius may hear.

Brinys was possibly in danger. The Bastille was possibly in danger. Their friends, their family, and their students... Everyone was at risk now. The kaldorei then focused in on Marsielle before hissing, testing out the waters to determine if this was another trap that would set them in a hostile situation.

"Marseille?"

She was guided by pure hope that it was real. That he was still alive and capable of retrieval as she then begins to inspect the chain around his neck.

@frompage112​

@siidaraykashebahl​

@zandalaridruidofgonk​

@pyravari-kashebahl​

@whatadarkbitch​

@thebladeitself​

@miss-irascible​

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 10″

[wildroseofarran]

One of Those Nights || Kelly & Cam

Kelly: "Night, kid."

"Night," Kelly called, waving to the elder of his two bosses. Tonight was an O'Charlie's night, which meant that not only was it one of the quiet nights, it was one of the nights he got to take the scenic route home.

He could've driven, and the rapid approach of winter might well force him to, but for now he chose to walk. He was in new territory; he wanted to get the lay of the land. To observe the town when it was quiet and empty, when the humans were tucked safe in bed and the only ones about where people--things--like him.

Cam: Tonight was one of those nights. Uncomfortable and filled with emotions he didn't want to deal with, working out was his way to distract himself. He had energy to expend and the more exhausted he was at the end of the night- the less likely he was to have nightmares.

So he stood, shirtless and panting in the middle of a secluded clearing, multiple knocked over trees lay scattered haphazardly throughout. He looked down at his bloody knuckles and sighed, wishing quietly that he felt more exhausted. He walked over to his discarded shirt and used it to dab some of the sweat from his face.

Kelly: It was colder than he expected for this part of the country. Naturally, he wondered, or helped along by something? This town was a mix of scents of all sorts of species, he wouldn't be surprised if the owner of one of those scents was responsible for the snow he'd been warned would be coming soon.

The sharp crack of wood snapping had him stopping in his tracks and turning toward the woods, listening. Not a twig, the sound was too loud. Not someone cutting a tree, there was no repetitive movement.

Kelly turned off the path and moved toward the source.

Cam: Cam dropped his shirt back next to his bag, and he ignored the chill settling over his skin.

It made the parts of his skin flush from the exertion stick out, and the scars littering his body were more apparent. There were multiple that seem haphazard, like accidents marring his pale skin, but others were intentional, surgical, following his arms, lines of muscle, and one large one that followed the length of his spine. The worst was one that marked his left hip, a clean mark on both the front and back side, as if something had gone through Cam, and it was barely visible above the hem of his pants.

Cam didn't care about his scars most days, but today he felt he was isolated enough that it wouldn't matter. He exhaled softly and moved to the other side of the clearing at a speed not natural for a human. From one end to the next he ran, slowly building up speed until it almost appeared as if he were appearing at one side, then the next.

At one point he stumbled, tripping over a root that knocked him out of the speed he was travelling, and hurdled him into a tree. It left a massive dent as the tree cracked and splintered, and Cam groaned as he slumped at its base. A moment later and he was upright again, stretching his back as if he was little more than a little stiff from the impact.

"Fuck- I can't get the timing right..."

Kelly: Despite his unfamiliarity with these woods, Kelly moved as silently as a cat, scenting the air every few feet to try to get a read on what he was coming up on.

Right off the bat, it wasn't Fera. At least not any that he recognized, and he recognized quite a few. It was almost...it smelled vaguely human.

He stopped just short of the clearing, choosing a hiding place that allowed him unobstructed view while still keeping him concealed.

Definitely not a Fera. Most certainly not a human.

The person he saw in the clearing bore an...uncomfortable resemblance to himself in a few key areas. He looked human enough to blend in, but no human he'd ever seen could...

Fuck, he was running. At first glance he'd thought the guy was just teleporting from one side of the clearing to another but no, it was only an illusion. What kind of human could reach speeds like that?

Must be a witch.

Cam: Cam turned and slammed his fist angrily into the tree, causing it splinter further, and with another punch it groaned and slowly fell to the ground with a thundering crash. Cam's knuckles were bruised and bloodied as he pulled them back, but a moment later the wounds knit themselves back together. Cam dusted himself off and sighed, wishing there was something else he could do to push himself further than running and tripping constantly. If he couldn't handle a straight line there was no way an obstacle course was a good idea, but-

Suddenly the hairs stood on the back of Cam's neck and he felt like he was being watched. It was the middle of the night in the middle of the woods- all the noise he was making had the potential to attract some attention.

"Who's out there?" he called into the darkness, turning slowly as if he expected some sort of response. If there was no answer he would do a parameter check and go back to running, he decided. If someone was watching and this wasn’t just his paranoia, they were welcome to as long as it wasn't going to be a problem.

Kelly: Had Kelly been attached to this place it would've pissed him right the hell off that this man was wreaking so much havoc on the trees. It was painfully obvious that this guy had supernatural strength and probably some magic; surely he could conjure himself a better way to...workout? Was that what he was doing? Hell if he knew.

Kelly went perfectly and completely still as the man spoke, something almost smile-like moving across his face. Well then. Looked like the witch had some magic in him after all.

Question now was, should he reveal himself?

Cam: Cam waited for another moment before he ran around the clearing, jumping in and out of his supernatural speeds as he searched for someone he wasn't even sure was there. When he found no one, he stopped back at the center of the clearing. Satisfied, but still unable to shake the feeling he was being watched, Cam started to gather up the damaged trees, lifting them with ease, albeit a bit awkwardly, and began placing them into a pile at the edge of the clearing.

 He sighed once all four of the trees were stacked, all with their tops severed so the logs laid nicely in the pile and their tops sat in a separate pile a few feet away, and he pat the wood with his hand.

"I'll replace you when it's warm enough and the ground isn't so hard," he mused, and with another set of well-placed punches and healed knuckles the logs were broken down into smaller pieces, closer resembling firewood one could fit into a cozy fireplace at home. He would burn it all later if he couldn't find a better use for it. Then he retrieved his long-sleeved, dark green shirt and his bag and moved back to the center of the clearing.

With another sigh, he flopped down at the center, arms and legs spread out as he looked up at the clear night sky and watched his breath curl upwards in little puffs of air. He closed his eyes and debated his options. He could go home, still not exhausted and try and stay up. Hope that sleep exhaustion would prevent potential nightmares. He could run some more, but after doing it for over an hour he was bored and wasn't sure he could do it for a few hours more.

"Fuuuuck..." he whined and opened his eyes back up. He started to name constellations that he could see instead as a chill settled over his skin. Maybe he could let it get painful enough that it would motivate him to move. Was it even that cold yet? He couldn't tell.

Kelly: Either he was extremely well-hidden or this witch wasn't very good at searching. It was too soon to tell.

What was easily to tell was that whatever the witch was trying to accomplish with all his running and firewood chopping, it clearly wasn't working. The frustration weighed heavy in the air, and a scent like that tended to attract things.

Kelly moved around the perimeter of the clearing and silently emerged somewhere to the witch's left.

"Trees don't work that way," he said casually, voice raspier than usual after an evening of speaking.

Cam: Cam jumped, having settled just enough that he wasn't expecting an interruption. Now that there was one he was on his feet, legs spread and body low - ready for action.

"I- I fuckin' know that," Cam placed a hand on his chest and he tried to steady his rapidly beating heart. The man looked human enough, but Cam had met enough creatures in the middle of the night- in the middle of the woods- to know that this probably wasn't the case. He didn't seem aggressive at least, so he tried to take slow deep breaths to calm down. "I don't always do this to trees it's just-" he bit his lip, "I'm just having a bad day. I'm gonna replant them."

He shot the stranger a tiny glare, but there was no malice behind it.

"Do you normally sneak up on people who can knock down trees with their bare fists?" and with a bright green flash Cam's hand began to glow, he raised it, casting a soft green light over himself and the stranger so he could see the other better.

Kelly: Kelly's stance was far more relaxed, although with his broad frame and height, he was still an imposing figure. More so when the green light emphasized the shadows and scar on his face.

Green light that didn't startle or surprise him in the slightest. He had no reaction to it at all.

Rather than answer the witch's question, he said, "Do it soon. Dead branches won't take root."

Cam: "I... was just going to get new ones in the spring and bring them out here. Is there a way to use branches to do the same thing?" Cam asked as he took in the other man's figure. He was big, handsome, and Cam only glanced at the scar across the other man's face. He had plenty of his own, they didn't faze him outside of an internal question of 'how'- which was generally rude to ask a stranger, so he bit his tongue.

Kelly: A single nod. “As long as the branch is alive and has leaves.” He nodded toward the pile of leafy branches. Plenty to work with.

Cam: "Alright then," Cam turned and approached the area of downed trees. He extended his hands out in front of him and both began to glow.  The ground around each of the newly severed stumps began to shift, and each one rose up as if being expelled from the earth. Cam walked over to each one and moved them over to the pile of broken logs that he'd made, and when he returned to each spot he had a new, sizable branch in his arms to replace it.

He maintained the light in his hands until he was finished, using it to illuminate the hole that appeared as he neared each spot and drop the branch inside. Then the dirt wrapped around the branch after Cam placed it, and he knelt down to pat it in with his hands, like a little finishing touch.

"How's that?" Cam asked as he approached the stranger again, and his head tilted curiously to the side. As he worked he had formed some new questions for the stranger, but he held those for after the work was done.

Kelly: Kelly hadn't expected the witch to get started on the reforestation right this minute, but he supposed it was as good a time as any.

He watched the whole process with quiet fascination. This man seemed very well practiced in his craft; he didn't seem to be putting forth much effort at all. The things magic could do.

"Looks good to me." Time would tell of the branches took root in the soil.

Cam: "Good... I guess I'll just keep an eye on them... it's cold so it might not work too well this time of year but I don't really know that much about plants...I'll replant them in spring if they don't take." the glowing stopped, and Cam blinked a few times to try and let his eyes adjust.

"So... you don't seem too put off by all of... this," He gestured to himself, "What are you exactly?"

Kelly: "Time will tell." The frost might very well kill the branches, but not necessarily. Branches were a lot hardier than seedlings.

Well now. That question came a lot quicker than he'd expected, and his answer would be equal parts true, vague, and mysterious.

"Enlightened."

Cam: "Yeah?" Cam asked and a grin flashed over his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest and his head tilted in the opposite direction. "How so?"

Kelly: Kelly gestured to the witch, mimicking what he'd just done.

"To all this."

Cam: Cam's grin widened and his brow raised skeptically. "Okay, so enlighten me. What do you think you know about me?"

Kelly: "You're frustrated. This..." he gestured around the clearing, "isn't working."

Cam: Cam's grin faltered as he hit the nail on the head. "... you might be right about that..." he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Some nights are just... bad ones..." and he wondered if the other might understand what he meant. He couldn't imagine that scar came from your average accident, but that was making assumptions he had no business making.

Kelly: The witch's reaction told him that he was definitely right about that, along with everything else he'd seen thus far. And of course he'd seen a few bad nights himself--more than a few if he was honest. But this wasn't just that. If it was just a bad night, the witch would feel dejected and tired and yes, frustrated, but not to such a degree.

"You need a new strategy."

Cam: Cam eyed the other skeptically, and his hands moved to his hips as he gave the other a slow once-over. "Do you... have a suggestion? Anything else I'd do..." He trailed off, not wanting to talk to a stranger about his various one-night stands or getting so drunk he'd black out. This was his way of avoiding those things. "... just doesn't work."

Kelly: "Of course it doesn't work. You have to challenge yourself to get better at something."

Cam: "I-I'm trying!" Cam huffed, "I keep trying to get my speed under control but there's a point I hit where I just lose it. I try to build it up slowly but if I do anything other than run in a straight line I can't stop and end up breaking more things...."

He gave the other another small scowl without malice. It was filled with irritation more than anything else. "Why am I even talking to you about this? I don't even know your name."

Kelly: "So don't run in a straight line. Pull a NASCAR."

Kelly was asking himself a similar question. Why was he talking to this witch? He didn't normally seek out conversations with strangers; he preferred to watch them. He did know why the witch was talking to him though.

"I'm a bartender. People talk to me."

Cam: Cam smiled at that, and the smallest laugh huffed from his chest. 'Pull a NASCAR was one phrase he wouldn't be forgetting any time soon.

"But we're not in a bar and unfortunately I'm not drunk..."  Both of which definitely would have loosened his tongue. There was an air about the stranger that made Cam oddly comfortable despite their current situation-which should have put the average man on edge.  He glanced around the clearing and started to mentally map a course he could try to run. So many trees were going to go down if he started this....

"I'm Cam," he offered as his gaze turned back to the stranger.

Kelly: "Not here," he said when he saw the witch looking around. He was all for working out in the forest but it wasn't the ideal location for what this man was clearly trying to do. "A track."

Cam. It suited him. "Kelly."

Cam: "Kelly..." Cam liked it. It wasn't a common name for a guy, but fit the man before him surprisingly well. "I'm glad I have a name now, I was going to resort to 'TDH' soon- Tall Dark and Handsome," Cam flashed Kelly a flirty smirk. Then he blinked.

"Wait- you want me to actually pull a NASCAR- your suggestion is for me to break into and literally run a NASCAR racetrack?" Was this guy serious?

Kelly: Kelly just stared at Cam for a moment. ‘TDH’? Really? That was one of the cheesiest things he’d heard in his life.

“Pull a NASCAR on a running track.”

Cam: Don't worry Kelly, there was bound to be plenty more cheese where that came from.

"Okay- so still breaking and entering, but just a different type of track," he laughed, the first genuine one of the evening. "Alright, I'm willing to try anything at this point. Where am I gonna find one of those?"

Kelly: "Most you'll have to do is hop a fence, maybe not even that. Most tracks are open to the public." At least he was cheering the witch up. "High school probably has one. Community college."

Cam: "I guess I'll just have to search for one. Where I'm from they're not generally public use after a certain time- for the most part. And that just seems a little... Public, when you're trying to practice super speed," his head tilted again and he looked at Kelly thoughtfully. "Thanks."

Kelly: "This is a small town," he said with a shrug. "Security's lax. No one hangs around schools this late." Seemed like the ideal place to practice, but that was just him.

Cam: "....." Cam was quiet for a moment. "...Want to grab a coffee? Or food- or something- with me?" Cam asked, seizing a random urge to try and keep talking to this oddity of a man before him.

Then he flashed a cheeky grin at Kelly. "It would be nice to get a better look at the handsome new coach who I found- well- who found me I guess- in the middle of a dark forest." An odd meeting, but a fateful one, if Cam believed in that stuff.

Kelly: The offer made Kelly take pause. This witch was...far too eager to spend time with him. He knew the aura he gave off; it was meant to warn people away, not draw them closer. And that didn't even begin to touch on the insistence on calling him handsome.

"Coach?" Oh god, was he this man's coach now? Just because he'd made a suggestion? This was treading entirely too far into the realm of off-duty social interaction for his liking. "Is there anything open now?"

Cam: Cam chuckled at the question.

"It was a joke, don't worry," Cam reassured him with an amused smile. There were no expectations with this social interaction, only gentle teasing and flirting if Can didn't read it as making Kelly uncomfortable. So far it hadn't, which he took as a good sign.

"There's a little diner I like that's open 24 hours. It's kinda secluded, and their coffee is terrible, but it's good for nights when you don't want to sleep. Plus they have amazing burgers, and I'm pretty much ready to eat 5 of them." He smiled hopefully up at Kelly.

Kelly: "Uh...all right. Sure." Hell if he knew why he was agreeing. The witch could very well see this as something it wasn't, or worse, as a go ahead for more at some point in the future.

He fully expected to regret this later on.

Cam: Cam's expression brightened as Kelly agreed, and he reached down to grab his pack and sling it over his shoulder.

"Follow me!" He chimed, and he waved for Kelly to follow as he headed for the nearby path.

Kelly: Good God, he thought, utterly bewildered that his legs were actually carrying him forward. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Cam: Silence followed as they walked, and Cam adjusted so he could walk beside his new acquaintance. It was comfortable, at least for Cam, but after a bit he couldn't resist the urge to break the silence.

"What were you up to tonight, outside of meeting me?"

Kelly: The lack of conversation came as a pleasant surprise. Considering everything that had just transpired, he fully expected the witch to be a chatterb--

Ah, hell. There it was.

"Work."

Cam: "Done with a shift at the bar and going for a walk? Or do bars require you to go on late night walks?" He glanced over at Kelly with his head tilted curiously.

Kelly: "Done with my shift. Bar closed. I was walking home."

Cam would quickly learn that Kelly always gave the most succinct, monosyllabic responses to questions.

Cam: Cam didn't mind. He was happy to fluctuate between short bursts of conversation and silence, and Kelly wasn't the first person he'd met where Cam had to facilitate most of the conversation.

"What bar do you work at?"

Kelly: "O'Charlie's and Pete's."

Cam: "Never been there," Cam replied. "What kinda bar is it?"

Kelly: “Never been to which one?”

Cam: "Either."

Kelly: “Pete’s is a pub with food and music and O’Charlie’s is a regular bar.”

Cam: "Do you like working there?"

Kelly: “Keeps me clothed, fed, and sheltered.”

Cam: "Is that the same as liking it?" He chuckled.

Kelly: “I like it well enough. It’s early days.”

Cam: "Early days? Like you get out early? This late at night?"

Kelly: “I mean I just started working at both places.”

Cam: "Oh- you new to the area then?"

Kelly: Kelly nodded. "Yeah. Just moved here."

Cam: "I've only been here a couple years myself," Can explained as they found the edge of the forest. He led Kelly on in silence from this point, enjoying the cool night air as they approached the edge of the small city. He followed the few lights that glittered their way from the edge and the few souls still awake at this time.

Cam led Kelly to a small diner at the edge of town, fashioned like it was something straight from the 50s, but well-kept and full of spirit, down to their energetic staff, despite the time of night.

Cam smiled to waitress as she recognized him, and led him and Kelly to a booth that would comfortably fit the two. Cam slid into one of the benches, and started looking at the menu she offered them both, despite already knowing what he wanted.

Kelly: "About a week and a half for me." He was still mostly living out of boxes and eating takeout most days. He probably needed to buckle down and finish unpacking, not that there was much to unpack. Small as his new house was, it was still going to be fairly empty when he was all settled in.

The diner seemed nice enough. Clean, normal looking employees. Even if this all went up in flames, he potentially had a new place to eat.

Kelly sat and shook his head at the offered menu. "Just coffee, thanks."

Cam: The waitress nodded and turned to Cam expectantly, who, based on her reaction, seemed to order his usual. He'd only been here a few times, but his appearance wasn't one that was easy to forget. The waitress disappeared to put in Cam's order, and a few minutes later she returned with a full coffee cup and a bow with packets of creamer and sugar.

When she disappeared Cam smiled at Kelly and tilted his head to the side.

Cam: His look was thoughtful, and he gave Kelly a slow once-over.

Kelly: Kelly gave the waitress a small nod in thanks and grabbed four packets of sugar, tearing them all at once and stirring them in. No cream for him.

"You're staring at me."

Cam: Cam watched Kelly mix his coffee, and his smile widened as he nodded.

"You're just more handsome in the light," he grinned, "my powers make everything kinda eerie-looking in the dark."

Kelly: “I am eerie looking in the dark,” he deadpanned, sipping his coffee. It wouldn’t win any awards but he’d had worse.

As for the handsome comment, he was absolutely ignoring that.

Cam: "Everything looks eerie in the dark in the glow of a green light," Cam corrected with a pointed look and he stuck out his tongue at Kelly.

Kelly: Kelly squinted over the rim of his mug. Had a grown man really just stuck his tongue out at him?

Cam: The waitress brought Cam his soda, and he flashed Kelly a cheeky smirk from around his straw.

"So where ya from?"

Kelly: “Up north. Near the French-Canadian border.”

Cam: "I'm from the Midwest, not nearly as close to the border like that, but close enough to freeze my ass off and get buried in snow each winter..." He chuckled and smiled up at the waitress as she brought him his food. Cam picked up a few of his fries and popped them into his mouth.

"Ya sure ya don't want anything, sugar?" She asked Kelly, her head tilted to the side.

Kelly: Speaking of. “Does it snow down here?”

Kelly shook his head at the waitress and gave her something that could almost be called a smile. Almost.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Cam: "Yeah, not nearly as much as back home, but it's a good amount. makes everything pretty 'n white," he smiled as he watched Kelly... smile? Was that a smile? Cam was uncertain, but now he was determined to find a way to see a real one from Kelly.

"Alright Darlin' - just take some 'ah his if you get hungry," She flashed Cam a cheeky grin as he mock glared at her, a full bite of burger in his mouth. "Let me know if you boys need anythin'," and then she was gone.

"You like snow?" Cam asked once he'd managed to swallow his bite.

Kelly: Another vague almost-smile for the waitress before Kelly returned his attention to his coffee.

"I tolerate it. Was just curious."

Cam: "What kinda weather do you like?"

Kelly: "Cold. Rain. Clouds." Gloomy weather to match his disposition.

Cam: "Thunderstorms are my favorite," Cam piped, and he took another bite if his burger. He hummed happily and set the food down. "What kinda stuff do you do for fun? Outside of startling strangers in the middle of the woods at night," Cam winked playfully the next time Kelly caught his eye.

Kelly: Kelly was the farthest thing from playful as he sipped his coffee and watched the witch over the rim of his mug.

"Workout. Fish. Hunt. Be outside." And...that was it, really. He liked the outdoors.

Cam: That only made Cam's grin widen. "Outdoorsy guy, huh? What's the biggest fish 'ya ever caught?" He asked, eyes alight in genuine curiosity.

Kelly: "Caught a salmon once. They get pretty big."

Cam: "How big?" He made a gesture with his hands as if asking Kelly to show him the estimated length.

Cam: He knew it looked a little silly, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Kelly: "Between two and three feet, more or less." There would be no physical demonstration of length, just a factual one.

Cam: Cam pouted a little when Kelly didn't make any hand gestures- but no matter! He was still smiling. "I've never gone fishing, my dad wasn't much into that kinda stuff. I've wanted to try it, but I know it takes a lot of patience and sitting still..." Neither of which he was very good at.

Kelly: “Patience and sitting still help with a lot of things.” Another sip of coffee. There was something comforting and familiar in how bad it was. “Both would help with your training.”

Cam: "Then- I don't suppose I could persuade you somehow to teach me how to fish?" Cam asked with a hopeful smile.

Kelly: Oh, god. He knew this would happen if he agreed to socialize. Although...

They had just established that fishing was a quiet, still activity. Besides, this was a grown man and fishing wasn’t that hard. At most it would require one sacrificed morning. That wasn’t so bad.

“Gotta get up early.”

Cam: The way Cam's eyes lit when Kelly agreed to teach him was due more to the fact that he agreed at all, than the idea of him actually teaching Cam how to fish. Sitting still for hours at a time was not Cam's specialty, but, as Kelly said, maybe the pointers Kelly would give him would help his training too.

Cam's nose scrunched up a little at the thought of getting up early, but he didn't look entirely put off.

"Alright. What else?"

Kelly: Kelly did his best not to sigh. The witch's enthusiasm was filling him with all kinds of dread. He regretted this already.

"Gotta touch worms, sit in a boat, and be quiet."

Cam: "I can do that!" He paused and flashed a cheeky grin, "especially the first two." He popped a few fries into his mouth and took another bite of his burger. "When do you wanna teach me to fish?"

Kelly: "I have to work the next couple days but I should be free on Tuesday."

Cam: "Sweet! Can I get your number so we can arrange where to meet?" He asked innocently, having no ulterior motives in that question at all. At all.

Kelly: Absolutely not. "We'll meet at the boat rental place on the river at five a.m. It's called Wyatt's. Dress warmly."

Cam: The tip of Cam's tongue stuck out at Kelly at that. His plan was so expertly foiled! But no matter, he'd try again. "Alright, it's a date then," he grinned and finished off his food with a few more bites and a sigh. "How's the coffee?"

Kelly: Date was on the list of prohibited terminology. “Just a fishing trip.” Which he fully expected to be a study in frustration for the witch.

“Terrible. Great.”

Cam: Cam smiled to himself at that but didn't argue.

"It hits the spot for me on certain nights," he leaned back in the bench and his expression softened a little.

"Thanks for... humoring me. I haven't just gotten food with anyone in a while... or made plans to just... do something- let alone to fish!" And his mind felt little less tumultuous. It could be wishful thinking, but he might actually sleep tonight and avoid what he was sure, only a few hours before, would be a fit of nightmares. His smile was genuine and soft, and he looked down at his soda for a moment as if to avoid looking at Kelly in his little moment of vulnerability. A small crack in the usual mask of smiles and winks. "I know we've only just met, and I only half expect you to even show up on Tuesday but, thanks." This is the most normal thing I've planned to do in a long time.

Kelly: Kelly knew exactly the kind of nights Cam was referring to. “Bad coffee usually does.” Either that or just straight booze.

He sensed the moment coming as soon as the witch’s expression changed, and he did his best not to recoil or cut the witch off. He was so...not suited for things like this. It had been years since he’d had to deal with someone being emotionally vulnerable around him.

At least he didn’t have to talk really. Just listen.

When Cam had finished, Kelly nodded and offered him what was almost a smile.

“I’ll show up. You’re welcome.”

Cam: Booze was Cam's usual drink of choice on nights like this, and with the way the night was going he was probably on his way towards downing most of a bottle of whiskey he had waiting for him at home. Kelly seemed to have interrupted at just the right time, because even if the nightmares did come tonight, Cam felt a little more at peace than he did before.

He smiled at Kelly in turn, with a hopeful look in his eyes as he set money for his food and Kelly's coffee along with a generous tip.

"See you Tuesday," he nodded, grabbed his bag, and with a wave he parted ways from his new acquaintance and into the chilled, early morning air.

[haphazardlyparked]

nights out

happy happy happy new year @aristophabees​ , from your secret new year’s elfperson? i’ve written the start of a story with some worldbuilding for your magnificent self. i hope your 2019 is better than these folks’! <3 

It happened on a moonlight night. The kind of night with moon so bright, you suspect its glow comes from something otherworldly, from a realm where fairies steal your true name and there is no sun, only magic and the luminous Moon.

But there was no magic when the man died. Just the luminous moon, lowercase m, rising in the sky for her nightly vigil surrounded by a court of pitying stars that winked down at the poisoned earth unseen.

The fog that obscured the sky like a funeral shroud, leaving only the moon’s face shining free, blanketed the lower depths of earth as well. It hovered thick among the forest of cityscape, blanketing the cars in its wet mist, leaving dew glistening with lunar light on their armored gunmetal exteriors.

The dew was for the morning. At night, there was nothing but the moon, the fog, the man, and a mostly-sleeping city.

“More curfew-breakers dead in the streets, Jihs,” Bavorid greeted their partner when she made it into the precinct. They stretched their whole torso across their desk, lanky arms extended past its edges as they flipped the data-chip filled the early scans up into the air with their thumb and forefinger. “Is our entire job about cleaning up PCDs?”

Jihs swiped the chip out of the air swiftly, and took a sip from her steaming hot water. “There’s no easier way to die,” she muttered, “than out on the streets, past curfew.” 

From three seas away, Jihs was a tall woman with dark purple hair, impeccable style, and a disappointing lack of faith in coffee. She only believed in hot water, the occasional tea leaf, and an old-fashioned adherence to the policy of soldiering through.

“You read this already?” Jihs asked in her normal voice, deep and rich. She leaned against Bavorid’s desk, longs legs stretched out in front her. Bavorid glanced down at them longingly, and then pushed themself up from their upper-body sprawl. If someone had told them Jihs had made a deal with a devil for her beauty, Bavorid might have believed it—she was that gorgeous.

“Yup,” Bavorid replied shortly. Jihs turned her head and shot them a look—rosebud lips pursed and hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously, which was common enough for her—then palmed the data chip open one-handed. The early scan files sprung into being, hovering above Jihs’s hand in streams of black and white light. The streams’ texts summarized the nightly security videos’ findings.

Jihs whistled low and long. “Fuck me,” she said. Then, sourly, she added, “Shut up, it’s a figure of speech.”

Bavorid spread their arms wide. “I didn’t say anything,” they declaimed their innocence. “You could be more trusting, Jihs.”

“And you could’ve given me a warning,” Jihs shot back, irritated.

That was another reason Bavorid would’ve believed the devil compact story—only a demon would give such a permanently bad-tempered woman so much beauty.

“I thought you’d want to find out for yourself,” Bavorid replied cheerfully. “City Councilor Oqan is no small fish.”

“Thank you, Bavorid,” Jihs said. “I wasn’t aware.” Picking up her mug, she straightened and stalked off to her own desk to read the early scan report on her own.

The scene of City Councilor Oqan’s final moments was already blocked off by the time Jihs and Bavorid arrived. The shimmering illusion-wall perimeter projected the image of a quiet city corner, and the unlucky owners of the cars caught inside it would have to wait until after the walls came down to pick up them up.

Jihs eyed the well-heeled armored vehicles and shook her head. “How many angry calls have there been so far?” she asked, crouching down beside Kado to give the City Councilor a good look. Squatting, she was over a head taller than the coroner, who knelt as he inspected the corpse.

Bavorid preferred to stand to the side. They didn’t really like looking at the bodies, and focused instead at the parked cars (and the pretty perimeter techs.) “I’m sure they understand the needs of the city come before theirs,” they suggested.

Kado snorted. “The chief’s phone has been ringing nonstop. The understanding gentlefolk of the city are pissed.”

Bavorid shrugged, but said nothing. The Chief’s phone was always ringing nonstop, which was why the Chief had a PR assistant to man it for him.

“At least the other three post-curfews in our district were clearly voluntaries. Nothing to do there but make sure the next-of-kin are contacted. You might still get home to Unan before night,” Jihs said, patting Kado’s shoulder sympathetically—and, alright, maybe she wasn’t always bad-tempered.  “Me and the Chief and them”—she jerked her thumb at Bavorid—“are pretty fucked though.” It was mostly just Bavorid she didn’t like. And the Chief. And Lauren and Angelo.

“There could always be a daytime killing,” Kado said morbidly. “Not all deaths are post-curfew deaths.”

Bavorid strongly disagreed; all the deaths they’d worked so far had been PCDs, and though Jihs rarely verbalized her agreement with them, her frown as she scanned Councilor Oqan’s body from head to toe spoke for her. Killing or dying was easy, when all you had to do was step out into night without a mask. 

“You’ll get home, Kado,” Jihs told the coroner, in an odd mix of impatience and encouragement. “Now. There were more gaps than usual in the nightlies. What do we think about this one?”

“Well, it’s obviously not a voluntary,” Kado began, glancing down at the pool of blackened and congealed blood around the victim’s body. “Councilor had no reason to let the night kill him, and obviously the night doesn’t kill people with stab wounds. But there weren’t signs of a struggle, either. It was probably a surprise attack, a quick in and out. Probably a knife.”

“Theft?” Jihs asked. “The Councilor had one of those new filters, didn’t he? That kind that could last you three nights before it needed additional power. Could it have been an addict?”

Kado shook his head, and gestured at the Councilor’s face. “No, look at his face. The Councilor’s filter was stolen a good few hours after he died—there’d be signs of poisoning, if it happened while he was dying or just after. The nightlies didn’t catch the thief either, though.”

That much wasn’t a surprise. The night-time digital security sweeps were patchy at best; the audio was nonexistent and the video, when it worked, was always a grainy, pixelated mess—something about the way the toxic air interfered with the cameras. It was always best to wait until after the light of day had burned up the fog before coming to any conclusions.

“Maybe it was an addict, or some other desperate,” Bavorid suggested. “But then they got so overwhelmed, they fled and left the pickings for another.” Jihs shot them an unimpressed look.

Kado let out a morose sigh. “This was definitely a targeted attack.” Sliding a gloved hand under the Councilor’s head, he pushed the long hair out of the way and lifted the head and shoulders just enough to allow Jihs—and Bavorid, when they got closer and leaned in—to see the three-pointed, lopsided star burned onto the back of the Councilor’s neck. “This happened after death. I think we’ll all be bunking at the precinct tonight.”

Jihs took one look at the thing and swore.

The night didn’t used to be poisonous, though nobody had living memories of the old days. They had all sorts of recorded memories—moving and still and abstract and tiled into grand floors or ceilings—of starry nights, of lovers holding each in beds of woven grass, of rebellious youths sneaking out after the sun dipped into retreat and their parents surrendered to slumber, of sailors sleeping on the open decks of ships bobbing calmly across the three seas.

Well, they still did that, after a fashion. Lovers risked their lives for a thrilling fog-filled jaunt across town, and teens stole their parents’ filters to make it out past dusk. But no one saw the stars any more; they didn’t sail any longer, either. They had enclosed underwater arrowboats for sea travel, and enclosed airships and enclosed armored cars and bullet trains for everything else.

The fogs were a punishment sent by the gods, the religious leaders used to say, punishment for the flagrancy of bygone eras. The Councils-Across-the-Seas were in accordance with the flagrancy, though they would pretend the night air was healthier than puriwater and join the voluntaries, out in the fog filterless, before they admitted to having anything in common with the believers. Instead, the spoke of the excess of progress, and the need for restraint for the sake of their planet.

When Jihs looked around her, she saw neither moderation for the Spirits’ sake, nor for the planet’s. Humanity did what humanity had always done: they made do with what they had. And those on the top did what they had always done: they flaunted the best of everything, damn the consequences for anyone else.

Jihs and her critical eye were far from alone. She couldn’t get the image of the three-pointed star on the back of Oqan’s neck, an ugly burnt black laced with poisoned purple.

“Ritz, Jihs, was there a ghost back there or something?” Bavorid asked when they got back to the precinct. Jihs shot them a withering look, and headed silently for her own desk. They’d asked about the star only a dozen times on the trip back from the crime scene, and then as now Jihs had ignored her rookie partner.  

Bavorid followed her. “Jihs,” they wheedled. “I’m serious!” Slim and darker-skinned than Jihs, with shortly cropped hair and lips which they constantly painted different colors, Jihs thought of Bavorid less as her partner and more as her very annoying shadow.  

Yanking her chair out, she threw herself into it. Stretching out her legs so that Bavorid couldn’t get any closer, she frowned up them. “Go ask your father about it,” she told them flatly.

The goodnatured smile on Bavorid’s face froze. Their father wasn’t in law enforcement, but he was a very well-connected under-minister for the city’s Council, and rumor around the precinct had it that the Chief was Bavorid’s godsparent to boot.

Jihs bit her lip. Though she complained about it frequently—and oftentimes bitterly—everyone knew that this was the reason she’d been saddled with the kid. She was the only one who was ever affected by Bavorid’s glimmers of ashamed self-awareness, which meant she was the only one who could be trusted not to strangle them while they were out on the job.

“Alright, fine,” she grumbled. Pulling up her legs, she gave Bavorid enough space to squeeze by her and sit at the still-empty desk behind her, where her old partner had sat, and where she had forbidden Bavorid from taking up residence. “What do you know about the Seakings?”

They thought about it. “They were a group of radical believers, right? Something about breaking the Council-Across-the-Seas and freeing the Spirits from our landmasses.”  

“They were a group of anarchists,” Jihs corrected sharply. “Believers and councilors and people who just didn’t give a shit about either included. But yes. The three points of their star represent the destruction of our three continents.”

“Right,” Bavorid said slowly. “So… they’re back?”

Jihs tossed crime scene’s data-chip up into the air repeatedly as she thought. “Some of them, at least,” she decided. Probably a rogue group finally ready to make a move, years after the Seakings’ old leader had been captured.

She had a sinking feeling about all of this. No—a catastrophic one.

“This is a very unusual request,” the Chief said sternly, frowning at Bavorid from behind their desk.

“I know,” Bavorid said, and they did know, because they’d told Jihs the same thing. But Jihs was right. It was the next logical step—their only potential lead, actually, since even Kado’s post report had only rehashed the information they’d received at the crime scene. “But we’ve got nothing else to go on, and it was a nice filter. It stands to reason we might be able to find something out at the black market.”

The Chief arched a brow at Bavorid. “Have you been to the underground markets before?” he asked critically, and Bavorid shrugged in what was clearly a never. Like anyone they knew, they were vaguely aware of the markets' existence, but they’d always thought they were digital.

“My partner has experience there," Bavorid reported. "She has contacts we can lean on."

"That's not going to be enough for your father," the Chief replied. "If he hears I let you and your partner borrow filters from evidence to go on a nighttime jaunt into the slums of the city--"

“—well, you wouldn’t necessarily have to tell him,” Bavorid half-suggested and half-protested. When the Chief shot them a disbelieving look, Bavorid tried to wear their most confident smile.

“Don’t touch the straps, don’t let anyone else touch them, and for the love of every last Spirit, don’t say a word.” Jihs secured the last buckle on Bavorid’s mask, and then ran her fingers against the straps again to make sure they were indeed the sturdy, metal-threaded fabric they were supposed to be. It was possibly the closest Jihs had ever deigned to stand next to Bavorid, and they were having a hard time containing their excitement. If Jihs noticed, she’d probably make them stay behind—for safety, she’d claim.

“You can trust me,” Bavorid insisted, fingers fluttering up make the same checks Jihs had just finished with. Slapping their hands down, she scowled at them and finished securing her own.

“Have you been out at night before?” Jihs asked while she pulled on a thick jacket with a stiff hood. Bavorid wondered if it was armored, and if it was, why Jihs owned it. Neither of them were were wearing the uniform standard, which meant Bavorid had protective leggings and a purple long-sleeved shirt under a black dress with a long skirt. They had lifted a grey scarf out of evidence, and was now securing it around their head and the straps of the filtering mask. Jihs wore jeans and calf-high boots, and a long-sleeved shirt under the hooded jacket.

“Of course!” Bavorid protested. Jihs eyed them skeptically, and they added, “Well, once with my dad.”

“What about training?” Jihs prompted, eyeing Bavorid’s skirt skeptically. “There’s a whole night unit.”

Bavorid scuffed a foot against the ground, coincidentally showing Jihs the long slits up the sides that allowed for ease of movement.

“Mine was simulations only,” Bavorid admitted. At their partner’s look of scathing disbelief, Bavorid rushed to explain in a low voice. “I wanted to join my cohort at night, but my dad fought against it. My mom… She died. She walked out on us, into the night. When I was little.” 

Jihs’ eyes closed. “Shit,” she muttered. “She went out voluntarily?”

Bavorid nodded. "She didn't want -- well, she was sick." 

And then their father had used all of his considerable power and influence to keep Bavorid from even breathing by a closed window at night. 

When they looked up again, they saw something like sympathy in Jihs' eyes, even through the protective shield of her mask. But she didn’t ask again if Bavorid was sure they wanted to come along, and didn’t say anything about keeping Bavorid behind to avoid their father’s wrath.

Bavorid was grateful for that.

The fog was difficult to see through, and Bavorid’s breathing was loud in their ears. It was different from the simulation—the fog in the simulation felt wet and was equally as hard to see through, but the fog outside was… different. It was like fine spiderwebs dragging against their clothes as they walked. Bavorid had spent the entire circuitous walk—filled with circling and doubling-back and the occasional curse from Jihs—trying not to focus on the sensation of the fog, or the way they felt like they had to push their way through its silky mist-tendrils.

The market was not the chaos Bavorid had imagined. They were held under dark tarps strung out between the alley-facing first floor balconies on a tiny back street. The whole thing looked temporary enough that Bavorid suddenly understood why Jihs had had some trouble getting them there. They decided she must have been reading signs of some sort on the street.

However, they were organized in a way that spoke of practice and efficient capability. Everyone wore masks, of course. None were of the best quality, but Bavorid did see some very good ones. Their standard (but safe) pair did not stand out.  

“Stop staring,” Jihs muttered by Bavorid’s ear, and they had to tear their eyes away from clusters of people evaluating boxes packed neatly with rows upon rows of data-chips. Bavorid couldn’t even begin to guess what was on them - but if they had to, their money was on banned media. Under other tarps were blankets lined with various precious coding tools, only the smallest and lightest, and all arranged in ways that could be rolled up easily and packed off with a moment’s notice. Jihs ignored all these first stalls, and took them deeper into the alley. She seemed to have an idea of where someone would be selling masks.

To Bavorid’s surprise, she stopped to yet another tarp over a box of data chips. The more they had walked, the more Bavorid had seen how the majority of the market seemed to be data-chips, but they didn’t realize what that meant until Jihs started picking some up and accessing them.

The information for the goods to be exchanged were stored in chips, and exchanges must be arranged during the day. Of course, Bavorid thought. This explained a lot. 

Their realization was interrupted by a stranger’s voice. “If it isn’t Jihs,” someone said, full of amusement. Jihs turned around to face the speaker. “What brought you out into the night, babe?”

“Murder,” Jihs said bluntly. “Obviously.” 

And that was the last thing Bavorid remembered.

When they woke up, it was very orange. A pale orange—

No, it was the light behind their eyelids. Groaning, they opened their eyes and turned their head away from the lamp hanging over their head. Then they turned their whole body too, and realized they were in a bed.

“Oh, good,” a voice said from above them.

Jihs. She sounded different.

“Wh…at?”

Jihs sighed. “It’s still night, and we’re at my apartment. Your mask is broken, but you’re fine.”

“Right,” Bavorid muttered. “I’m gonna sleep.”

“You do that,” Jihs snorted, and left the bedside. Bavorid heard the door close behind her before they fell back asleep.

er... to be continued?

[danvssomethingorother]

Awkward First Times

Summary: Everything from the first of many secrets Brock confronted Doc about to the first arching to their first kiss was awkward. Everything about their relationship in general was awkward, weird, dysfunctional as hell but it somehow worked.

A03

I didn’t really want to do a chapter fic but I just don’t feel like there are enough Brusty fics about them getting together, so I made one.

----

When Brock was a kid he always had a certain mental image that came to mind when someone said ‘Venture’ and Rusty Venture, the most infamous boy adventurer, didn’t exactly pass what he had imagined. He wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of masculinity his dad had been. Brock always thought college was just the awkward phase he would grow out of, but it seemed his entire life was just the awkward phase.

Brock wasn’t so much a body guard but a baby sitter making sure Jonas Venture’s son didn’t bring harm to himself or possibly his infant sons.

Brock watched the family from the corner of his eyes as he busied himself with checking over the perimeters, he rolled his eyes and cracked a small smile seeing his dorky charge playing with his sons on a blanket in the middle of the compound. He had one of the twins on his lap, messing with his hair and the other was pounding his action figure against the robot toy his father had in his hand.

He wasn’t the most responsible parent around, the way he constantly just took his children with him into the lab, but it was clear he loved his sons.

Brock groaned loudly, a year and a half in domestic hell. The most he got to do in a day was put out fires Doc made, the most excitement to be had was putting Doc out himself after somehow lighting himself on fire.

He lit up a cigarette and began walking around the fence, not paying too much attention to the children in the middle of the yard, he hoped he could make a case soon enough why he shouldn’t be here in this domestic hell.  

He just wasn’t suited for this job, Venture needed a nanny to help assist him with his kids not a body guard but after the last body guard had attempted to murder the man, the OSI was sending in the top guns to keep Jonas’s brat safe.

It was just Brock’s luck he was a higher up agent who had just pissed off his superior enough to get drafted into this hell. A year and a half of his life was gone and wasted on this bull shit and there was no telling how much longer he would be stuck with the Venture family or if he would ever get to be on the field again.  

“Brock!” he growled under his breath as his charge began calling his name and his little moppets began chanting his name not long after.

He turned his head to see Venture out of breath after jogging the short distance and one twin on each hip, him cradling them tightly but gently.

“We should go to the store now before it gets too late,” he said firmly not willing to take any argument Brock would have about being dragged to the super market, “Be a good body guard and go start the car while I get the twins things and finish up a list.”

“I am not putting your kids in my car,” Brock snarled firmly at the man, he was not cleaning puke out of his car again.

“Well we’re not taking a cab and I don’t have a car, so you don’t have a choice,” his employer dismissed firmly, “Besides the boys love going for rides in your car, don’t you boys?”

The twins began yelling car noises and Venture gave him a devilish grin as he encouraged his kids to keep doing it before handing them to Brock who accepting them, watching his employer disappear towards the compound. He hated that man. If it wouldn’t cost him his job, he would kill that smug little asshole himself. He was so small, it wouldn’t take much to kill him or make him suffer but that man was Jonas Venture’s son and that guaranteed him the best protection the OSI had to offer.

Brock knew he had run in with kidnappings in the past and his last body guard had become so obsessed with him, she had nearly killed him herself in her madness in a murder / suicide pact thing when she found out she was fired.  

He glanced down at the twins and cringed seeing them both wiping their snot on their arms and it was dribbling onto him.

He was going to kill Venture, he really was, he could make it look like an accident. It couldn’t be that hard, that man barely knew what safety protocols were.

----

Venture was an awful cook, his food was often burned, under cooked or raw. It turned Brock’s stomach, but he wasn’t about to start playing house maid for this man, so he let it be. He had worse he reminded himself firmly but still, he was almost jealous the babies got to eat baby food and cereal and whatever they wanted not made by their father most nights.  

He watched Venture help one son then the other shovel smashed chef Boyardee into their mouths and then looked at his own burned stake with under cooked macaroni.

Venture spoiled those kids and they were going to turn out just as bad as their father.  

Brock glared at the man, he noted he didn’t eat the garbage he made either. The only thing he ever seemed to consume when Brock was around was coffee and that didn’t seem right, he must be stashing food in his lab.

“I’m dieting,” Venture replied easily sipping from his coffee. The man was skinnier then a tooth pick and just as easy to snap in half, Brock chose not to reply ripping the stake in half with his teeth. He was testing how far he could push Brock and Brock wanted him to know he didn’t break easily.

“Well I am going to clean the boys up for bed and then I am going down to the lab,” he finally said after the babies finished their plates, “Why don’t you clean up the mess? I cooked, so the least you can do is wash the dishes.”

Venture’s smile just became wicked at his deep breath keeping in what he wanted to say to him, he lifted his sons up easily and simply left the room.  

In his wake he left a sink full of dishes he wasted, food burned on pots and pans, leaving a smoky smell trailing from them that made Brock wrinkle his nose more in disgust.

Poison, that would be a quick death. Make it look like a villain got a little too bold and just offed the man.

----

Brock woke that night to the twins screaming and yelling for their daddy, that itself wasn’t abnormal but the fact that he didn’t hear the man himself coming to sooth his precious little brats was the strange part. He didn’t even hear his robot beeping through the hall trying to take care of the twins. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the robot all day, maybe Venture finally stripped him for scrap metal.

Brock pulled his knife from its sheath at long last and crept into the hallway, he slowly pushed the nursery door open and found nothing there but the screaming twins. He kept creeping down the hall and pushed open Venture’s bedroom door, he glared hard seeing the room empty. He walked towards the bed and frowned at the still made bed, Venture hadn’t been here.

He kept his knife out and walked down the stairs again, the creaks and moans of the old steps the only sounds in the house.

Finding the lab empty was the final straw, Venture was gone.  

He felt excitement bubbling inside him, finally, at long last something was happening. Someone finally found the balls to attack the little nerd while he was around. Brock hoped they got a few good hits on the good doctor before he got there in time to spill the assailant’s blood across the ground. Maybe someone finally putting that asshole in his place would make him more bearable to be around.

He slid behind a tree and held his knife tighter seeing head lights hit against the main entrance and a larger man’s silhouette pacing impatiently by the fence, Brock glared at the man. He could see him clearer now as he opened the main gate stepping closer to the car’s head lights. He looked like he had just got out of bed, his messy long hair hastily pulled into a pony tail that was falling out, his pajama bottoms with cartoon hearts decorating them and worn out slippers, the only thing remotely professional about him was the lab coat.

“Where have you been?” he heard the man hiss loud enough to trail over to Brock, “We needed to have started the procedure hours ago---”

“I’m sorry, alright?” he glared knowing that voice to be Rusty Venture himself, “Blame my god fathers. I didn’t want a body guard to begin with, but no no, they insisted and when one goes crazy, I automatically just need another to sneak around in my own home.”  

Brock glared hard at the faint silhouette of Venture leaning over the driver’s side of his convertible. He had been telling him for months he didn’t own a car and Brock had to drive him everywhere when all this time he had one hidden from him. Brock swore he was going to make him return that thing to the dealership and get a more family style vehicle his kids could spit up in instead of his car.

“Of all the times for those assholes to just split from Team Venture,” the man sighed scratching his head and slouching against the car door, blocking him from Brock’s line of sight, “We are never going to get this done with an OSI agent sneaking around. Why aren’t you drugging him like I asked you to?”

“Hah. That’s a laugh, that man will not go down, I snuck four sleeping pills into his stake tonight and he still didn’t go down. It took him five hours to even go to his room. He just stood around, watching me take care of my kids. I would be more flattered if he was actually into me.”  

Brock snarled, he god damn knew there had to be alternative motive for that prissy little rich bitch to do anything for him. Next time, he was forcing him to test his awful food before he even touched it.

“Damn it Rusty, have you been drinking?” he heard the man hiss and frowned deeper hearing his charge’s giggle.

“What? The guy you sent me to was a total weirdo! I deserved a few shots after that encounter,” Venture Bemoaned loudly, his voice carrying, “He kept stroking my hair and telling me how well I turned out and calling me Jonas. Then when I firmly told him who the hell I was, he kept asking where my dad’s brain was. I think he was even trying to roofie me, he kept shoving glasses in my face!”  

Brock had to roll his eyes at this. Venture this twig of a man, just drugged his government paid body guard when he finally went somewhere interesting. That’s just Brock’s luck, he could have probably killed someone tonight, but he was stuck here.

“Did you get the chemicals I asked for from him?” the man demanded and Brock could see faintly that he was cupping his charge’s cheeks and forcing him to look at him.

“I’m not that useless,” Venture grumbled pulling away, “They are in the trunk. Come get in, let’s go do this shit. I’ll drop you off and then I need to go check on the babies since you took Helper.”

“You were taking forever and I needed a few extra hands welding the incubators,” the man sneered, “You have your damn body guard, he’s probably up now, he can take care of the babies while you go waste time.”

Venture had a damn body guard alright, a really pissed off one that knew he was up to something illegal now. Brock wasn’t going to turn him in yet, he was going to find out exactly what he was doing and that was his ticket out of this hell.

He watched the doctor’s convertible disappear behind the main section of the compound and headed back to the housing section of the compound.

He sat in the dark waiting for Rusty to return home and he did not long after Brock had returned. He ran through the door, hastily locking it behind him, not noticing Brock sitting on the couch as he ran up the stairs and right into the nursery. Brock rose slowly and walked up the stairs towards the only light in the home now.

He heard Venture gently cooing towards his sons and kissing them as they cried.

“Daddy’s here, shh shh,” he mumbled to them holding one twin in each arm as he sank into the rocking chair in the corner.

“Where the hell have you been?” Brock asked calmly stepping into the room but just the way Venture jumped up and shielded his sons, you would think Brock screamed it.

“I was sleeping,” Venture replied carefully bouncing his sons on his hips, side to side almost like he was dancing with the screaming infants.

“In your cloths?” Brock asked loving the way he squirmed under his gaze, eyes creeping towards the window the only way out if Brock were to act.

“It was a long day in the lab, I just ended up passing out,” he grumbled out, still glancing at his only escape route.

“What business is it yours anyway? Why don’t you go back to bed? You are unneeded here,” he sneered at him more boldly then he must have felt, Brock didn’t miss the way his hands shook and his hold tightened on his boys as he shoved past Brock on the way to his own room.

“Does anyone else have access to the compound?” Brock asked and watched in sadistic glee as Venture’s spine straightened and went stiff.

“No, as I have told you many times, its just me and the boys here now since my father passed.”

“Funny, I could have sworn I saw head lights,” Brock said playing coy and stupid loving the mini panic attack the man was having in front of him. He was holding his breath and refusing to turn around to face him, his brain must have been overloading trying to think of an excuse and when he couldn’t think of one, he must have settled for lying.

“It must have been a figment of your imagination, you are just being paranoid,” with that he slammed his bedroom door shut in Brock’s face.

Brock would play his game for now but whatever he was up to was his ticket out of this hell and he didn’t care how it had to end as long as he could finally leave.