#they sat on their asses and cowered away when things went south

[elzhiez]

sevika nation, we won, but at what cost?

[megurine-san-7u7]

From the ashes we will rise - Part 2

The party was going smoothly, or as smoothly as a Pulitzer Award ceremony could go.

Kara had been approached by many people to congratulate her for the nomination, and she received them all with a big smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

It was a big day, her big day. The award every journalist wanted was soon to be in her hands. And she was feeling beyond exited, she really was. Knowing that she could do good with being just Kara was something truly important for her.

And yet-

The family she found on Earth were all there, giving her the biggest smiles and hugs.

All but one.

Her blue eyes once again scanned the crowd, expecting to find a certain raven-haired billionaire, but yet again, her search was futile, and her smile dropped a little bit more.

“Hey, are you okay?” Alex asked worriedly by her side.

“Yeah…it’s just-” Kara bit her lower lip and then shook her head. “Lena’s not here yet and the ceremony is about to start.”

“She must’ve gotten caught up with something at L-corp. But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Alex said reassuringly while squeezing Kara’s arm. “You know how much Lena cares for you. She wouldn’t miss her best friend’s big day for anything.”

“Y-yeah, you’re right.” Kara mumbled while adjusting her glasses, a half smile on her lips.

Because no matter what her sister said, the blonde had an uneasy feeling inside her chest. Like something that didn’t feel right, an itch for her to go out and search for Lena.

However, she couldn’t dwell on it. The ceremony was starting and soon they’d be calling her name.

Everything would be alright. Lena was just a little late.

But when she was up in the podium with the Pulitzer in her hands, and her eyes couldn’t find her friend. The feeling inside her chest just got worse.

The night went on, and Lena never arrived.

.

Checking her phone for the thousand time, the result was the same. No new message from Lena, or response to Kara’s texts.

When going to CatCo, her coworkers were still congratulating her, and Kara greeted them with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The hero was upset. Why would Lena be absent to the most important time in Kara’s life?

When checking on the CEO, there was a heartbeat on Lena’s office. So, it didn’t make sense to Kara why the Luthor had her phone turned off.

It all took a turn for the worse, when first thing in the morning meeting, Andrea Rojas came and announced her new ownership of Catco.

Kara didn’t wait for the meeting to end, instead she took a turn and left towards L-corp.

Lena sold Catco? No, it just couldn’t be.

She needed to talk to Lena.

.

Kara didn’t even think twice before barging in on Lena’s office. But she was soon frozen on the spot when instead of the usual emerald-eyes she liked so much, a pair of cold brown eyes stared at her.

“Sam?” Kara was so taken aback by the Arias’ presence that she took a step backwards.

“Kara.” Sam acknowledged but didn’t smile like usual. Instead she returned her gaze to the papers in her hands.

“Where’s Lena?” The hero asked with a frown on her face.

So many changes happening at once was overwhelming her. It reminded Kara of her first days on Earth, when everything was new.

A hint of anger flashed over Sam’s features. It was fast, but Kara saw it and her frown deepened.

“Not here.” The answer was curt and harsh.

Anxiety flared in Kara’s veins at the reply. It was clear Sam was mad at her for some reason, but her sole priority was to know where Lena was.

“What is going on?” Kara asked exasperated. “First there is this woman, Andrea at Catco, and now-” Taking a deep breath, Kara tried to calm herself. “Where’s Lena?” She asked letting the steel of Supergirl seep into her voice.

“Lena’s fine, you don’t have to look for her.” Sam replied giving the blonde a short glance, a raised eyebrow at the tone of voice.

“You know where she is.” It wasn’t a question, and they both knew it. “Tell me-”

“Let it go, Kara.” Sam said between her teeth, her jaw set in anger.

Kara huffed irritated. She had no idea where her best friend was, Sam didn’t seem to want to cooperate. It was frustrating to say the least.

Turning on her heels, she was ready to storm out of the office.

“And don’t even think about looking for her with your alter ego.”

The blonde froze on her place, her blood running cold on her veins.

“W-what?”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t hear me.” Sam stood up, papers in her hands and headed for the door. But before walking out, she faced the reporter. “If you ever really cared for her, don’t look for Lena.” The seriousness in her voice held no room for argument, but after a couple of seconds her features softened a bit. She looked at the teary-eyed reporter with slight pity in her eyes. “Just leave her alone, Kara. It’s what she wants.”

With no other words, Sam left the office. Leaving a broken-hearted reporter behind.

The only explanation for Sam to be pissed at her, and the sudden disappearance of her friend was making itself clear.

Lena knew she was Supergirl.

.

‘She knows.’

That sole thought made a cold shiver run down her spine.

Kara knew she should have told Lena years ago about her identity, but the mere idea of the Luthor hating her always made her cower and postpone it.

She should’ve told her.

But now it was too late, and her worst fear came true.

Lena left. She probably hated her too.

It was hard. Knowing Lena was out there, thinking Kara had been using her like all the other people that had betrayed the Luthor.

It was just unbearably painful.

And Kara would wonder from time to time if maybe she lost more than just a friend. It definitely hurt more than that.

“If you ever really cared for her, don’t look for Lena.”

Sam’s words were the only thing stopping her from putting on the cape and fly around the world, looking for the person Kara cared deeply for.

But she couldn’t do that. Lena didn’t want her to.

.

.

Kara had shut down completely after that fateful day, the day she learned Lena knew her secret.

The blonde stopped eating at her favorite restaurants, she stopped writing her articles with as much passion as she used to, she stopped smiling as much…

…she stopped being Supergirl.

It had ten days since Lena left the city, and everyone was worried about the youngest Danvers.

When Kara no longer answered her phone, Alex decided it was time for her to go visit her sister.

But the blonde didn’t open the door, and the older Danvers had to use her key to enter the place.

Once inside, the redhead had to squint her eyes a bit to adjust her sight. All the lights were off, and the only light was coming from the windows.

The first thing she noticed was her little sister sitting on the couch, arms around her knees and her gaze lost somewhere in the wall.

Alex’s heart broke at the sight.

“Kara…” she mumbled with sorrow, but her sister barely acknowledged her presence.

The redhead walked until she was in front of Kara and knelt in front of her. The hero’s eyes were red and puffy, but what impacted Alex the most was that those blue eyes reminded her of the time Kara arrived at her home. Looking so lost and heartbroken after losing her world.

“Oh Kara…”

For the first time, the blonde seemed to notice her sister’s presence.

“Alex, what are you doing here?” her voice was hoarse, and Alex could only guess it was due to hours of crying.

“I was worried.”

“I’m fine…” Kara said and looked away.

“I brought your favorite ice cream, wanna eat some?” Alex asked trying to cheer her sister. “We can watch Wizard of Oz while eating it-”

“Thanks Alex, but I’m not hungry…” The blonde muttered with tiredness coating every word.

It was as if her sister had become a shell of a person, and the only emotion that could be seen clearly was the sadness in her eyes.

And Alex had had enough. She couldn’t stand seeing her sister so broken anymore.

.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Alex.” Kelly said from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hands.

“You didn’t see her, Kelly. And I don’t think loneliness is doing her any better.” Alex replied while sending a few texts on her phone.

“Kara is processing, she needs time to come to terms with Lena’s departure, and if being alone is what she needs, then maybe we should let her.”

Alex’s phone pinged with the replies to her texts, and when looking at them, a smile spread across her lips.

“See, everyone’s worried about her.” The redhead said while showing her phone to her girlfriend. “Kara needs to know Lena leaving isn’t the end of the world, she still has us. And having game night is going to prove it to her, just you wait…you’ll see.” Alex said excitedly while typing some more texts to their friends.

“I don’t think her relationship with Lena was like with the rest of us…” Kelly replied, but Alex didn’t hear it.

The psychologist sighed at her girlfriend’s antics, and prayed for the night to go well.

.

It didn’t go well at all.

For starters, it was clear in Kara’s eyes she wanted to be anywhere but there, even when it was her apartment hosting game night.

And as the night progressed, their attempt to cheer Kara was going south quickly.

Because no matter how hard they tried to draw her attention, Kara’s gaze would constantly fell on Lena’s empty spot.

It all blow up, when William -who Alex invited for some reason- sat on Lena’s empty spot.

The sadness was replaced with anger, and in an instant Kara was pushing William away from the spot. Her force wasn’t well contained that the man fell on his ass, clear shock on his face.

“That’s not your seat.” Kara growled, her hands in fists and glaring at the very scared man on the floor.

Alex knew her sister very well, and she saw how Kara was seconds away from activating her laser vision.

“Kara!” Alex exclaimed and thankfully her sister seemed to come out of her trance.

The blonde looked at her sister, and the at the empty spot, misery reflecting in her blue eyes. And before anyone else could say something, she stormed to her bedroom, closing the door behind.

Tense silence filled the living room, everyone trying to process what just happened.

“What’s wrong with her?” William muttered still shaken up.

“You seated on Lena’s spot. And due to-” Brainy started to say with his regular antics, but before he could go on a full explanation like usual, Nia cut him off.

Alex sighed heavily, and when looking at her girlfriend she just knew she should’ve listened to her.

“Night’s over guys.” The director said, and everyone nodded their agreement.

One by one they left the place.

Until there was only Kelly and Alex on Kara’s living room. The psychologist noticed immediately the reluctance of girlfriend; the older Danvers didn’t want to leave her sister alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kelly said softly, while pecking Alex on the lips.

“Thanks…” The director muttered in relief and bid goodbye to her girlfriend.

Once there was no one else left on the place, Alex made her way to Kara’s bedroom.

When she entered the room, the redhead noticed her sister was already in bed.

“You should’ve gone with Kelly…” Kara muttered softly, as if her mind was elsewhere. Which became a constant since Lena left.

“You need me right now.” Alex made her way to sit on the edge of Kara’s bed.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not…I understand you’re sad, but Kara, Lena leaving isn’t your fault.”

“Of course, it is.” There was a bite in Kara’s voice, as if she couldn’t believe what her sister was saying.

“No, she made a choice. She left without even trying to talk with you, and that’s on her, not you.” The redhead was quick to say, making clear she blamed Lena for Kara’s suffering.

“I lied to her for years…”

“To protect her! You didn’t mean to hurt her!” The exasperation in her voice was clear.

“But I did, Alex!” Kara exclaimed while sitting up, and facing her sister. “I hurt her…” she added with so much pain in her voice that Alex felt bad for it.

“You just need to talk to her, make her understand that you didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“How…? Sam is the only one who knows where she is, but she won’t tell us anything…” The blonde said with desperation soaking her words.

“I know…but I have an idea.” Alex said with a small smile. “We’ll fix this, Kara. Everything will work out, I promise.”

“Okay…” Kara nodded with hopeful tears on her eyes.

Yes, she was Supergirl and she could fix everything.

.

.

The small cottage where her mother raised her looked exactly as she remembered, and yet it also looked completely different.

The grass had gotten taller without proper care, it was chaotically blocking the path and making it hard to walk near the house.

But it wasn’t impossible, and she was a Luthor. Stubborn to the core.

The wooden door seemed to be too old and deteriorated by the rain. It was barely standing without the proper care.

And the windows that used to reflect the light from inside, now where dark and somber, with spider nets on their corners.

The place that once used to be her home, now held no warmth at all.

The deteriorated sight brought tears to her eyes.

It had been twenty-two years since she last set foot in that house. Lena had wanted to when she was still a child, not fully grasping the concept of death, and wanting to return to her mother.

But every time she mentioned it to her father, Lionel’s eyes would harden and his body would tense up. He wouldn’t say a word and instead would turn around to lock himself in his office.

Lena stopped asking after a while. And when she was old enough to travel by herself. She wasn’t brave enough to do it.

Even after all that time, she still couldn’t seem to gather enough courage and take the last steps.

After a few minutes of just staring at the door, the Luthor finally managed to brace herself and open the door. As soon as she did, the lights turned on, a little arrangement made by her father all those years ago.

With the soft light, her eyes could scan the place she used to call home.

Lena didn’t remember it all that well, but looking at the fading drawings on the fridge, and the old and dusty toys, she just new how much her mother had loved her.

It all felt surreal. Looking around the place, she could see the ghost of the happy life she used to live.

Memories replaying on her mind.

How her father would visit from time to time, always carrying big presents for Lena. And her mother admonishing him, claiming he was spoiling their child.

The youngest Luthor stood there, in the middle of an old and deteriorated cottage, reminiscing the times she was truly happy. Contemplating the life she could’ve had if only her mother hadn’t died.

Lena just stood there and cried.

She cried over the life she could���ve had.

She cried over the family she lost.

And she cried…she cried over the last betrayal she suffered.

Painful sobs leaving her body, crying over a broken heart.

.

It took her a couple of weeks for her to clean the cottage completely. It would’ve been faster if she would’ve accepted the help of the people from the nearby village. But Lena wanted to do it by herself, and it was all worth it, seeing the place in its former glory.

It also helped keeping her mind busy. Avoiding thoughts of a certain blonde hero.

After cleaning the place, she was left with more free time than she could imagine. And so, the Luthor immersed herself in reading the books her mother had there. Whatever was necessary to keep her mind busy and distracted.

And although the books were mostly falling to pieces, they still offered a nice distraction. It made Lena smile, finding out about her mother’s literature interests.

It felt as if she was becoming closer to her mother in a sense. It warmed her heart.

.

At her sixth week in her time in Ireland, there were no more books left to read, and once again the silence started to drive her crazy.

In an impulse to keep herself busy, Lena decided to visit the lake. It may not have been her wisest decision, but her intention was to keep her mind occupied.

Besides, it was supposed to help her and create new memories instead of the traumatic one she had.

But the closer she got to the lake, the more her legs started shaking and getting heavier.

As soon as she caught a glimpse of the deep water, the memory of her mother drowning flashed before her eyes.

And suddenly all the air left her lungs, as if someone hit her in the stomach. The need to flee the scene was imperious, but her legs wouldn’t respond to her command. Tears gathered in her eyes, and her breathing got irregular.

Panic started to build inside her, but before she was pulled into a heavy panic attack, her phone rang in her pocket.

With something to focus on, the panic started to subside and slowly disappear. There was no need to check who was calling, it was a new phone and only one person knew the number.

“Hey Sam” Lena tried to sound normal, but her voice trembled.

“Lena, what’s wrong?” Sam of course noticed it, and the concern was immediate.

“Nothing…” The Luthor cursed her still shaky voice.

“Lena-”

“I’m fine!” She snapped and the line went silent. “I’m sorry…it’s just…” Taking a deep breath, a whisper left her lips, as if sharing a secret. “I’m at the lake…”

“Are you okay?” The Arias asked softly, understanding completely what it meant for the Luthor.

“Y-yeah…just- can you keep talking to me?” Lena pleaded, her free hand going to her middle section as an act of comfort.

“Of course!” The answer was quick, and it made the Luthor smile.

Sam was a true friend, unlike some other people.

“So, the other day I had a ridiculous argument with Ruby…”

Sam kept talking and talking, always filling the silent and making Lena laugh with her ridiculous stories of her day to day.

It helped the Luthor stand on the shore of the lake, looking at the water that took her mother from her.

When her mind started to wander through dark thoughts, Sam would call her name, as if sensing her predicament.

“Lena?”

“I-I’m listening…”

“Of course…so, as I was saying, I only found out about the cat when a dead rat was left in front of Ruby’s bedroom-”

Lena couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s story.

“Hey, don’t laugh!” Sam said chuckling as well. “I swear I almost had a heart attack when I made eye contact with a dead rat!”

Again, Lena burst into laughter, just imagining the scene her friend was portraying. Sam joined after a couple of seconds, and together they were chuckling about Ruby’s actions of taking in a cat without telling her mom.

When suddenly, Lena’s laughter stopped abruptly.

“Lena?” her friend asked when calming down.

“Tell me, Sam, do you keep in touch with Kara?”

“What?” The CFO was taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “No, why?”

“Alex then?” Lena said instead of answering, her tone steeling with repressed anger.

“I-” Sam mumbled at a loss of words.

“I’m guessing you did.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Well, I’m assuming they planted a bug on your phone.”

“What the-? Why would you think that?”

“Because Supergirl just landed in front of me.” Lena said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to cut this conversation short.” She said and hanged up before her friend could answer back.

The Luthor turned off the phone and settled her cold eyes on the sad hero in front of her.

“Lena…” Kara mumbled, a mix of relief and sadness on her voice.

Lena steeled her face and turned around to leave.

“Wait, please!” Kara exclaimed and using her superspeed she moved to block the Luthor’s path.

“What is it, Supergirl?” she said the title with such disgust that made the hero flinch.

“Lena please, just let me explain-” Kara begged.

“What is there to explain?”

“Everything-!”

“You made me think you were my friend, while also treating me like a Luthor. You used me and lied to me.”

“That’s not true-!”

“Isn’t it?” Lena sneered and chuckled incredulously. “You told me you’d never lie to me, or that you’d never hurt me. But when I used Kryptonite to save Sam, you treated me like a villain.” Her voice trembled with rage and sadness. “You used me. You and your friends at the DEO. You will always call when you needed my help, but you were also the first to judge me.” She looked at Kara’s teary eyes. “You lied to me…every step of our friendship was a lie-”

“No! That is not true-!” Kara tried to defend herself, her voice shaking with tears.

“How am I supposed to believe you?!”

“I-I-” The blonde was openly crying by then, big tears rolling down her cheeks. Little whimpers of pain leaving her lips.

But Kara hurt her and Lena was in so much more pain.

She shouldn’t be the one making amends, nor did she want to.

Her emotions were out of control, her body shook with all the pain and anger at the betrayal. Looking at Kara crying didn’t bring the satisfaction she was expecting, and being near the place where she lost her mother-

It was too much.

Lena couldn’t deal with all that, she just couldn’t.

After killing her brother, she disposed of all of his belongings and creations.

All but one.

The Luthor moved her hand to her pocket, inside she felt the ridges of the worn trans matter portal watch.

Lena didn’t even care what coordinates were put on the watch, she wanted to get away from Kara, and so, she activated the watch and a portal materialized behind her.

Before Kara could react, she crossed the portal and closed it.

.

.

Back in National City, Sam Arias was furiously making her way to a certain secret agency.

She felt so stupid. Trusting Alex -Kara’s sister- into her house.

So stupid!

And now, Lena wasn’t answering any of her calls. She doubted the Luthor would even have the phone with her anymore.

She shouldn’t have trusted them.

She marched through the DEO’s corridors, and when arriving at the main area her frown deepened.

There was Alex in the middle of the big screens, where a location was clearly on them. Talking by an earpiece with Kara.

When Alex caught her eyes, she opened them in surprise and regret.

“Sam, listen-” she tried to say, but Sam held her hand up and silenced her.

“No, you listen to me, Director Danvers.” She practically spit the name making Alex flinch. “You crossed a line. So don’t you dare come near me or my daughter ever again.” She growled.

“You don’t understand!” Alex exclaimed with anger. “Kara was heartbroken, and you wouldn’t help, so you didn’t give me much choice.” She said frowning.

“Really?” Sam scoffed, a bitter smile forming on her lips. “You think your sister had it bad? Have you ever thought about Lena?” The acting CEO crossed her arms, an angry frown on her face. “Have you ever thought how Lena felt after finding out her friends were lying to her from the start? How she felt every time you lied to her after she found out?”

Alex looked lost, and Sam huffed in incredulity.

“You really are shitty friends.” The taller woman shook her head. “And not just to Lena…”

“I didn’t-” Alex tried to defend herself, but Sam cut her off.

“I trusted you, and you planted a bug on my phone.” She shook her head, disgust in her eyes. “Lena was right. You’re all selfish assholes.” Sam said and turned around to leave the DEO.

“Sam, wait-!”

The Arias paused and turned around, but not because of the director’s words.

“Tell your damn sister to leave Lena alone. Or I’ll fucking make her.” The threat was said with such coldness that Alex knew she wasn’t lying. “And you better pray Lena contacts me again, because if she doesn’t, I swear to god I’ll fucking bring Reign back.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sam left the building.

[duckymcdoorknob]

Words Really Do Hurt

Warnings: TW!!!!!: harm (not self but still ouchies) A n g s t

You bitches are going to cry. I’ll make sure I drag this out and not leave out a single detail.

Ships: Jamilton

Prompt: Thomas Jefferson always assumed he would have the upper hand in arguments, from his quick wit and snapbacks. He always made Hamilton cry. But when Hamilton rolls up his sleeves, he realized what he was truly crying about.

He never knew where it came from. It was always just there...

“Bastard!”

Pain

“Whoreson!”

Pain

“Dirty thief!”

Pain.

Young Alexander ran away from the insults of his “neighbors.” Tears blurred his eyes as he ignored the searing feeling in his arm.

He opened the door of his home, seeing his sickly mother setting down “dinner” for them.

A bowl of bland oatmeal and a small apple.

“Mama... the..they di..d it again.” Alexander said wincing.

His mother rushed to his aid, putting their food aside. She drew a bath for him and helped him inside.

“What happened this time my darling?” His mother spoke softly, petting his hair.

“They called me a th..thief and a bastard whoreson.” Alexander mumbled, letting his arm down under the water.

The bathtub tinged red, a sight Alexander’s mother loathes seeing. Her boy had three fresh cuts on his arm.

She never knew how he got it.

The doctor told her that whenever something truly hurts him inside, it somehow hurts him outside too. Something to do with the signals in his brain, eating away a line on his skin. Nameless, yet so distressing to the Hamilton family. No matter how deep or long the cut is, it won’t affect his life. Something that would kill any normal human would only hurt him.

She let him rest in the bathtub as long as he wished, then dressed him in his favorite jammies.

They went downstairs and his mother put the oatmeal back on the fire.

——

Alexander went on through his life covered in scars. A large scar on his chest appeared when his mother died. No one has ever seen it, except him.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think a whoreson deserves any money. His mother should’ve thought about it before she got knocked up.”

Scar

——

“She doesn’t have much time left, Mr. Hamilton. She’s too weak and sick.”

“I love you, Alexander...”

A large scar across his chest formed again.

——

“My son was shot and killed in a gunfight.”

Alexander now has three straight lines across his chest. Signifying the loss of the three most important people in his lives.

Rubesis. That’s what the medics called it. Ovelate Rubesis, (oh-vel-eht Roo-bay-sis) the anatomical consumption of skin caused by emotional distress.

——

The wind howled outside as a chilling rain fell from the sky.

“The things you say might be completely delusional, Hamilton. But this takes the cake. The North and the South are completely different. Why should we have to pay for your debts?” Thomas began in a ramble.

Alexander felt a tiny prick on his arm, “not again.” He thought to himself. He stood tall and angry, ready to take whatever Thomas yelled at him.

“If you make the South pay your debts, It’ll be Yorktown ALL OVER again. And don’t expect to win with your current state. Your son stressing you out that much? I mean God, we could turn you into a candle with all that extra fat.”

A sudden swipe of pain shot up Alexander’s arm. He felt A thin cut develop by his wrist. These were schoolboy level insults. Why did he let it get to him?

“That’s enough, Thomas.” Washington stood between him and Jefferson, “that was below the belt and you know it.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. He wasn’t done yet. “Hamilton I can’t believe they even let your naive, foolish self into the government. I mean honest to God a brain dead toddler could run treasury better.”

A large, deep, gash began to form on his forearm.

“S..stop...” Alexander managed through his searing pain.

“Oh boohoo! What are you going to do? Cry?” Thomas teased. He scoffs and crosses his arms “So weak and pathetic.”

Tears pricked the corners of Alexander’s eyes. “P..please... i-it hurts. S..so bad.” The gash got longer.

“Christ what’s wrong with you? Can’t you just be normal?” Thomas asked, taken aback by Alexander’s behavior.

Alexander winced as blood stained his white undershirt. “J..Je..Jefferson s-stop. Please.” Alexander was breathing hard, tears falling down his face. The gash traveled from his forearm to his elbow by now.

“Jefferson, enough” Washington spoke through gritted teeth. He glared daggers at Thomas, who simply rolled his eyes.

“All I’m saying is this plan is outrageous.”

At that point in time, Washington’s assistant entered carrying a heavy crate of writing supplies. They walked over to where Washington was hovering over Thomas. The wind blew with gusto. Then shortly after, the electricity in their building was out.

The sudden flash caused Washington’s assistant to jump and drop the crate on Thomas’ leg.

“Ah! Son of a bitch!” Thomas exclaimed.

Alexander gasped and rushed to help Thomas. He may hate the man, but his paternal instincts kicked in. He rolled up his sleeves and lifted the heavy crate off of Thomas’ leg.

“Thank you, Washington. Now can we work on those lights please?” Thomas inquired.

Almost on cue, the lights flashed back on.

Thomas saw Alexander carrying the heavy crate, multiple cuts and scars on his arm, and a deep gash bleeding profusely.

“I must’ve been incorrect. Thank you for the help, Hamilton.” Thomas said softly, avoiding to talk about what he’s seen. He figured the last thing Alexander needed was to be upset more.

Alexander put the crate down, realized what he’d done and quickly rolled his sleeves back down.

“Can we get back to non verbally abusing politics please?” Washington spoke up.

“I agree. Let’s continue.” Alexander said, crossing his arms.

“Now Secretary Jefferson. You’ve given a fair view on your opinion. But why do you feel this way?” Washington began

“Lovely” Alexander thought to himself

“Mister President I believe that Hamilton’s plan to assume the debts is unfair to the South.”

“The only reason I asked is because Virginia’s debts are already paid. I just wanted to see if-“

“Shut. your. fucking mouth, Hamilton.” Thomas groaned. So much for not further upsetting him. “I know you can’t keep yourself quiet for more than a minute at a time, but for the sake of all of us in here, shut the hell up.”

“Mr. Jefferson I don’t think you’re being fair to-“ Washington was cut off by a hasty Thomas.

“You’re right. Hamilton, you’re not completely useless.”

A gash on Alexander’s left arm formed, just as his right arm.

“Thomas! That’s enough!” Washington finally raised his voice

“Ugh. Sorry dad didn’t realize we were all offended by everything here.”

“Please just leave me alone...” Alexander thought with sorrow.

“I’ve stated my case. I don’t support this buffoon’s plan. I’ve nothing else to say to his sorry ass.”

The cut deepened and grew longer. Traveling from his wrist to his mid forearm.

“E..end it.” Alexander stuttered as he grabbed his arm. “E...end the.. m..meeting.”

“You don’t get to speak to me, scum. You best run back to your island.”

The gash grew until his elbow, in an agonizingly slow manner, causing Alexander to cry out in agony. “PLEASE!” He cried, falling to the floor. Blood oozed out of the large gashes, the right one having reopened. Alexander sobbed as Washington sprinted towards him. It hasn’t been this bad since John’s death.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. Don’t let go of me.” Washington said softly, trying to keep Alexander from hyperventilating. He sat down next to Alexander and gently held the hurting man.

“Oh what now?” Thomas’ angry, annoyed face, dropped when he saw the blood seeping from Alexander’s shirt. “Oh Christ- CAN WE GET SOME HELP IN HERE?”

Thomas attempted to rush to Alexander’s aid, but stopped when he noticed Alexander cowering away.

“Get him away from me. Don’t let him say anything to me. Please!” Alexander tried to cover his ears as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Washington moved his arms down, “you know better.”

Thomas searched fantically for anything to pack the wounds with. He was freaking out. When did Hamilton have time to pull a blade on himself?

“How did you-“ Alexander pondered on Washington’s previous remark.

Thomas’ frantic pacing was stopped by Washington.

“Thomas Stop. You’re going to do more damage if you wrap them.” He said softly

“Are you INSANE?” Thomas yelled.

“Go to the shelf, Medical book, Index, Under “O”, near the end. Starts with “ov”

Thomas races to the bookshelf and did as he was instructed. There he discovered... “Ovelate Rubesis?”

Washington nodded. Alexander was too determined to stop his suffering; he couldn’t hear what was unfolding.

“Wounds will widen if bloodflow is stopped by outside force. Expose to air to end bleeding.”

Two and two didn’t click for Thomas. He knew that he needed to leave the wounds alone, but he didn’t realize that Alexander had the condition.

“Don’t cover it. They need air.” Washington replied to Thomas’ out-loud reading.

“How did you know about?-“ Alexander pondered softly.

Washington said nothing and lifted his sleeve to show multiple scars and one healing cut.

——

“Ugh. Sorry dad didn’t realize we were all offended by everything here.”

Washington barely flinched as he felt the cut on his arm develop.

“First in a few years” he thought to himself

——

The two men sat on the dusty wooden floor of the cabinet meeting room. The other members had recessed to help reduce panic.

Alexander looked down to see his wounds closed, but still red and puffy. “Thank you sir.” He said as he reached out a hand to help Washington to his feet.

“Mr. Hamilton.” Thomas said calmly, “will you please meet me outside in the hallway for a moment?”

“I...” Alexander didn’t want Thomas to be suspicious, “I suppose.”

Alexander followed Thomas into his office and closed the door behind him.

The velvet clad man sat on his desk, crossed armed, and glared at Alexander. “I’ve two questions for you, Hamilton.”

Alexander gulped. He didn’t know how much more jolts of searing pain he could take. He mentally prepared himself for the unbearable feeling.

“Why did you help me? After all I’ve done and said to you?” Thomas asked quietly.

“I-it just happened. I guess s..since I have Phillip to care for, it’s j..just instinct.” Alexander managed to stutter out.

“Ah I understand.” Thomas said with a small chuckle.

“I..is that all, Mr. Secretary?” Alexander inquired quietly.

“Don’t get too formal on me now.” Thomas said with a half smile.

“Sorry.” Alexander said rubbing the back of his neck.

“Second.” Thomas began, walking to Alexander’s tense figure.

Alexander met his gaze. It was... sympathetic?

“Would you like to explain these for me?” Thomas said in a low voice.

He grabbed Alexander’s wrist swiftly and rolled up his sleeves.

Alexander’s arms looked ugly. The large gashes were stained bright red, swollen to the high heavens, and tinging the surrounding skin a warm pink. The small cuts puffed up in irritation. It was a sight of horror for both men.

“I-I...” Alexander didn’t know what to say. Did he tell his enemy the truth? Or lie? “It was from the... the c-crate! Yeah the crate.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Hamilton.” Thomas said with a sigh. “I just didn’t expect this from someone like you.”

“I..I’m not cutting myself. I swear.” Alexander whimpered.

“Well clearly it’s from something!” Thomas said defensively, causing Alexander to flinch and put his hands up in defense.

“I..is someone. Is someone hurting you, Hamilton?” Thomas asked as tears pricked his eyes.

“Why... why would y-you want to know?” Alexander said with his own tears falling.

“God damnit, Alexander! I don’t know? Maybe that I care about you, you braindead sheep!” Thomas yelled.

Alexander’s heart panged. Then he winced as a sharp pain slowly sliced across his bare arm.

“Oh- oh my god.” Thomas said as he put a hand to his mouth.

“Just leave me alone.” Alexander mumbled, turning his back to holding his sore arm.

“Alexander...” Thomas said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I didn’t-“

“You don’t even know.“ Alexander responded, not attempting to meet Thomas’ anguished face.

“I read about it, remember?” Thomas said.

Alexander shook his head, “I was more focused on not passing out in front of anyone.”

“Ovelate Rubesis.” Thomas stated matter-of-factly, “Your skin cuts itself when something... hurts your heart.” Thomas slowed his speech in realization. “I feel like such a dick! How could I have not known this?!” Thomas’ eyes widened. “This... this is why you-“

“Begged you to end the cabinet meeting?... yeah.” Alexander said coolly.

“Oh my god that’s why you always cry during... oh my god that’s what happened. And the blood, and Washington saying it’ll heal itself, and you covering your ears and-“

Alexander’s eyes grew large from a sudden shock. Thomas had engulfed Alexander in a hug from above.

“Im so sorry.” Thomas repeated as tears streamed down his face.

Alexander buried his face into Thomas’ neck, letting sobs rack his body.

“I’m so sorry, Alexander.” Thomas whispered, resting his chin on top of Alex’s head.

The two sat in a silent embrace for a good while.

“Alexander...” Thomas whispered.

“Mm?”

“Wha...what happened when...” Thomas sighed, “when Eliza passed?”

Alexander sighed and slowly took off his green vest. “Are you sure you want to see?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

Alexander lifted his white undershirt up to reveal his chest.

Thomas covered his mouth as a tear fell from his eye.

Alexander’s chest had puffy lines across.

3 scars, 3 deaths.

Thomas brought Alexander close to him again and rubbed the man’s back.

“I hate to do this but.” Alexander began, lifting his head from its resting position. “Washington probably thinks that you killed me.”

Thomas chuckled “Im so sorry. For everything” he whispered, planting a soft, chaste kiss on Alexander’s forehead.

Alexander laughed through his tears.

“Im sorry I... I don’t know where that came from.” Thomas said sheepishly.

Alexander let out a soft giggle and gazed into Thomas’ soft brown eyes. “It’s okay, Thomas.”

Alexander sucked in a breath, and stood on his tippy toes to connect his lips to Thomas’.

George Washington silently opened the door to the office, careful to not alert anyone of his presence. His shoulders were in a tense position, his teeth gritted. When he saw the two men, he smiled and relaxed his shoulders. He shut the door and walked away from the room.

Thomas and Alexander broke apart, smiling at each other.

“I promise you. I’ll try to see things from your point of view from now on. And I’ll be careful with how I react, going forward.” Thomas spoke softly.

Alexander smiled and a tear rolled down his cheek.

A swift noise caught their attention.

“Meet me back in the room when you’re done. Wink wink.- GWash.”

Alexander couldn’t help but break into a fit of giggles.

Thomas put a hand on his shoulder and led him back out the door.

They both walked into the room, acting as if none of it ever happened.

[kai-n-ali]

In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter One

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his. 

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 5K

Chapter Two ❀ Chapter Three

                               Chapter 1: Citron (Ill-natured Beauty)

   The bell let out a series of chimes as the door creaked on its hinges, and in a small florist shop tucked between a gelateria and an abandoned butchery, Eleanor Blum officially met the devil of Small Heath.

   She wasn’t impressed.

   Flora’s, the little florist and botanical shop, had become a haven for the twenty-three-year-old in the time that she’d lived above Cora Evans’ storefront: only a few short weeks. Flora’s, partially named after Cora’s granddaughter, Florence, was a bright spot of color among the grit and grimness of Birmingham, with flower boxes brimming with asters and foxgloves, strawflowers and marigolds. Along the south-facing wall, honeysuckle crawled up the scratched brick, and the thick, sweet scent of the flowers almost washed out the stench of shit wafting up from the nearby horse stables or the sour-milk scent from gone-off gelato dumped in the dumpster, left to fester in the summer heat.

    Inside, the shop was cluttered, bouquets dotting the window display and trailing back in colorful bunches all throughout the front of the store, some put in ornate vases, others in ribbon-adorned mason jars, and a few placed into half-rusted buckets. Petals and leaves dotted the floor, and the room reeked of lavender and fresh-cut stems, grassy and clean. In the back of the store where the rare plants were, packets of seeds labelled in Cora’s handwriting, and now in Eleanor’s own scrawl, lined their worktable in rows.

    When he first came in, she didn’t bother looking up from her spot bent over one of the tables, hands streaked in dirt from potting snapdragon cuttings—they were very fashionable right now for front gardens, apparently—and the charcoal from her pencils. She’d plucked a honeysuckle bloom off its stem earlier in the morning and was practicing the loose lines of it on paper with strokes of a pencil. 

    The bell chimed, and Eleanor heard none of it, not until a voice cleared its throat a few paces in front of her. Eleanor jolted up, pushed a few curls out of her eyes.

    The man in front of her was beautiful in the way most wild things were when trapped behind glass. The way vines were beautiful when they were confined to the cracks of cobblestone, peeking out in glimpses of brilliant green. With cheekbones that looked like they’d split the pads of her fingers if she reached out to touch, that looked like they were meant for dinner parties as much as they were for being flecked in blood, Eleanor felt herself stiffen. She knew this man. Sort of.

    That newsboy cap was just ridiculous.

    Thomas Shelby, the husband of Grace Shelby, stood in her new place of employment. The last time she’d seen him, Eleanor had been at a gala in a new dress, gems dripping from her throat and beading trickling off her hem while she grilled his wife on her new orphanage and its living conditions for the second time.

    He was a ghost. Some half-wilted thing.

    Eleanor tilted her head, taking in the stiff lines of him, the strained civility held in the pale blue of eyes, and thought: how disappointing.

    She hadn’t taken Shelby for the kind of man to wilt.

    Meanwhile, it seemed Mr. Shelby was studying her as well. The startling blue of his eyes trained on her, cut across by the thicket of his lashes. He swept up and down her form, and she avoided fidgeting just barely. It seemed he recognized her, perhaps from the charity gala for the Shelby Foundation that went so wrong. Eleanor herself had only seen glimpses of him at said event, dressed in a black tux, the cut of his jaw severe and the stretch of his coat across his shoulders making her mouth go dry. She’d seen him as a dark shadow lingering behind his wife, his hand curling around her pale shoulder or tucking a loose, golden curl behind her ear before he was up and off again.

    Though, she realized she’d lied before. The last time she’d seen Thomas Shelby, it’d been a black-and-white photo shot from quite a distance, his back ramrod straight as he stood over the coffin of his dead wife. Surrounded by chrysanthemums and hydrangeas. His family stone-faced beside hordes of men in full military garb.

    The thought of Mrs. Shelby made her wince, and if anything, that made him stare harder. Something in his eyes questioned, how do I know you? Eleanor wasn’t obliged to answer.

    She locked her jaw and crossed her arms over the dirt-streaked cotton of her blouse. “Can I help you?” she asked, “or did you come just to ogle?”

    Somewhere from close behind, Eleanor heard a small squeak. She turned to face the noise. Florence, or Flora, sat on one of their many wooden benches, nearly toppling over a vase of petunias with every swing of her feet. Her eyes were very wide. “Ella,” she said, high-pitched, in a more-than-loud whisper. “Ella, that’s Mr. Shelby.”

    Flora was a girl of thirteen, with straight, dark hair cut right below her ears, and a smile that grew more lopsided the harder she grinned. When the chores were through and if the shop wasn’t busy, Eleanor would sit down and entertain her with little doodles, half-formed sketches.

    Right now, however, she was white as a freshly bleached sheet, her gangly legs jiggling with nerves. She hadn’t grown into them yet, but Eleanor found them endearing—almost coltish. Her eyes darted for her grandmother, but Cora was long gone on an errand.

    Mr. Shelby seemed unaffected, clearing his throat again with a cough. One hand rested on his pocket-watch, as though already eager to check the time. “Ella, eh?” She’d never heard him speak before, and the coarseness of his voice made her stomach flip-flop alongside the annoyance burning away at her. “Well, Ella—”

    “Eleanor.”

    There was a slight furrow to his brow now. It really was painfully fucking charming. He just sort of looked at her, head cocked, considering. Eleanor let out a gust of a sigh.

    “It’s Eleanor. My name. Not Ella.” Not to you, she thought. There was a pause, and she heard more than saw Flora place her head into the palms of her hands.

    “Tommy Shelby,” he said, as if she didn’t know that, and offered her his hand. Eleanor looked at that hand, the deceptive slimness of his fingers and the narrow taper of his wrist. His callouses were faded, softened with time.

    There was dirt under her nails and specks of dried mud up to her wrists, but she shook Mr. Thomas Shelby’s hand like she was wearing silk gloves. All lowered lashes and a coquettish flick of her wrist bone. The high-society ladies back home would surely applaud her if they saw.

    Then she ruined it.

    “What kind of grown-ass man still goes by the name Tommy?” she blurted before she could stop herself, her hand still in his. His hand had looked almost delicate before, but it engulfed her own. The shocked jerk of it against hers sent a vibration up her arm, and she suppressed a smirk. His eyes narrowed in on her face, a sudden intensity there he hadn’t possessed before. Like he wanted to peel back her skin and look beneath. Off-to-the-side, Flora let out a distressed little sound, akin to a mourner at a funeral. Viewing the body one last time before it lowered into the earth with the worms.

    The next sound past his lips was a huff that could’ve been taken for a laugh. If he were any other man. “One without a stick up the ass, I bet.” He tossed a glance Flora’s way, quirked up his mouth. He really had a lovely mouth. “Miss Eleanor.”

    And Eleanor couldn’t hold back a grin. “Hm. Agree to disagree, Mr. Shelby.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned over the countertop until her curls swung into her face. They were close enough now she could almost feel his breath ghosting the top of her head. “So, what’re you here for, then? Haven’t got all day.” Now, she sweetened her smile so the next bit wouldn’t bite, only sting. “Not even for the likes of you.”

    “Y’ know,” and his voice was a slow drawl that made her spine tingle and her hair stand on end, the way his lips formed around the words with the barest hint of threat, of teeth, “people rarely speak to me this way, Miss Eleanor.”

    “Not to your face, I’m sure.” She paused. “Mr. Shelby.”

    Was it just her, or was he almost smiling? “Fair enough. Just a bouquet for me.” His eyes hadn’t left her face. “Of your choosing.”

    “Right away,” she said, but something nagged at her. Taking a glance at his clothing—well-pressed and well-tailored, with a dark coat that had to be far too hot for the late July humidity and slacks with a crease down each leg—and thought he looked like a man heading to a funeral. Or a gravestone. Eleanor swallowed. Thought back to that black-and-white photo from near a year ago. Chrysanthemums and hydrangeas.

    Despite herself, she wondered if those had been Mrs. Shelby’s favorite flowers. They weren’t the flowers of funerals. Of mourning.

    Eleanor cast her gaze around the shop, but there was no arrangement that caught her interest, that fit the bill. She worried at her bottom lip. “Gimme a moment,” she muttered, almost to herself, and stepped out from behind the table. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck.

    Off-to-the side, pressed against the wall, were paint buckets filled with loose flowers, rows upon rows of color and texture, bunched together and stems kept in nutrient-enriched water. Among them, she found what she was looking for: chrysanthemums, white and ruffled with their pale green centers; hydrangeas, their purple petals in clusters. She also went for baby’s breath, as sparse and dainty as it was. A good filler for a bouquet, with the bonus of a powerful meaning. Everlasting love. Not that Thomas would know that.

    From a pail on one of the many counter spaces, she hunted for a ribbon. All knotted up in a ball, it took her a moment before she found the perfect one and managed to untangle it from the rest. Silky, sage green embroidered with indistinguishable little white buds. Perhaps a touch too long. Plucking and tweaking until it formed into a proper flower arrangement, if not a bit of a rustic one, she made a simple bow around the bundle before turning back to her customer. Taking quick steps to get back behind the main counter. “All done,” Eleanor said. She couldn’t look at him. With the heft of one shoulder, an almost-shrug, she offered the bouquet forward, level with his chest. She traced the pattern of his vest with her eyes, the stitching.

    The bouquet was smaller than a lot of the ones on display, less elaborate.

    But it felt right.

    Reaching into the pocket of her skirts, she rifled for the few spare coins she kept there for emergencies with her spare hand. He’d yet to take the bouquet. She slapped them onto the space in front of him with a clink. Just enough. Flora was strangely silent. “And already paid for.”

    Thomas’ eyes felt hot on her face. Almost a brand.

    He didn’t say a thank you, just gave a hum under his breath, and when he reached out to grab the flowers, his fingers grazed her own. She wondered what he thought of the scar tissue stretched across her knuckles, her fingers, if he could feel it against his skin, bumpy and rigid. This touch felt different than when he’d shook her hand, and it sent pinpricks of sensation up her forearm. When he let go, she shook out her hand away from view, trying to force the odd tingling away. It lingered.

    “Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

    “Eleanor.” And when he left, it was with a chime of the shop’s bell.

    For a moment, the whole shop was suspended in a hush, as if the world itself had paused, reverberating with that single chime. But then Florence was up in a flurry of movement, flinging herself into Eleanor’s space with a string of expletives that didn’t belong in the mouth of a grown man, not to mention a fourteen-year-old girl. Eleanor laughed despite herself. Threw back her head with the force of it.

    “Language,” she chided.

    “D’ you ‘ave a death wish?”

    Florence’s round eyes were roving over Eleanor’s face, her hands on her hips. She looked very serious—or would’ve, if not for the spot of dirt on the side of her nose.

    Eleanor smiled. “Not recently, no.”

    The younger girl didn’t seem to find that very funny, and a scowl twisted her features. “That’s Tommy Shelby you just ran your mouth off to, Ella,” she stated, jabbed a finger at her chest. Adorable, Eleanor thought. “Tommy. Shelby.” The stress on these two words was punctuated with another two jabs.

    “I know his name.” I’ve met his wife.

    “You don’t get it,” she said, and there was a franticness to her voice, her posture. Her hands twitched and fidgeted. “’E’s the leader of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders. People say ‘e’s worse than the devil ‘imself."

    “Language.” But Eleanor’s head was already tilted in curiosity. Worse than the devil? “Peaky Blinders, huh?" She snorted. “Cute.”

    “Not cute, Ella, not cute. Dangerous. Deadly. They’re the biggest gang in Birmingham. Turned businessmen. They own us.” She puffed a stray hair out of her eyes. “You get a glance at his cap?” At Eleanor’s nod, she continued. “They sew razors into the brim. You fuck with ‘em, they cut out your eyes.”

    Huh. “Is that very effective?” she asked, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “I mean, that’s a bit of an awkward angle, isn’t it?” Flora groaned, flopping onto a stool besides her, propping her elbows on the counter and resting her forehead in her hands. Eleanor rubbed her back. She seemed to do this quite a lot when Eleanor was around.

   Her next words came out muffled by her palms. “The Blinders ain’t no joke, Ella. They set fire to The Marquis for messin’ with one of theirs. Their enemies get found in The Cut without their faces.” Her voice became very quiet, near trembling. Almost tearful. “You shoulda never spoken to Mr. Shelby like that.”

   Despite her best efforts, Eleanor felt a shiver run through her. Only she could be stupid enough to meet a devil and reach out to shake his hand. With a smile, no less. Well, it was too late now. She leaned until her shoulder pressed into Flora’s own. “Hey,” she soothed. “Look at me, huh?” Eleanor tapped at the girl’s cheek with a nail until she peered up at her, eyes a bit puffy. “Relax, sweetheart. I doubt he’ll be back anytime soon. Not with the warm welcome I gave him.” And she smiled until Florence couldn’t help but smile back.

    The second time Eleanor saw the devil of Small Heath, it was a week later. At Flora’s. And it would be the same as the first.

    That damn bell chimed.

    It was with relief that Eleanor noted Florence was out of the shop when a Mr. Thomas Shelby arrived for the second time, having been sent off by Cora to the gelateria with just enough money for scoop of her favorite, strawberry swirl. This time around, it was just her and Cora in the near silence of the shop, the record player in the back a mere whisper of jazz. Instead of being up to her elbows in damp soil, she had a paintbrush in her mouth and another clutched between her fingers and thumb, making a new display sign with some thick paper and her tin of watercolors. A sketch of Flora, blowing petals out of the palm of her hand. It was as she was halfway through mixing a color for the shadows of her face that the front door opened. At her side, using twine to bind their loose flowers for the paint buckets, Cora gave a sharp intake of breath.

    “Mr. Shelby,” the older woman greeted, hurrying to stand. A strong-featured woman of near fifty, Cora Evans wasn’t one to show fear, or much emotion at all beyond a muted amusement at her surroundings. This sort of “why the hell not?” air of being that she'd clearly perfected over her years. Yet, while her own blue eyes were unwavering on Thomas’ own, Eleanor detected the tense line of her broad shoulders, hiked nearly up to her ears and tickling the grey-brown of her hair. Thomas inclined his head at her boss, and if he looked her way, Eleanor didn’t see it, because she had already turned back to her work, watering down a vermilion for the high spots of color on Flora’s youthful cheeks.

    If she didn’t look at him, maybe she wouldn’t be compelled by whatever urge had struck her before—a sudden desire to pick at and tease, to wrestle up a smile on that pretty mouth.

    Eleanor shook her head, a minuscule gesture, and huffed a curl out of her eyes. Get it together.

    “’Ow may I ‘elp you, sir?” And Cora’s voice was polite, restrained, the normal warmth in her Brummie accent stripped into something foreign to Eleanor. “On the ���ouse, of course.” At that, she felt her lips pinch despite herself.

    While Cora hadn’t been upset when her granddaughter had finally told her the story of Eleanor back-talking to a Peaky Blinder, she had gone a bit pale, setting down the pot in her hands with a heavy clunk on their scraped-up work table. Staring at Eleanor with new eyes. “Pretty fuckin’ stupid of you, love,” she’d said. “They’ve set fire to businesses for less.” And she’d shaken her head. “Messin’ with that Blinder Devil—thought you had some wits about you.” In the end, though, Cora shooed her off when she hastened to spill out apologies, holding out a hand to pat her on her shoulder.

    “That Thomas Shelby is more sensible than most of ‘em put together. Not like his mad dog brother. It’ll work out for the best, I bet.”

    But now he was back yet again, in a suit lighter than the one before, a pale grey waistcoat with no jacket in sight. His tie was missing, she could tell even from where she hunched over her work, the top button of his dress-shirt undone at the throat. Still looking unbearably hot for the weather. Even the thin material of her house dress clung to her skin with the sweat of being trapped in the shop all day. She didn’t know how he bore it.

    “No need,” he said in that already familiar rasp, and she ducked her head further down instead of looking up and catching a glimpse of his face like she wanted. “Found myself in need of another bouquet.” And she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Eleanor. If you would.”

    The empty space to the upper right of her drawing distracted her. Should she fill it with roses? Lilies? There was a pause that could be felt hanging in the shop, like a physical touch against her skin, but she kept her gaze to that expanse of untouched white.

    “Eleanor,” Cora said, touching gentle fingers to the bared skin of her upper arm. She very rarely wore short sleeves, but with the heat, it felt unavoidable. The circular burns that peppered her arms like kisses—they weren’t even that noticeable, not anymore. Still.

    (On another August day, one from over a decade ago, she recalled the press and hiss of the cigarette when it hit her skin, and the way the mud never dried in that miserable backyard back in New York. Before her uncle came and packed her off to London. The backs of her knees were slippery with it as she squirmed and kicked. But the older girl kept a firm grip on her, and Eleanor stayed in place, sinking into the mud and dead, yellow grass. The cigarette was pulled back, still fizzling, and with the click of a lighter, was relit again. And again.)

    Eleanor blinked. Blinked again and rubbed a hand over her eyes, eyes that felt much more tired than before. She pulled the paintbrush from her mouth, set it on the countertop. “Of course, I can make you another bouquet, Mr. Shelby. Anything in mind?”

    She couldn’t see him, no, but she knew his eyes were smirking at her. Her fingers twitched on her remaining paintbrush. Smug bastard. “Oh, just something to brighten up me office, I think.” And Eleanor clenched her jaw, because that sounded like such shit to her. Why’re you here again, Thomas? She nodded nonetheless, kept her eyes down. You make it very hard to behave. She set down the brush with a clatter.

    “I can do that.”

    She searched for the most spiteful fucking flowers she could think of. Valerian, an herb frequently used for insomnia, green stems bloomed with clusters of white flowers. Readiness. I could take you, Mr. Shelby. Borage, or starflower, brilliant blue with hints of blush from the blooms with their white spines. Rudeness. Bluntness. And buttercups, their delicate yellow blossoms. A personal favorite and a good splash of color against all the blues and whites. Childishness. And, finally, Love-in-a-mist, or Nigella damascena, with their needle-point leaves and rich indigo petals ending in jagged points. A confession more than anything else, not that he’d know it. You puzzle me.

    In her youth, she’d gobbled up all the books on plants and herbs that she could find in her botanically obsessed uncle’s extensive library, and that included tomes on the language of flowers. The knowledge had stuck. And now more than ever, she found herself grateful.

    Eleanor plucked all the respective flowers out of their different buckets, organized by color, and set to work gathering the right amounts of each. She took a canary yellow ribbon from the ribbon pail with a flourish, flicking it in the air to get the kinks out. Grabbing a random empty vase that had once housed a beautiful but boring bouquet of a dozen roses—bought by a very frantic man in worker’s clothes and sturdy boots an hour prior, who looked like he was running quite late—she set the mass of flowers inside and set to arranging them.

    Flora, who hid a chuckle with a cough at the sight of her flowers of choice, left with a quick word to the backroom and a warning glance that burned into the back of Eleanor’s head. She tried not to fidget.

    She was wrapping the ribbon around the hunk of stems when a throat cleared from right by her side. Fuck. Eleanor started, spasming fingers losing the ability to form a bow. Fuck.

    “What’s a rich socialite like yourself doing in a flower shop in Birmingham, eh?”

    But, God, she couldn’t help but spin to face the man now. Thomas stood with his hip propped up against the table she was using, head tilted and pieces of the unshaved part of his hair near falling into his eyes. Seemed he recognized her now. He looked curious. Hungry. Up close as he was, their shoulders near brushing, she saw the hint of freckles beneath his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. It seemed even devils tanned in the sun.

    Everything about him was all graceful command, words spoken in a way that showed he expected to be answered, obeyed.

    It reminded her of his wife.

    The first time she’d ever seen Mrs. Grace Shelby, it had been at a luncheon held at The Midland Hotel, for the sake of convincing the richest of London society to donate to her cause—the Shelby Foundation, whose first action was building an orphanage in Birmingham. When her uncle, Samuel Connolly, had told her the news, alongside the fact that he’d been invited to attend a luncheon on the subject, she’d begged to be brought along.

    “If anyone would have a stake in this,” she’d said at their breakfast table, pointing at his chest with a grapefruit spoon, “it’s me, don’t you think? Let me see how genuine this is.” Sam had set his hazel eyes on hers, lips pursed, but he hadn’t disagreed.

    “You’ll have to dress up,” he’d warned, and she’d stuck out her tongue at him, taking a stab at a section of fruit.

    Eleanor remembered the way the beading of her dress weighted her down that afternoon, and how all she wanted was to be back home in a pair of trousers, lounging with a book in her lap and Fennel, Sam’s Spinone Italiano, laying on the tops of her bare feet. Keeping her warm. But the rich had an ability to do any good works as half-assed as possible, and with all of her blunt Brooklynite manners from childhood, she had sworn to dig out the truth from this Mrs. Grace Shelby even if it meant pulling out the plyers and using some old-fashioned elbow grease.

    That hadn’t been necessary.

    The waitress that escorted them both to the hotel’s largest dining room was a near-silent woman, who meekly commented on the pale jade color of Eleanor’s dress before showing them to a room with a table longer than she’d ever seen. A rich, dark-colored wood leaning near black. The napkins were a fashionable rose, the plates rimmed in gold and dotted in florals along the edges. All the candles smelled of faint vanilla and sandalwood.

    Even for Eleanor, who had spent her teen years and beyond in Sam’s by-no-means-minuscule manor and had attended many a party due to his notoriety, it was extravagant beyond measure.

    At the head of the table, not yet seated and chatting with a plastic but pretty smile on her painted lips, was a woman with honeyed hair and aristocratic, well-bred features. She radiated old wealth in a way Eleanor never could, brought into the fold far-too-late.

    (“Oh my, it’s the little orphan bastard.” One of the wives of some business mogul whispered to her friends behind a glove. They all tittered away at her remark, and Eleanor, all awkward limbs and pale pink scars at fifteen years old, sunk back into the shadows of the sitting room. Uncomfortable in her new dress. Uncomfortable in her new life. “How quaint. It seems he really did pick up a new stray, after all.”)

    Most of the night was a blur, filled with soft, exaggerated laughter and mutual back-patting. In the dining room, the lighting was dim, almost sensual despite it being only two in the afternoon. Flattering everything into a near dream-like state. At the front of the table, Mrs. Shelby had glowed. Almost an hour prior, her hand had been soft and unblemished in Eleanor’s own. Even her handshakes felt soft as silk. But when Eleanor had cornered her later in the evening over a round of drinks, her own whiskey-sour in a fine crystal glass that felt like a paperweight in her hand, she had revealed pure steel beneath the refined veneer. Eleanor could barely recall her barrage of questions now, from over a year ago.

    “What of the orphans with surviving family? Will they be entitled to visitation? And the staff—what of them? Would they be receiving proper background checks prior to their employment?” It had gone on-and-on, and Grace Shelby had answered with assurance blanketing her tone, and a blade tucked beneath her tongue, ready to wield. Her eyes steady. Demanding trust. Eleanor had, though begrudgingly, given it. And promised to have more questions the next time they met. Mrs. Shelby had seemed, almost, like she was looking forward to it.

    But, well, the second and last time she’d seen Grace Shelby. Well.

    In the present, Eleanor zeroed back in on Thomas. He was studying her.

    She knew the red of her lipstick must be smudged. That there was surely charcoal streaked on her face from using her pencils earlier in the day. That the nape of her neck was sticky with sweat, soaking the curls there.

    Still, Eleanor arched her brow at who, apparently, was the most fearsome man in Birmingham. “I used the wrong fork,” she drawled. “Perilous mistake.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah.”

    They locked eyes, and Eleanor wasn’t going to be the one to blink first. Without looking, she knotted the bow and pulled tight. “All done,” she said. She rambled off a price, perhaps one a little higher than necessary. She couldn’t help herself.

    He blinked at her before reaching into his pocket for the money, and Eleanor let out a gust of air when his eyes left her. How were they so blue? Reaching under the table for some tissue paper to wrap the bouquet in, she offered it forward, gripping it by the bottom of the stems. His own fingers grasped it above her own and tugged it out of her hand. He was oddly gentle about it. “Have a nice day, Thomas,” she told him, a clear dismissal, and he quirked a brow at her in a barely-there question. Whether it was because of the curt tone or the usage of his first name—it had just slipped out, she didn’t know why—she wasn’t sure.

    Either way, he left. And Eleanor slumped, boneless, against the countertop. What the honest fuck.

    Now, she knew better than to believe this would be the last time they saw each other.

    And true enough, they met yet again. This time at no fault of their own.

[ill-skillsgard]

Bred For Blood - Part 16 - Eye in the Sky

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *this part contains death, blood/injuries, drug use, mentions of sexual manipulation*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description:  A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: Over the months and months I’ve developed this story, a lot of it has changed. I’ve adhered to the same general storyline I originally came up with, but it’s taken on a different life. I’m realizing I fall under the “discovery writer” category more than ever. So, thank you for taking this fun journey with me as it unfolds! I appreciate all the comments and kind words <3 Let me know your thoughts as we travel toward the end of this funky little series I started forever ago.  

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Axel gaped at his wounded palm. An uneven split forced his middle and ring finger apart at a nauseating angle. The longer he stared, the more his arms trembled from the sight of his bisected tendons. Blood cascaded down his arm in swaths, more blood than he had ever spilled, collecting in sandy globs. In his horror, he almost forgot about the man bemoaning his death several feet away. Axel tried clenching a fist, but blistering agony shot through his wrist and forearm, crackling along severed nerves and stiffening his stained fingers. Disotto had been right; he’d never use his trigger-finger again.

Acid boiled in Axel’s stomach, a mixture of anger and dread. He turned to Rex writhing on the ground, assessing his wound crusted with sand and coagulating plasma. The hunter keened over Rex’s worse condition. Again, the Zeronauts failed to kill him, though his vision grew cloudy. Axel found his knife and shifted his weight off the side of the Rover, toward the man whispering prayers through bubbles of blood. When Rex caught wind of Axel’s approach, the man cowered, shielding his face with his tarry hands.

“I’m only following orders,” the slashed man shouted. “Please! If you’re gonna kill me, just do it.”

“No, I won’t put you out of your misery. I want your death to be slow and painful. Like how you left Glott back there,” said Axel.

The hunter shimmied closer, flipping his knife in his right hand to carve off an unstained strip of Rex’s cotton jersey shirt. Rex quivered as Axel wrapped the cloth around his left hand tightly. The blue material blossomed with blood, turning a deathly shade of indigo in seconds. He went for another swath of the man’s clothing, ripping the sleeve off to fold over the hole in his hand. Axel glimpsed the open wound in Rex’s side, then looked up at his wild eyes, shifting around in their sockets like a dying animal searching for an escape.

“Tell me about this Dal guy you and your buddies were talking about. Is he your leader or something? He calls the shots?” Axel asked.

Rex spat a gob of blood, laughing as it rolled down his whiskered chin. “What do you think?”

Axel held the knife under Rex’s nose. “I think you’ll die with a few more nasty cuts on your body if you don’t tell me where I can find your leader. I’ll carve you like a turkey, my man.”

“That’s the thing about us... We don’t have leaders, just as the Unity intended. There are Brights, and there’s Uns, and it’s us against them. You kill one of us, and there’s a hundred more to take our place,” Rex claimed.

“No. It’s not you against them; It’s you against the planet. The Brights are the ones saving your sorry asses. You anarchists can’t seem to understand that we need them.”

Rex’s stone-grey eyes fluttered as he took in a trembling breath. “Why do you fucking care? The Unity wanted you dead, too.”

Axel looked down at his fake teardrop. If he hadn’t been fighting in the war, would they have considered him for immunization? It was a question Axel asked himself a thousand times, and the answer was always negative. He should have died in the storms, but he hadn’t. The spores didn’t reach the ocean, and therefore, never had the chance to infect him or the small crew of abandoned soldiers sailing home.

Axel grimaced at his stained forearm. “That doesn’t mean I want to kill every brightblood I find.”

“No. But you’ll use them to protect yourself. Just like we do,” Rex said with a sticky smile.

“Fuck you. Your little band of outlaws is exactly the people they tried to eradicate. People who only see others as slaves.”

“The Brightlings you care so much about are bred for blood. Blood that we need to survive—that you need to survive. The Unity branded them like cattle for easy picking.”

Axel rose to his knees, wincing from the slash above his ankle. “That’s the thinking that’s getting you and all your merry men killed. Rapists, slave-drivers, murderers... There's no room for you on this planet.”

“What does that make you, Mister Zee?”

“Yeah, I’m a killer. And I’ll die a killer if it means getting rid of scum like you,” Axel said, spitting on Rex’s dirtied face.

A low chuckle rumbled in Rex’s esophagus, tapering off as he shut his eyes, limbs turning limp where he lay sprawled over the sand.

Axel sat for a moment to catch his breath, then crawled from body to body, checking their pockets and patting down stiff torsos for anything useful. He found a few rounds of ammunition, a half-full pack of cigarettes, a glass pipe with a burnt and bulbous end, another butane lighter, a folded piece of paper bearing his likeness and several uncut rubies. He tossed the crack pipe and kept the rest, stuffing it all into his pockets with his left arm pressed to his side.

A dry wind swept in from the South, the direction he needed to go if he could only haul himself to a stand. He sat slumped over, unlacing his boot to get a better look at his wounded ankle. The cut was deep and gushing still. He bandaged his ankle in the same way he had his hand—with the jersey cotton stripped from Rex’s shirt. After winding the dressing around his foot, it was too bulky to stuff back into his boot, so he left it behind as he crawled toward the duffle bag of papers from Glott’s lab. He emptied his pockets into the bag, then grabbed his rifle. A grisly piece of meat from the other Zeronaut’s face still clung to the butt where Axel had cracked his mouth apart. Though he couldn’t shoot acid, the weapon doubled as a club if he encountered more bounty hunters.

Stretching his right arm behind his back, he found the mushrooms he’d tucked in his pocket. In the bright afternoon light, the brown fibres glistened, white spots speckling the meaty caps atop long, feathery stems. Axel licked his lips but refrained from ingesting the mysterious fungus he found growing inside Glott’s supply closet. The last thing he needed was to poison himself. He was already sure he would die in the desert, if not from blood-loss, then from dehydration. The mushrooms were a last resort. He pocketed them again.

Axel assessed his itinerary. Although he’d sustained severe mutilation and a punctured ankle, he came away with another gun, more cigarettes and a few hundred thousand dollars' worth of stones. Axel saw no use for the rubies, but some people still valued objects more than human blood, so he kept them. It seemed unlikely he’d cross anyone who only wanted to trade, but the stones gave him a sense of comfort in case he happened upon a post.

If he was to consider what Rex said about a hundred more Zeronauts taking his place, Axel had to assume everyone was now an enemy. How many Zeronauts were there? Had they recruited more survivors, swelling their ranks while he pissed away his time in Kinderfeld? He shook his head and wobbled from dizziness. There was no more time for contemplation. Axel had to remain present.

On foot, getting back to the domes would take days, but with two of his limbs decommissioned, it would take much longer. He took all he could carry from the Rover and packed it into the duffle bag, including his last inches of water and two mystery packs of army rations. Axel scanned the horizon, took a step and cried out from the bolt of pain in his leg. Limping without a crutch was impossible, so he lowered to his knees and crawled in the direction from which his three assailants had come. They must have had a camp or a vehicle he could raid somewhere.

In the desert heat, with the duffle bag more cumbersome than ever, Axel’s lag proved difficult. Pain blazed through his leg with every bend of his knee, and his elbows supported his entire weight plus the full bag pressing on his back. He army-crawled through the sand, stopping every few shuffles to rest.

Axel made it over a steep dune before the dryness entered his lungs and sucked the moisture from his mouth. He paused for a gulp of water and grieved over how little he had left.

When he found no traces of Zeronaut vehicles, he looked back and considered returning to the Rover. Even on deflated wheels, he might get farther than what his aching body could manage.

Turning back was suicidal. Axel couldn’t waste another hour retracing the trail he left behind. It was onward or nothing.

Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids after long. The agony of using his arms to pull himself along depleted what little energy he had. Axel retired his injured appendage and used his right arm and leg to shift himself over hills and rough patches of stone.

His muscles stretched and burned as the sun beat down on his skin. The strain on his body caught up with him quickly, and he had to rest before he passed out from weariness. Axel shifted the duffle bag over his head to shield from the sun, took another sip of water and laid in the dust with his eyes closed. Every few minutes, he snapped awake, unable to doze for more than a few minutes before panic shook him.

As the sun set, Axel ripped open a foil bag and devoured the tomatoes, slimy noodles, and bits of chewy sausage swimming inside. Any other day, Axel might complain about the meal, but in his weakened haze, it tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten. Washing down the food with his last bit of water, he tossed the package and crawled several yards before a dull pain in the back of his head dizzied him again.

Frequent breaks frustrated Axel, and the emerging fog disoriented his sense of direction. Soon the night took over, and Axel shivered from the icy touch on his inflamed skin. He was burnt and filthy, head pounding while his ankle and hand throbbed without end. Though he’d eaten and drank the last remnant of water he had, a persistent thirst scratched in his throat.

“Fuck, I’m gonna die,” Axel croaked. “This will be your fucking grave, Cluney. You’re done.”

When he imagined dying with the duffle bag full of invaluable information, Axel’s heart clattered in his chest. That discovery in the hands of those who wished slavery upon the brightbloods would be disastrous. If he couldn’t make it back to Kinderfeld, he had to make sure the secret died with him. Nobody would get their hands on Zed because of his negligence, he vowed.

He scaled the sands until his body gave out. Muscles screaming in pain, Axel rolled onto his back and looked up at the night sky through a thin veil of fog.

“I’m sorry, Lea. I’m a fucking failure. Valter... Fuck. I should have been there for you. I’m such a fuck-up. Such a selfish, stupid fuck-up.”

Axel closed his eyes and let the darkness take him under.

When the sun peeked over the hills, Axel awoke, spitting dirt from his mouth as he coughed and winced from the agony living in every atom of his body. He couldn’t believe he was still alive to see another powder blue sky. However, his shoulders had seized from over-exertion, and the only movement he made was the desperate intake of air. Anguish pinned him to the ground until he summoned the strength to unzip the duffle bag and rummage around, one-armed, for a cigarette and lighter.

Axel smoked while sprawled in the sand, watching puffy clouds sail overhead. There was only an hour of mild temperature before the sun climbed higher and burned away the moisture left from the misty night.

“Why am I not dead?” Axel asked himself.

A strong wind swept sheets of dust over his latent form, blinding him until his eyes watered. If he stayed where he was, by noon, he’d be half-buried. But he could barely move to stop this from happening. He saved his energy for rolling onto his stomach to fish the mushrooms from his pocket. It took half an hour to accomplish this, and by the time he had hold of the speckled caps, he did not argue against consuming them.

He gnashed the sponge and grainy strands to a pulp, swallowed, and hoped for the best. The woody flavour reminded him of old times taking dried psilocybin mushrooms as a teenager. What effects Glott’s fungi produced remained a mystery.

Axel sighed and tried not to think about Lea and Vee. He closed his eyes, picturing simpler times and places that brought him joy until he realized there were few scraps of memory that provided him with any relief. He had left home at a young age as his parents acknowledged his brother’s accelerated development and put their focus into nurturing his intelligence instead of disciplining a boy who laughed in the face of authority. While Axel set off to take drugs and contract sexually transmitted infections that required horse pills and multiple shots in the ass to cure, his family grew tighter without him. Vee grew into a man. Then came the army and quest for structure. But there was no structure in the military either. There were routines and discipline, but no sense of permanence. It only threw him into further chaos, showing him real horrors that made his small-time forays in local crime seem like a joke.

He remembered the boat ride home, the piercing silence of a desolate group of men who’d been long abandoned, forgotten by their superiors and the world. They were throwaways, disregarded by the country who first outfitted and weaponized them. Ivar was his only anchor to life without torment, and even he had changed from the war.

The only memory that didn’t haunt him was the recent times he’d spent with Azalea. She didn’t judge him harshly—only when he deserved it—for she didn’t understand the gravity of his past transgressions. Axel would give anything to be back in their conjoined apartment, drinking acidic wine with Vee, playing board games like they were kids again.

Behind his heavy lids, Axel saw the sun break without opening his eyes. A sliver of white light grew into a crescent, a half-moon, an eyeball with no iris. It blinked, staring at his feeble body with judgment.

What are you doing lying in the sand?

“I’m dying,” Axel answered the ominous voice overhead.

So soon?

“Maybe not soon enough,” said Axel.

How boring. Zeitgeist, the famous headhunter, reduced to dirt.

“It’s been a long time coming.”

The glowing orb sighed, giving off radiation Axel could feel. A red aura, wriggling like a crown of worms, throwing off golden hailstones that burst into a fine mist.

“When I was in the Middle East, I got the feeling I’d die like this. Maybe I’m some kind of low-level prophet.”

Predicting one’s own death is hardly a show of prophecy. You’ve spent your life doing things no regular person should survive. This death... This is a lifetime of poor decisions catching up with you.

“Am I talking to myself, or am I tripping?”

Perhaps a little of both.

“Hm... At least I’ll die high out of my mind. These scientists sure make great psychedelics.”

Axel opened his eyes and gasped at the sprawling panorama of white dollops convulsing over a roiling screen of blue. The clouds came closer, and he drew a breath in through his nose, tasting the thick air as he rose his good hand to the amoebic spectacle before him. The wind curled through, skewing the shapes into fresh forms, erasing and reforming them with every gust: flowers, sailboats, insects and gaping faces.

“Wow. That’s crazy,” Axel whispered, smirking.

The sand softened and welcomed his battered limbs into a cradle of warmth. A blissful smile unfurled on his face as the clouds continued their spastic dance across the never-ending sky, showing him dreamy visions of abstract figures.

“I wish I was home. I never took Lea out to ride dirt bikes.”

Then go home, Axel. Go back to your family. Tell them what you know. Be the hero, not just the man with the best gun and biggest balls.

“But I can’t move!” Axel whined.

The ground buzzed underneath him as though each grain sprouted legs to carry him through the desolation. Millions of tiny ants worked together to haul his body across the desert as if they understood the importance of his return to Kinderfeld. He longed to scratch the itch at his back, but his arms were leaden.

“What happens if I die and they never find out about Lea?”

Then you die, and they die not long after.

“No. Don’t say that.”

You’re the one saying it.

A sinking sensation opened in Axel’s chest as his nerves responded to the numbing effect of the mushrooms. Soon, Axel was floating on a cloud, the ants falling away as his pupils expanded, and his brain’s chemistry changed.

Take her to the Maw. That’s what Glott said. Get up and go home.

“She hates me.”

She trusts you.

“I’ll die before I get there. It’s pointless.”

If there’s no point, you might as well keep crawling.

“But I’m so comfortable. Is this what dying really feels like?”

I guess you’ll find out soon enough.

Axel sighed. “Maybe it’s not so bad... Dying.”

Sure, you can die on a cloud, smiling like an idiot, while your enemies are out there looking for a way into your home to kill your brother and rape the woman you promised to protect. Or you can keep crawling.

“Y’know, for the sun, you have a dark sense of humour.”

Better get going before someone else finds you and gets their hands on those papers.

Muddled and rash from the whiplash of the mind, Axel reached back into the duffle bag, feeling around for the hand-written documents. When his fingers skated over a smooth sheet, he crumpled it and brought the loose wad to his mouth. Axel stuffed the paper between his teeth and chewed.

Through a mouthful of paper and ink, Axel giggled and reached for another sheet but found his lighter instead.

He burned the rest, chuckling as tears poured down the sides of his head.

~*~

Zed watched Ivar’s chest expand and retract while they laid together in a nest of damp sheets. Silent, she bit down on her lip as the king turned to her, an elated smile revealing all of his teeth.

“Wow,” he whispered. “That was... Wow.”

Zed flushed from the silly look he gave her. “Stop it.”

“Lea...”

“Ivar?”

The King turned on his side and pulled her close, tucking his face under her jaw. She embraced him while staring up at the billowing ceiling. She wondered what the Chrysalis looked like stripped of all its livery. Was it still as beautiful without the ornate clothing? She shook her head and fluttered her eyes, pushing away irrelevant thoughts.

“Can I be honest with you?” Ivar asked.

“I hope so,” Zed whispered, shuffling her nose into his rose-scented hair.

“I’ve had a lot of—I mean, I’m no prude, but that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Ivar drew back to peer into her in the eyes, his playful smile replaced with palpable seriousness. “I’m telling you the truth. Your body... It’s like you were made for me. You're so beautiful, I want to drape you over me forever and wear you like ear-muffs.”

“What would you know about ear-muffs, oh king of the desert?”

“Plenty.” Ivar’s smile returned. “I hale from the North. They don’t call me Viking for nothing.”

“Right,” she said.

Ivar put a little more distance between them, sensing her discomfort.

“What’s the matter? You’re okay with what happened, right?”

Zed snapped a smile over her lips. “Yes! I don’t know how many times you asked for my permission. It was only a matter of time before we...”

“Made love?”

The thermal rush of nerves returned to her cheeks. “Yes. Made love.”

“I don’t want you to regret it because I don’t. The moment you walked into this place, I swore off all other women. I only wanted you in my life. And I’m glad you pulled off whatever mischievous thing you had to get in here. Waking up to your face was heavenly.”

Zed welcomed him back into her arms. He laid his head on her chest. "I’m glad you’re not mad at me," she said. "I worried you’d send me away. But it was worth the risk."

Ivar stroked her bare skin, sighing. “It’s only for our protection.”

“But they can’t get in here. Not unless we allow them.”

Ivar stared across the room at the curtained entrance. “I don’t know anymore, Lea.”

“What do you mean?” She whispered.

“There are many hostiles out there now. More than I ever predicted.”

“How do you know this?”

“I've seen them.”

Zed’s heart plummeted, skipping a beat as a wave of dread squeezed her throat. Ivar rolled onto his back, ready to admit things to her he had told no one. Not even Axel.

“Do you remember that night I cancelled on you?”

“Yes, we were supposed to have dinner.”

I had dinner with Axel instead.

“It wasn’t because dwellers were looking for trade and shelter. It was a group of scavs looking for Zee.”

“The Zeronauts?” Zed gasped.

Ivar nodded grimly. “There’s a bounty on him—a big one. They came looking for Zee, threatening to blow up the compound if I didn’t turn him over. I said he wasn’t inside, that he’d left a while ago. At first, they didn’t believe me, but I guess I must have convinced them.”

Zed sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “What did you do?”

“I suppose my acting skills paid off. They wanted to take me up on my word, search around the village, but I refused. By then, they realized the firepower we had and backed off. I didn’t expect them to return so soon.”

“But... Axel went out there. What if they found him? What if he’s dead?”

Ivar closed his eyes before tears emerged. “I know. But what can I do? He made his own choice. He didn’t want to stay, and to be honest, Lea, I didn’t want him here either. Not after what that filthy scav said.”

Zed’s nerves flared. “Now you listen to me. What Monk said was not true! I did not have sex with Axel in that camp. And if you refuse to believe me, then... Maybe I will end up regretting what we did.”

“It’s so hard to buy that, Lea,” Ivar said.

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

He gave a discourteous snicker and rolled his eyes. “Because I know Zee. A lot better than you do.”

“You’d take the word of a total stranger over mine?”

“I wanted to reject what the scav said. But he said something that struck me. Something I couldn’t discount.”

Zed glared at him. “And what’s that?”

He scoffed, unable to produce the words until he weighed the insult on Zed’s face.

“Wanna go boing-boing on Daddy’s dick?” Ivar mocked.

The heat fizzled from her face like a hot iron in cold water. Ivar shot her a knowing glance and nodded. “See? That look tells me everything. I’ve known Zee for years. We’ve shared enough that I know all his cheeky little lines.”

“We didn’t have sex! Yes, he pretended I was his slave to protect me. We didn’t know what we were walking into. He said it was a commune, but when we arrived, the Zeronauts had already taken over. They had a dozen guns pointed at us. It scared us, Ivar. You need to trust me. If you have feelings for me, you should believe when I say I never touched Axel like that.”

“What about the night you bugged out and leapt into his arms?”

Zed lowered her voice as her heart shuddered. “He was my only friend. You and I had just met, and the stories about you... I wasn’t ready. I spent a year in the desert by myself. I’d never done drugs, never met anyone like you guys. He helped me.”

“I want to believe you, Lea.”

“Then believe me!” Her voice rang through the room. “No one ever believes me! Not you, not them, not my friends when I was taken advantage of.”

Ivar cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

Tears flowed over Zed’s cheeks as ghosts of her past breathed vexing reminders in her ear. What she read in Axel’s journal unearthed the memory she hated most and forced her to relive it in tainted colour. Now Ivar’s incredulity brought back the sting of betrayal she wished to forget.

“The first person I ever had sex with used me as a joke! He pretended to love me, and after I gave myself to him, he told everyone disgusting lies. He conned me out of my virginity. Someone who vowed I could trust him; that would protect me and make sure I was happy. I was nothing but a conquest. Bragging rights. And the worst part is... While I was being lied to, while he took my innocence, you and Axel were overseas fucking strippers! You behaved the same way that pig did! Then I finally trusted again—after you and Axel promised to keep me safe—and both of you fucked me over! Why do men only believe each other? Does what I say hold such little meaning to you?”

Ivar’s face froze.

“You are the only other person I have ever let inside me, and you’re making me regret it just like he did,” Zed cried.

“Lea—”

“Why would I lie to you? Why would Axel lie to you? He loves you like a brother, and I’ve seen how much he values his family.”

The king took her in his arms, and she rested her damp forehead on his shoulder.

“How do you know about that stuff?”

“I read Axel’s journals from the army. Vee gave them to me. He thought they might help me stop missing him.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you read in those journals, but I promise you, I’m not that man anymore, Lea. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to him. Everyone loves Zee. Any girl I liked always wanted him because he’s famous. Handsome. Funny. My jealousy got in the way.”

“You’re all those things too, Ivar. Everyone here loves you. They made you a king, for Christ’s sake!”

“Only because Zee didn’t want to lead. But I get it, and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I should have trusted you. Both of you.”

Lea sniffled, blinking against the remnants of tears, and hugged Ivar close. “We wouldn’t lie to you, Ivar.”

He smoothed his fingers down her spine, nuzzling into her braided hair and the closeness he’d almost chased away.

A quiet moment passed before Zed spoke up. “We have to search for him.”

Ivar shook his head. “No. We’re not leaving. Nobody is. Not while those scavengers are prowling. It’s too dangerous.”

“Ivar—”

“I’m serious, Lea. Nobody leaves. Zee can take care of himself.”

“It’s more than finding Axel. Everyone is scared, Ivar. We need medical equipment, doctors, something. People are dying here, too. Not just out there.”

A stubborn line appeared between Ivar’s brows. “We can hold out for a while. Supplies will come to us. There will be more dwellers at our door. We can start a trade with people who already know the outside. It’s too dangerous to send anyone, and we need all the men we can get to protect the village.”

Zed wanted to grab Ivar by the shoulders and shake and scream in his face, but they were both still too raw from the revelations they’d shared. She had to make calculated moves, one of them recognizing when to hold back. Ivar was bullheaded, but she had chipped away a layer of his mistrust. If she could convince Ivar to value her word as much as Axel’s, there was a chance of progress. Zed knew sleeping with him wouldn’t throw open the gates, but she made a bit of headway, and that was enough to settle her stomach for now.

"Fine. You're right. We should stay here and wait," Zed conceded.

The couple spent the rest of the morning tangled in the sheets. Zed did not suggest an excursion beyond the walls again, but maintained her resolve when Ivar let his feelings gush forth. He claimed to love her, but Zed suspected the king viewed his world through a romantic veil. Ivar couldn’t be in love. He didn’t know her well enough. But she let him revel in his fantasy.

She wondered if she was capable of love. With her trust in others injured and the state of the world in ruins, love seemed a burdensome child, hanging onto the ankles of a society struggling to recover. Fine to dabble in, like drink and drugs, but not a motto for advancement.

News of Axel’s bounty shocked her to the core. While Ivar pulsated between her legs, whispering words of praise and adoration against her neck, Zed stared at a distant spot on the wall, numb, hoping beyond hope her friend was still alive.

After breakfast, Ivar relinquished his grip on her, and she made her way to the lab to find Vee.

Zed entered the facility and found the gurneys empty. Confused, she searched the rest of the lab, turning up nothing, then made her way to Vee’s apartment. She rapped on the door, but nobody answered. She knocked harder, waited, then sighed and turned down the hall. The locked door to the incubation room opened, and Vee stepped out, looking surprised and relieved to see her.

“Lea! Finally. I was worrying.”

Zed noticed the whites of his eyes veined with red, the ditches beneath them dark and heavy. Light blond stubble lined his jaw and upper lip. It looked like he hadn’t slept since their last conversation.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

He shook his head, unsure of where to begin listing off the things that had gone wrong through the night.

“It’s a long, long story. And I’m starving. Do you have time to sit down?” He asked.

“Yes, of course,” Zed replied, worry rushing her tone.

Vee led the way to his apartment and held the door open for her. She took a seat on the sofa and waited for the scientist to return with a plate of dry-fried zucchini cakes. The scent wafted toward her, making her stomach growl.

“So, our patient died of his kidney failure last night. He never woke up,” Vee said before taking a bite of a cake. “I wish we had hot sauce in this place. Or salt.”

“What? Are you serious?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “We expected it. He knew it; we saw it coming. There was nothing we could do.”

Zed stared at Vee, awe-struck by his nonchalance. “What about Serena?”

“That I’m not sure. I think Sheraya took her back to the Hives to be alone.”

“What did you do with the body?” Zed asked.

“I didn’t do a thing. I was too busy dealing with the incubators we lost,” Vee supplied. “Lora had the guards remove him. She spent all night sterilizing the lab while I cleaned up after the lost specimens.”

She gasped. "What does this mean?"

"The experiments are gone—failed."

The sleep-deprived man finished a portion of his meal and offered the rest to Zed, who held her hand up in refusal.

“My work is truly lost, and the guards had to bury six children and one adult last night.”

“I don’t understand,” Zed shook her head. “How did the incubators fail?”

“Well, it’s not that they failed per se, rather we failed them. We don’t have the emulsions left to simulate amniotic fluid. Like I’ve been saying for weeks: our supplies are bone-dry. The people who built this place did not supply it with enough to bring a fetus to term, or they banked on traditional implantation, and I, for one, have no idea how to accomplish that. I studied advanced chemistry, not how to create humans from scratch. As much as I’d like to play God, I’m just a fucking scientist making do with what I have—which is nothing.”

Tragedy after tragedy, woe after woe, Zed buckled and fell against Vee, shaking and scrabbling for comfort. He set his half-empty plate aside to hold her close. The misfortune already had its chance to wrack his body, hence the dark blue crescents masking his eyes. By then, Vee was almost catatonic. The dread of telling Zed the news was part of the reason he hadn’t slept.

“I tested them though... The specimens. The mutation carries.”

Zed rolled her face on his shoulder, sopping the tears from her eyes as she pulled back with a sniffle.

“Really?”

“Yes. So, that’s some good news, right?” Vee said, lightening his expression for her comfort.

She nodded weakly. “What about the mixed-bloods?”

“One carried and one did not. Mine carried too,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Despite a positive report, Zed still couldn’t find it in herself to smile back.

“Vee, I’m so sorry about all of this. I wish there were something I could do, but I’m afraid my efforts last night yielded no results. Ivar is dead set on keeping the gates closed. And... He told me something else. Something terrible,” Zed said, picking at a cuticle as she avoided her friend’s stare.

“What now?”

“He said there’s a huge bounty out on Axel. He knew about it this whole time, and he just let him walk right into a trap.”

Vee leaned back, a flat expression on his face. He swallowed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to rest on the sofa.

“Of course there’s a bounty on him,” he sighed.

Zed continued picking at a hangnail. There was nothing of comfort she could offer, so she shifted closer to Vee and laid her head against his shoulder. Vee brought his arm around her and rested his head on hers. They stayed that way for a while, unsure of how to progress. In all the bleakness of recent times, Zed was thankful to have someone who understood the gravity of their worsening situation. Vee was the only person buoying her above the most profound depression she’d felt since losing herself in the desert.

Despite the barbed strikes against them, Zed couldn’t hold back another sombre dirge. Every shred of hope slipped from her grasp. She wanted her mother and father—someone to hear and share her sorrows and offer her guidance.

“He’s going to die out there, isn’t he?” Zed asked.

Vee squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t know, Lea. That might not be comforting, but it’s the truth. Who knows what will happen now?”

“And sleeping with Ivar got me nowhere. I feel so foolish,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I was stupid to think I could change anything.”

Though she couldn’t see it, Vee frowned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. You shouldn’t have had to resort to doing something you were uncomfortable with.”

“It was fine... Ivar was more than courteous. But I don’t think I love him. Maybe before all this, I could have, but now... He won’t open his eyes. He sees what he wants to see,” she said.

“Power can do that to men. They're blind to their surroundings. But I don’t want you thinking for that any of this is your fault or that you should have done more. You’ve done what you can. We all have. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Wait for life... Or death. It’s all the same.

“Please, I need you to at least pretend to be hopeful. I’m on the verge of a breakdown. You can’t go down with me.”

As the pair sat propped against each other, sighing and fretting in silence, the door swung open quietly, and a pair of bespectacled eyes peered into the apartment.

The thrum of Vee’s heartbeat lulled Zed’s weariness, and she placed her hand on the scientist’s chest. Locked in their embrace, Vee kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulder.

“If there’s one thing that’s brightened my horizons these last couple of months, it’s you, Lea. I’m glad Axel brought you here. It might have been the one moral decision he’s ever made,” Vee told her.

She lifted her head and nuzzled into his shoulder, smelling the remnants of cleaning solution clinging to the fabric of his shirt. “You’re so sweet, Valter. Even though I feel positively useless—”

“You are positively useless!” A voice cried out.

They snapped glances at the door, startled, and saw Lora standing there with her fists tight at her sides, shoulders hunched to her ears.

“Are you cheating on me with this brainless twit?” Lora continued.

Vee unhanded Zed and stood up, a stony expression wiping the calmness from his face. “What the hell are you doing in here, Lora?”

“I came to tell you I finished organizing all your files, but it looks like you’re too busy with the village bicycle to care!”

“First thing’s first, Lora, you and I are not together. And even if we were, Zed’s my friend, and I don’t appreciate you insulting her! This is my goddamn apartment. You can’t walk in here whenever you please!”

“Why? Because I’ll catch you sleeping with her?”

A fiery ball burst in Zed’s gut, igniting the anger that had been accumulating little by little until it shot up her throat. “What the hell is your problem, Lora? Ever since I got here, you’ve done nothing but spurn me! What did I ever do to you?”

“Are you stupid? Everyone here knows you’ve been sleeping with any man you can get your hands on. You’ve earned nothing, yet everyone treats you like you’re some kind of deity. You promised to help in the lab, but all you did was cause a rift and chase away the only person bringing in supplies. Now we’re screwed, and it’s all your fault!”

“Lora, stop!” Vee demanded.

“No! Someone has to say it! I’m tired of everyone giving her credit when I’ve done the grunt work and get zero thanks. You’re probably not even a real scientist!”

“Enough!”

Lora turned to Vee, malice puckering her lips. “I knew it’d only be a matter of time before she infected you, too. All you men are the same. An easy lay comes by, and you forget everything.”

“You’ve got a lot of shit to say for a lab assistant,” Zed hit back.

The ball of heat in her stomach threw off flares, awakening a fit of familiar anger that stiffened her muscles and set her jaw. When she stepped forward, Lora took a step back, and a heady rush of adrenaline caused her heart to pound and lips to curl into a sly smile. It was the same aggression she’d felt when the poachers attacked her in the desert, and while killing off Zeronauts after they’d forced her to strip at gunpoint. The sensation lent her fervency. She didn’t understand why the hostility fuelled her, but she embraced the burn, let it guide her actions.

“I’ve killed men three times your size. I suggest—if you like your bones intact—you shut your mouth and go back to doing what you do best: staying quiet and minding your own fucking business.”

Both Vee and Lora drew back from the heat of Zed’s threat. Scowling, Lora backed into the hallway, then turned and started away. When her footsteps faded down the hall, Vee went to Zed and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped from the sudden contact, then relaxed.

“Jesus, Zed,” he scoffed. “I know she deserved it but that was harsh.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide with remorse. “I’m not sure where that came from. I’m so tired of the accusations. Everyone thinks they know me, but they don’t!”

“It’s okay,” Vee said. “I know you. And you know you. Who cares what anyone else says? Lora’s been jealous of you since the second you walked through the lab doors. She sees every other female as a threat. Her ego is fragile.”

“Seems everyone's ego is paper-thin,” Zed muttered.

“Don’t worry about her, Zed. It’s done.”

Zed looked out into the empty hallway. Something told her the tension was only just taking form. There was a change in the air, a bitterness that permeated the domes, and she shivered, wondering what new troubles might fashion themselves in the coming days.

~*~

“Son... You alive, sonny?”

A man looked down at four sunburnt limbs—two of which crudely bandaged—jutting out from beneath a half-open duffle bag. Expecting to find a corpse under the heavy canvas, he kicked it aside and found the person alive, although for how long that life had left was a cause for concern. Though the person remained unresponsive, his blacked-out eyes roamed the sky, wide as sand dollars.

His camel sputtered as if to debate their investigative stop. He turned toward the animal, shrugged, then looked back at the gangly form upon which they stumbled.

The man aired out the flaps of his stained coat, making himself presentable as best he could.

“Can you hear me, son?”

Green-rimmed pupils dithered as a faint noise squeaked from his throat. The man in the long, thin coat retrieved a skin of water from the pack on his camel, then squatted next to the barely conscious person and poured a small measure of water between his dry, cracked lips. He swallowed, and the man in the coat smiled.

“Atta boy.”

He spied the teardrop scar on the man’s forearm, squinting at the mark to analyze its edges. It was a fake. Not unusual in these parts, but interesting to come across.

“Up for some more water?”

Another small sound drew his ear closer—something between a whimper and a syllable.  

“Ma... Ma.”

“Ma? Speak up, son.”

“Muh.”

The man in the sand-stained coat tapped his chin. “Not to worry, sonny. The good doctor is in! Say, how about we take a look at that hand there? See what we’re working with?”

“M-ma.”

“Plenty of time to look for your mama after we patch you up.”

The camel snorted and received a mildly threatening look from its owner.

“Enough out of you, Rudie. I’m the one with the oats, and I say we give this fellow a hand. You have nowhere to be anyhow, so cool it, you oversized donkey. Now, let’s get you up. Ol’ Rudie here will be your chariot, good sir. Assuming you don’t intend to use that rather vicious-looking gun on us when you come-to. But, judging by your state, I don’t think you’ll be doing much of anything for a while. You’re lucky we found you, son. Mighty lucky.”

@dreamtherapy @reinamysterio @skarswhat @mightbelindsey @sexual-rendezvous-blog @billskarsgardx @michaeliskindahot​ @tigers-pat​ @rainbowmoosie​ @tinygayfungi​ @pancake-blonde​ @bskarsgardlove92​ @sarah2057​ @ohcaptains​ @loveforbillskasgard​ @vikingsmania​ @billdreamy69​ @lordeofther1ngs​ @theredheadsbookcorner​ @1-800-imagines​ @readsalot73​ @nicolehoran-maybe​ @weirdlilwitch​ @enchantedreadersworld​ @allkundsofwrong​ @loey-bae​ @bill-istvan​ @army-crawl-andersen​ @sunshineandskarsgards​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @whoplansthese​ @evaolii​ @frappylou​ @alylanaeblack​ @billullabies​ @bohemianfortunes​ @moondustmemories​ @terry2227​ @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ @alltimesamantha​ @amelia-in-w0nderland​ @thestonerosas​ @skrsgvrd​ @sorryimviolet​ @tweakersqueaker​ @inforapound​ @eff1ngqueen​ @skrsgrd-my-boi​ @rekdreams-fandom​ @b-afterhours​ @anastasiaskarsgard​ @ainatirb-j​ @voodoo-queen​ @quiche-pocket​ @awkward-haux​ @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @originalclodmakergarden​ @skrsgardspam​ @tumblingdwntherabbithole​ @xbuckxnastyx​ @skadithegoddess​ @whiskeyxinxaxteacup​ @calumculia0​ @bethskarsgard​ @ohhoneyaaaaaaa​ @ziamhathrisen​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @bitchwelcometoparadise​ @maggiescarborough​ @anacerta​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​ @spitch0​ @grandpa-sweaters​ @mamaloser1​ @mycrimsonsparrow​

(If you would like to be tagged or have your tag removed, please let me know!)

Support me on Ko-Fi

Subscribe to my Patreon for exclusive and early access to my fics

[mavmax]

Grateful, I guess?

When: Thanksgiving 2020

Where: The Maxwell Cottage 

Warnings: Racism / Racist Remarks

Featuring: Lexa Maxwell & Isabelle Maxwell ( @isabellemaxwellxx ) 

Maverick purposely dragged on to get ready. Purposely. Every chain reaction that happened was intentional on his end and it was getting to the point where by the time Lexa had arrived to help, she could feel Maverick’s purposely sluggish intentions coming to light and frankly, it tested her patience--and Izzy’s, so he decided instead of having two sisters wanting to end him on the spot, he’d clean up his act. Just a few hours and Izzy would help him sneak out of the event and he’d be free for the rest of the evening to do whatever the fuck he wants. 

The carpool to the cottage almost seemed normal with him and his family...minus Lexa who opted to drive on her own since she had to grab a few things from her place. Maverick knew it was bullshit, she was definitely plotting her escape and since she was the oldest, it wasn’t exactly questioned. Since it was his parents’ turn to host, rather than turning their home upside down--and risk the family finding out about Victoria’s battle, they opted for the cottage in South Redondo. A 40 minute drive, but a 40 minute drive of just casual chit-chat, some laughter, and catching up. 

After helping some of the landscapers with decorating the cottage and his dad with the turkey, it was time to put on that Maxwell smile and greet his extended family. He stood tall in his clean cut cable-knit sweater, greeting his rowdy younger cousins, his boisterous uncles, his judgy, snobbish aunts, his sweet grandmother, his Navy grandfather, and of course...Benji--and some statuesque, but clearly ditzy blonde girlfriend. Which would make the night even more interesting when she introduced herself as Tiffany. How...predictable. 

Everyone was scattered throughout the cottage. The older women sat in the living room, snacking on hors d'oeuvres, the older men sat on the patio with their cigars and whiskey, the teen cousins played volleyball in the backyard, the younger cousins sat on their iPads, and the young adult cousins, where Mav and his sisters sat, sat on the second floor. There was casual chit chat behind their triumphs. Maverick had a few things to brag about, from how he was in the running to being scouted for the NBA, to his stellar grades and graduating magna cum laude...and that was when Benji chimed in with a, 

“I mean, it’s no surprise you’ve got the best grades out of all of us.” Already, that prickled Maverick’s skin. Once again, Benji was cruisin’ for a bruisin’. 

“Lexa’s grades still remain the highest out of all us here. She literally graduated as valedictorian from Stanford. I don’t even go to an Ivy League,” Maverick sighed. 

“You could’ve though. Let’s be real, Uncle Nate and Aunt Tori definitely adopted a solid genius. Kinda wish my parents had done that...maybe could’ve suckered my sibling into getting my homework done,” His cousin crudely remarked. This was followed by a bunch of “Benji, chill” or “Benji, what the fuck bro?” and clearly, Benji didn’t care about the fact that he was 

“Do you have something against me or are you just blatantly racist?” Maverick finally shot out, the warning glances exchanged between him and his sisters before his glare went back to a taken aback Benji. 

“Bro, it’s chill. I’m not--” Benji began to say when Maverick interrupted with,

“Wait guys, you smell that in the kitchen?” 

There were a few confused murmurs within the cousin group and a few shrugs but finally Benji chimes in with, “What did Aunt Tori cook?” He asked with confusion. 

“Beef,” Maverick simply said before simply tilting the cranberry ginger ale over his cousin’s head with. a shit eating grin. Benji who immediately fell over into his girlfriend, spilling wine on what definitely looked like an expensive dress. He stood there, sitting in his humilation for a few moments. There were a few loud oohs that alerted the women in front. While Lexa let out a rather loud cackle....Izzy definitely looked a bit distressed from the situation but he still smiled proudly. Benji was asking for it. 

“Bro, you’re just gonna do me like that?” Benji shouted over to Maverick and before Maverick could even get in a punch, Lexa stepped in and smiled her condescending smile, her head cocked to the side. 

“Benjamin,” She added as she shoved Tiffany to the side, grabbing Benji by his collar. “I’ve made this clear every year now since Maverick first came home, if you mess with my little brother, you won’t have to worry about just him. Let this be a warning, I have a lot of dirt on your side of the family. Mav will kick your ass, I will kick down your reputation. So, I suggest you clean up your act. When you come to California, remind yourself that your family is Liberal and not red like your daddy’s neck. Understood?” She added with the most intimidating smile. While she threatened this...there was one little detail that Benji didn’t know: the threat was already happening on Lexa’s end and Mav had seen it all. 

“Yeah, understood, redneck boyyyy!” Maverick chimed in the background with a shit eating grin. Benji could only look at the two in fear before Maverick made himself go downstairs to “grab himself another drink”, when in reality, this is where Izzy would come in to cover for him and Maverick would disappear for a little bit, at least until dinnertime. On his way down, he had to turn the corner near the study and that was when he had noticed his father on the phone. He was pacing back and forth, looking mildly distressed. He could feel his heart drop to his stomach, hoping it wasn’t news about his mother until he heard. 

“Yeah, Ha-Jun...Mav...he grew up to be a fine young man. He’s...a little rowdy, opinionated, but, he’s got a heart of gold,” Mr. Maxwell spoke. 

Ha-Jun...his Korean name, his birth name.. It had been so long since he had heard that name that it almost sounded foreign to him. Maverick tried to hide around the corner to where he could hear the conversation but not be caught by his father. 

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that you survived...I’m sorry things had to turn out this way for you and Eun-Joo,” Mav heard his father say with a sigh. It didn’t take long for him to realize who his father was talking to and that, was a slap to the face. His father--his birth father, survived. But what did he survive, was the question. 

“Sang-hoon, we have to tell Maverick. I understand this comes with risk, but our family is untouchable and you know this. No harm will come to him or my family and I’ll make sure of it, but he needs to know. This is his past, he deserves that chance,” He heard his father bargain on the phone with his birth father. The one thing he could say, was that this is why Nathaniel Maxwell was his father. While his birth father wanted to cower in fear, Nate Maxwell was fearless...much like his sisters, and his mother. 

He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he wiped them away with the back of his sweater. He wasn’t sure how to handle that information yet. Knowing that his birth father was alive but hesitated to even meet him. He didn’t understand what dangers were in or why there was a risk in the first place. All he knew, was that he’d have to face the past head on. 

And maybe then...he’d have a better understanding of where he comes from. 

[maaaaaatryoshka0325]

Arcane - Lee Know Mafia AU Part 1

Description: You accidentally get yourself involved with one of the top tier mafias in South Korea, Stray Kids. Though they all seem like the part, none of them are as cold as Lee Minho, the second in command and the best sniper in the group. And you’re coincidentally always stuck with him.

(Part2) (Part3) (Part4) (Part5) (Part6)

Arcane - Understood by few, mysterious or secret. And that’s exactly what he was. Mysterious. Understood by few, keeping so many secrets in his cold, dark eyes.

And how did you manage to get yourself in this? Just a few hours ago you were living your boring life. A 9-5 job that pays shit for the things you do and the over time you worked. Your small apartment that needed to be cleaned up because it smelt like coffee after you splashed half a cup of it on your rug but didn’t have enough time to clean it up.

Now you were looking into the eyes of the man you believed to be death. His dark eyes held no light, no emotion, nothing. Just bitter pits of darkness.

Four hours earlier:

Coffee can either be your best friend or your worst enemy. Today it’s both. On your way rushing out the door to your boring office job, you managed to spill half a cup of your (fave coffee) on the carpet. And boy was that sure to stain considering you didn’t even have enough time to clean it up.

You made it into the office at 9:00 on the dot and put your things on your desk. You had a meaning at 9:15 sharp, and today you had to work overtime, and the best part? You didn’t get paid for over time since you’re salary, not hourly. Today instead of 9-5, it was 9-8. A whole 11 hour shift, making not enough money to a boss that never appreciated anyone besides himself and the women that slept with him. You had always kept your distance from him, always having a bad feeling.

He wasn’t even the one who hired you. His assistant did. He interviewed you and hired you in the spot, telling you that because you’re an attractive view to keep your distance from the boss. It’s not like you couldn’t get another job. It was just really convenient for you.

The meeting started and you sat at the long desk, acting like you weren’t catching the glances the boss was throwing at you. It was only recently that he had noticed you, despite you being there for four months. And you didn’t see why he kept staring at YOU in particular. All of the women he slept with wore skirts much shorter than yours, and half of their tits were out with their blouses partially buttoned. You wore a simple, a little above the knee pencil skirt with a red button up that had the sleeves rolled up. It’s not like you were dressed like the other women.

The meeting was some bullshit about the sales going down after it had just peaked. Not that you really cared, whether it was going down or going up you were still paid the same amount. Paid too little to care.

After the meeting you sat at your desk. Most of your coworkers had their desks decorated to the brim with pictures and little knick knacks. Yours held simple office supplies with some things scattered here and there.

“Miss Y/N.” The boss greeted with a nod, trying to seem cool.

“Mr. Lim.” You greeted back, not taking your eyes off the screen.

It was finally 7:40 and you stretched. You started to pack your things, wanting to run out as soon as you can. You finished up your work and went to head out before you heard someone clear their throat. Mr. Lim beckoned you up the stairs and you cautiously followed. He went out onto the balcony of the big building. You felt uncomfortable, as everyone else was leaving and it was now just the two of you. You stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the river. He turned towards you and you felt even edgy about the creepy smile he flashed at you.

“I love looking over the river. It’s a beautiful view.” He said.

You nodded and agreement.

“You’re an even more beautiful one.” He said.

“Thank you.” You said lowly.

“Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll make you dinner or buy you whatever you like. Spend the night and we can go shopping tomorrow. That skirt is nice but your legs would look better in something a little more shorter.” He said with a wide grin.

“Thank you but no thank you Mr. Lim. I have to get home.” You said.

“Why? You should stay.” He said.

“I really can’t.” You said, turning to leave.

You felt his hand grab you wrist and he pulled you close to him, an angry look on his face.

“If you want this job you’ll come home with me.” He snarled at you through gritted teeth, his grip on your wrist tight.

“Mr. Lim that hurts.” You said calmly. Although your voice was calm, your mind was racing in fear.

He had you on the ground while he stood over you, his hand still tightly around your wrist. He was much bigger and stronger than you, and fear seemed to be overcoming your mind. You closed your eyes and heard a loud “bang” and felt a heavy weight on you. You opened your eyes and saw his eyes, wide open and dull. You noticed something leaking from his forehead. It was blood.

A large hole was in his head and your jaw dropped as your body began to shake. A lean figure appeared from behind the sliding door to the balcony. He had a face mask and a hat on.

“... This isn’t good.” He muttered, his voice deep.

He walked over and kicked Mr. Lim’s body off of you before bending down and looking at you. He took your chin in his hand and turned your head from side to side then let out a sigh. He spoke into a mouth piece and listened into the earpiece attached to his ear. Another, slightly taller figured appeared from the shadows. His eyes were on Mr. Lim, then on you. You backed away in fear as he leaned towards you.

“We’re bringing her with.” He said flatly.

You were about to get up and haul ass when he looked you straight into your eyes. His dark eyes held no light, no emotion. Nothing could be seen in them, and you couldn’t look away.

“If you value your life, keep your mouth shut and don’t make this difficult.” He said.

You felt the smaller male lift you and bring you into a car, blindfolding you. You sat between them as they began driving back to wherever they came from. The drive wasn’t long, maybe 20-30 minutes. But it felt like hours to you as you had no idea where you were going, who they were, or what awaited you. So many questions race through your mind. Where they going to kill you too? Why did they kill Mr. Lim? Where were they taking you?

The car suddenly stopped and turned off and it was silent.

Great. They’ve taken me to a forest to dispose of Mr. Lim and kill me.

The back door opened and you felt a hand on your arm as you were lead out of the car and up what felt like a long flight of stairs. You heard a large door open and voices. You were sat down as the voices started to talk about you.

“Whose this?” A voice asked.

“A witness to our mission.” The deep voiced man said.

“You’ve taken a witness back here with you?” The same voice asked, sounding a little irritated.

“What else were we supposed to do? Kill her?” The deep voiced man asked.

Silence filled the room and you felt yourself trembling in fear. Kill me? What did I do?

You felt a warm hand on your arm as you trembled.

“She must be terrified already and you’re all scaring her again.” A soft voice said.

“So what ARE we going to do with her? She’s seen too much.” Another voice piped up.

You felt the blind fold being untied and fell off of your eyes and you slowly looked at the men around you. There were 5 of them, the two men that had taken you stood a few feet away, and the others you’ve never seen before. The one beside you that had rubbed your arm had a young face and tall body.

“She’s got blood all over her. What, did you kill him DIRECTLY in front of her?” He asked the two.

A handsome man was seated directly across from you, and gave off the “alpha wolf” vibe. His dark eyes were on you and he seemed to be thinking.

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly.

“Y-Y/N.” You stuttered.

“So, how exactly do you know Mr. Lim Y/N?” He asked.

“I work for him. Well, worked for him.” You said.

“What kind of business did he have? What did you do?” He asked.

“We sold beauty products and contacted commercial studios to have them put on ads.” You said.

He stood up and walked over to you, softly but firmly grabbing your chin and looking into your eyes. Fear filled you as you started to tremble again.

“Hyung, shes scared.” The man beside you said.

“As she should be, Jeongin. Who said we can trust her? Who said she isn’t apart of the organization Mr. Lim is and playing stupid?” A short, muscular man asked.

“She’s not.” The deep voiced man said.

They all looked at him.

“Mr. Lim was assaulting her. If she knew what he was capable of, I’m sure she wouldn’t of tried resisting him.” He said.

The man named Chan nodded.

“I figured she wasn’t. You can tell when someone is genuinely scared.” Chan said.

“So what should we do with her Minho? You made the decision to bring her back here, you can determine her fate.” Chan said.

You looked at the cold, dead eyed man who had said nothing the whole time. His eyes bore into yours as his hand was on the gun on his belt as he stood up. You flinched back into Chan as he took a step towards you. Yeah Chan was pretty scary, but this man, Minho, was much more terrifying. Minho bent down to your height and stared into your eyes.

“Do you want to live?” He asked, his voice holding absolutely no emotion.

You slowly nodded as his eyes continued to bare yours. You couldn’t look away from his intense eyes as he stared at you.

“You can’t leave, just so you know. Either stay here with us, or die.” He said, his voice cold.

Stay here? With them? Men that murdered your psycho boss?

“So what will it be?” Chan asked.

“I-I’ll stay.” You stuttered.

Chan let a dimpled half smile on his face and rubbed your shoulder. You realized you were still cowering away from Minho and practically on Chan. You moved away and you looked away from Minho’s eyes.

“You do realize what this means, right?” Minho asked.

You looked at him in confusion and he rolled his eyes.

“You’re one of us now girl.” Jeongin said.

“.... Will I have to kill people?” You asked.

“We’ll talk more about this later, when the others return.” Chan said. “In the meantime, Jeongin, why don’t you show Y/N to an empty room? Maybe on the third floor, right wing?” He suggested.

Jeongin nodded and linked his arm with yours.

“There’s a room with a nice, girly bathroom. It’s right near my room.” He said, giving you a smile.

You felt better leaving the room where the other men were. Jeongin wasn’t scary, unlike the other ones. The deep voiced man seemed a lot nicer, if he wasn’t connected to your bosses murder.

You groaned as light suddenly hit your eyes. You opened them and saw Jeongin opening up the curtains and allowing light to pool into your room. The room was huge, a California king bed, a large wardrobe (with no clothes because ya know, you were taken randomly) a massive bathroom with the shower and tub separate, and a large vanity.

“Good morning sleepy head.” He said with a smile.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You were still in the same bloody clothes from the night before, and you were sick of it. Jeongin looked at you and frowned before going into his room and coming back in with a pair of joggers and a long sleeve sweater.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any girl clothes but at least they aren’t bloody.” He said, handing them to you.

“Thank you.” You said, taking the clothes.

“Shower and get dressed then come downstairs. The others came back.” He said.

You nodded as you went into the bathroom and ran the shower on your tired body. The warm water gave you some comfort as you washed away the only remains of your psycho boss.

You got dressed into Jeongin’s clothes and walked down the stairs, where Jeongin was waiting in the long hallway.

“Let’s hurry before they lose their patience.” He said.

You both entered the big room as the other members were seated. They sat on couches and on the arms of them. You made eye contact with Minho, his mask and hat off. He had a pretty face, you decided, despite being absolutely terrifying. Another gave you a smile and you recognized his eyes as the deep voiced man. He had an angelic face and bright eyes.

“So, this is Y/N. Minho and Felix brought her here yesterday after she witnessed the disposal of Mr. Lim. As a witness, she holds very dangerous information that can destroy us. Minho gave her the option to stay here, or to die. She chose to stay.” Chan said.

All of the members were silent as they looked at you, disapproval on just about all of their faces.

“Why should we babysit? Why didn’t you just kill her yesterday Minho?” One asked.

“Why should he have killed her? She didn’t do anything wrong Woojin.” Felix said.

“Why was she with Mr. Lim is what I want to know.” Woojin said, his eyes narrowing with distrust at you.

“I worked for him. He has- had, a company that sold beauty products and I was in charge of getting them advertised.” You said.

He stared at you before sighing.

“Her being alive is too dangerous for us.” He said, looking at Chan.

“That’s why she’s staying here Hyung.” Jeongin said.

“What if she tries to run away?” Another asked.

“We’ll find her and kill her.” Minho said coldly.

Your blood ran cold at his words. How could someone be so cruel?

“Y/N, do you accept that penalty?” Chan asked.

You nodded and bowed to them.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. But I didn’t know what Mr. Lim was up too. I’m just an office worker.” You said, your voice faltering a bit.

“Yeah she’s definitely no spy.” One said. He had a puppy dog face and a tall body.

“How do you know Seungmin?” The short muscular one asked.

“Just look at her.” Seungmin said.

The short one chuckled.

“I guess you’re right.” He said.

If you weren’t terrified right now you would’ve kicked him in his shin.

“So it’s settled. Y/N will stay here. We’ll make her useful.” Chan said.

“Useful?” You asked.

He nodded and crossed his arms, looking at you.

“Are you good at anything?” He asked.

“Uh... Office work. And I took first aid classes.” You said.

“Alright. We’ll figure something out.” Chan said.

“Uh, Hyung?” Jeongin asked.

“What?” Chan asked, looking at the younger.

“She uh... has no clothes.” Jeongin said.

“.... Right.” Chan said, standing up and smiling at Minho.

“Minho, since you allowed her to decide, you’ll be the one on babysitting duty until she’s useful. So you’ll be going out shopping for her.” He said.

“What?” Minho hissed.

The others laughed and Minho whipped around and narrowed his eyes on Felix.

“You brought her here too, YOU’RE coming with.” He said.

“Ahhh Hyung.” He groaned.

After the discussion, Jeongin gave you a tour of the large house. It was absolutely huge, a mansion. Art and sculptures lined the walls and hallways, and a few hot tubs were scattered here and there. A giant indoor pool with an open sunroom was in the back of the house.

“It’s beautiful.” You breathed.

“Yeah, we love it here. You HAVE to see the garden.” He said.

He lead you to the garden, which was huge. There was a shrub maze and a giant fountain, a large pond with huge koi not too far from it. You smiled as you saw the giant fish raise their lips to the top.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful mansion.” You said softly.

Jeongin smiled at you as you lightly poked the top of the water, causing the large fish to swim up to it and nibble at your fingers like it was the only meal they’ve gotten in days. You smiled at the large, colorful fish. Despite your situation, you felt completely calm. Jeongin knelt down beside you and stuck his finger in next to yours, giggling as the fish tickled his finger.

“Don’t take Minho’s bad attitude personally. He’s like that with everyone.” He said.

“Really? I thought he just didn’t like me.” You said.

“I don’t know if he likes you or not, it takes him a bit to get used to people.” He said.

“If he doesn’t like people so much, then why did he save me?” You asked. 

“We don’t really like when innocent people get involved or hurt, especially women or children.” He said.

“Then why did that guy say they should’ve killed me?” You asked.

“Woojin? He’s just worried about the group. He’s actually a really warm person.” He said.

“He didn’t seem so warm.” You mumbled.

Jeongin laughed and ruffled your hair.

“You’re funny Noona.” He said.

“You have no idea.” You sighed.

Jeongin got a call and answered, before turning back to you.

“Minho and Felix came back with clothes for you.” He said.

You walked into your room as Minho and Felix were standing there, shirts, leggings, and skirts were put on your bed and hung up.

“We didn’t know your style too much so we got whatever we thought would suit you.” Felix said with a smile.

You nodded as Minho handed you a dark bag and beckoned for the boys to leave. He was the last one, about to leave the room, when you gasped.

“What kind of a women do you take me for?” You gasped.

In the back was an assortment of thongs. You looked up as Minho held eye contact with you.

“Don’t act like you’re not wearing one right now.” Is all he said before he walked out of the room.

“... Touche.” You muttered. 

You couldn’t lie, they were cute, All of them had nice patterns or nicely laced solid colors. They had also grabbed you bras. How the hell did they know your bra size though?

You put your new clothes away and looked up at the ceiling. This new life was something you were going to have to get used too.

[givemebtscenarios]

Never Ever-Yugyeom(M)

Request: if your requests aren’t closed,, i have one! yugyeom smut - hard dom, degradation, hair pulling, spanking, daddy kink, makeup/angry sex, thigh riding, light choking, is that isn’t too much?? tysm bb :))

Words: 2,237

Angry words echoed throughout the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, Yugyeom. The day had started fine, cuddling all morning in bed because you didn't want to get up and move, watching movies until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore and had to take a nap, and eating takeout while trying not to drop anything on the blankets. It was what you and  Yugyeom loved to do when he had a free day and wanted to spend time with you. But everything went south when you found one of his shirts that you'd never seen before that had makeup on it while he was in the shower.

You had waited in the bedroom, hearing the water turn off and the door opened, revealing your boyfriend in nothing but a towel. Even when you were completely pissed off and seeing red, there was nothing you wanted to do more than just fuck your anger out and hear his excuses later. But, you stayed strong and stood up, holding the shirt out.

"Please, tell me what this is." you said, holding the shirt out at arms length.

"A shirt?"

"Don't get smart, Yugyeom. What is that on the shirt?"

Yugyeom walked over, taking the plaid shirt out of your hands and looking at the design of it.

"Baby, this isn't even my shirt. It's Mark's."

"It's Mark's?  Why would you have Mark's shirt? And why would it be here?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"I don't know, maybe I grabbed it by mistake? Or he left it here? There's a couple reasons as to why it would be here."

A look of confusion swept across his face as he thought, and then after came a look of disbelief.

"Wait a minute...do you think I cheated on you?"

"You come home with a shirt that has makeup on it. Why wouldn't I think that?"

Yugyeom threw the shirt onto the ground.

"I told you when we decided we were going to be together that the one thing I hated in relationships is when one person cheats on the other. Why would I turn around and do the ONE thing I said that I hated the most?!"

"I don't know, Yugyeom, but you can't expect me to stand here and believe that you didn't do anything last night when there's makeup on your fucking shirt!"

"I do expect you to believe me because I've already told you it's not my fucking shirt, y/n!"

You shook your head and turned around, going to walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway into the living room. You plopped down onto the couch and pulled your phone out. You brought up Instagram and scrolled through the explore page, seeing multiple pictures of Yugyeom and GOT7. You smiled when you saw people had posted pictures of him from the airport when he was leaving for Law of the Jungle. You had missed him so much while he was gone, but you knew he wanted to go and that he was having fun.

You came across the pictures he had posted last night from when he was out with the boys and you got a bad taste in your mouth when you noticed a girl on Yugyeom's side, a big grin spread across his face as he had his arm around her shoulders and her hand on his chest. You locked your phone and threw it onto the couch beside you, your eyes shooting up when Yugyeom walked into the room.

"Are we going to settle this or are we going to act like kids and ignore each other?" he asked.

"Nobody's acting like a kid and nobody is ignoring the other. I just want to know why you have a shirt that has makeup on it, Yugyeom! I've already seen the pictures of some girl clinging onto you as if her life depended on it!"

You saw Yugyeom's eyes go dark and he walked over to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you off the couch. You tried to snatch your arm away, but his grip was too tight.

"You think I was out fucking some girl last night? Really? You think I could actually fuck someone else, then come home and lay next to you?!" he yelled as he walked, pushing you into the bedroom, and closing the door behind him.

He turned around and pushed you against the wall, his hand snaking up the front of your body until it settled on your throat, squeezing slightly as his tongue invaded your mouth, not even bothering to ask for permission. His leg separated yours and he raised it, your core settling onto his thigh. Groans left him as he tasted your mouth, his tongue running along yours. He picked you up, your legs automatically going around his waist.

Even though you were so mad you could have punched him in the face, your need to have him on top of you outweighed it. You landed on your back, his body weight on top of you as he moved his leg in between your thighs again. You groaned as his hands went to the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down before throwing them onto the floor. He spread your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs.

"I'm gonna show you how much you mean to me and why I wouldn't do anything like that. Do you fucking understand?"

He slapped your thigh when you didn't respond and you yelled out at the sting.

"Yes! Yes, I understand."

He sat back on the heels of his feet and looked down at you. He slowly lowered the top of his body onto the bed, looking up at you as he dug his face into your pussy, not taking the time to properly tease you. This wasn't a time to tease, this was the time to show you he wasn't fucking around on you. His tongue licked at your pussy, lewd slurping noises filling the room as he sucked up all your juices, trapping your clit between his lips.

"Yugyeom!" you cried, your hands going to his hair and giving it a sharp tug.

He moaned, the vibration coursing through your body. He pushed your legs apart even more and pushed them up towards your face, leaving the perfect opening for him to suck on your pussy, moving his head back and forth as his tongue licked across your clit. Your legs started shaking, your orgasm coming up on you fast.

"Yugyeom, I'm gonna cum. Fuck, you're gonna make me cum." you moaned, looking down at him only to see his eyes boring into yours, the lust blowing his pupils.

You could see his cheeks sink with every suck he made to your clit and the sounds made your orgasm flow through you, your legs and thighs shaking and jerking as your juices covered his face, him moaning at your taste. He pulled back and moved up, kissing you to let you taste yourself. You moaned as your tongue licked over his, the crude mental image of the two of you in your brain making you want more.

He sat on the bed, pulling you over his lap, making you straddle one of his legs. You looked down to see his thigh sitting below you and you knew what he wanted you to do. You took a deep breath and watched as his hand made its way to your pussy, playing with your clit, slowly sliding one finger inside you, your head falling back at the feeling.

"Your pussy's already so wet. You want me to fuck you like a slut? Huh?" he asked, gripping your thighs and pulling your body down to him.

You gasped as your core hit his bare thigh, him only wearing underwear. The over sensitivity made you want to cower back, but the thought of him punishing you made you do what he wanted. One of his hands went behind you to your hair, threading his fingers through the strands and pulling your hair causing your head to jerk back. Your teeth caught your lip and you felt his other hand slid up your front to rest on your throat, his fingers applying pressure on each side of your neck.

"Fuck yourself on my thigh. Let me hear you moan for daddy."

Your hips moved on their own accord, your clit brushing against his skin deliciously, moans falling from your mouth as his grip on your hair tightened, pulling more before letting go and grabbing your hips, fastening your pace. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He grunted at the feeling, his hand around your throat tightening slightly. Your hips moved back and forth, leaving wetness behind on his thigh. He slapped your ass, the sound filling your ears as you moaned his name.

"Daddy, please fuck me. Please." you begged.

His lips were swollen from biting them too much and his jaw was slack from watching you get yourself off on his skin. His eyebrows were furrowed, trying his best to not hurt you too much or put too much pressure on your throat. He knew he could easily take it too far when he was this turned on, so he tried to be careful.

He flipped you over, looking down at you as he pulled his underwear down to where he could pull them off and let them join your shorts on the floor. He turned his attention back to you and grabbed his cock, sliding it up and down your slit, collecting your juices. You writhed on the bed, desperate to get him inside you. He slapped your thigh again, leaving a hand print in its wake.

"Tell daddy what his little slut wants."

"I want daddy to fuck me. I want daddy to fuck my pussy until it's sore." you moaned, looking up at him as you bit your lip.

"You want me to fuck you like a whore? Huh?" he moaned, his eyes hooded and his lip caught between his teeth.

He slammed into you, a loud groan coming from him as your heat enveloped and sucked him in. The grip on your thighs surely leaving bruises behind as he pulled back and slammed right back into you, your body moving up and down on the bed as he picked up his pace. He reached forward and ripped your shirt, either half falling to the side.

"I hope you know I'm not going easy on you. Daddy doesn't take too kindly to being accused of things."

He leaned forward, attaching his mouth to your nipple, sucking harshly as his hand groped the other, squeezing tightly as his tongue flicked across your nipple. Moans were falling from your mouth, getting louder and louder each time. Your legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him in deeper, grunts falling from his lips at the feeling of you bringing him closer to your body. He reached behind him and detached your legs from him, gripping your waist and turning you over.

He moaned as his fingers squeezed the flesh of your ass, leaving traces of his fingers in your flesh. He raised one of his hands and let it meet your ass with a loud smack, the sound ringing out through the apartment. You gripped the blankets, your knuckles turning white as you felt him hit your g spot, your back arching as you yelled out his name.

"Right there, Yugyeom, fuck!"

"Right there? Fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good." he moaned, pushing your head down into the pillow as he drilled into you, pulling your hair and making sure to hit your g spot with every thrust.

His groans turned to grunts and growls as he felt his orgasm come up on him and he reached below you, his fingers rubbing against your clit to make you cum before he did. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your juices spraying all over his cock and his fingers. Yugyeom growled from behind you, thrusting into you faster, the sight of you squirting all over him bringing him to the edge. The feeling of you clenching around him sent him over, his hips stuttering as he came inside you.

"Fuck yes, y/n." he moaned, his body rolling slowly, riding out his high.

He gave one last squeeze to your ass before he fell beside you on the bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked over at you struggling to lay flat, the aching in between your legs making a show. You could feel how swollen your pussy was, and you felt kind of happy about it. Yugyeom had never been that rough, and knowing that he could get like that would open a lot of doors. You finally managed to get onto your side, facing Yugyeom.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you, I didn't mean to." he said, looking over you.

You shrugged and looked all over his face, his eyes holding nothing but sincerity. Your thoughts were interrupted by Yugyeom's phone going off. You saw Marks name on the ID and you watched as Yugyeom answered it, putting it on speakerphone. The first thing out of his mouth had you moving closer to Yugyeom, burying your head in his chest as you covered your red face.

"Yugyeom-ah. Have you seen my yellow and black plaid shirt?"

[vamprnce]

Gatboss week day 1: Hottest/Coldest Day in Stilwater

It’s the hottest summer in Stilwater, Boss and Johnny do everything they can to cool down until certain feelings start to heat up instead.

ao3 | all fics for gatboss week on ao3 will be in different chapters in one post but will be separated on here!

“God, I think I’m fuckin’ dying.” Chris complains, airing out his tank top to cool himself from the torturous heat.

It wasn’t any news that this was the hottest summer of the year in Stilwater, the temperature clocking at a nasty 96 degrees Fahrenheit. Being a summer baby didn’t bother the Boss, he loved summer but today he didn’t like it so much.

“Shit, I know. The fuck we standin’ outside for?” Johnny complained with him, the heat seemed to make him more agitated then usual. “Well, first off, the air conditioning broke. Secondly, I thought going outside was better then melting inside, apparently I was fuckin’ wrong.” Chris laughs through his nose shaking his head. Johnny and him were standing outside the Purgatory near a wall where it was much more shady, Boss crouching down beside Johnny. “How ‘bout we, I don’t know, go to one of your cribs with AC so we don’t die from heat stroke?” Johnny said, looking down at Chris.

“Sounds good.” Chris said standing up, he starting to pull off the damped with sweat tank top over his head, after taking off his baseball cap. Johnny’s brows raised, he couldn’t help looking down at his body. It’s full of old scars and tattoos, some healed burn scars peak out on his right side plus that old stab wound under the ribs. Looking at his stomach he seen the black ink of the Third Street Saints tattoo across it, rippling muscles of flexing abs laid under it. Johnny started feeling even more hot just looking at him, somehow that’s even possible even in this heat. He darted his eyes away looking at some random buildings across from him, the dark shades helping him conceal his wandering eyes.

One thing Johnny didn’t know is Boss knew he was checking him out, making him smirk and chuckle at himself. He knew Johnny would never admit he did, though Boss wouldn’t bring it up either. This has been going on for awhile now, this some type of game of where each other would look at each other way too long – sometimes knowing and not knowing. Also being way too close to one another than usual, at times even daring to touch the other. It was a sly game, Boss thought how funny and obvious Johnny acts around him. He wonders if he’s as obvious to him, too. But sadly, this is just a game between them. Nothing serious has happened yet and neither are sure if they’re truly ready for that.

“Alright, let’s go.” Boss say, putting a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and walking towards his Vortex parked in the parking lot out front. Boss opened the driver’s side door and slid in, Johnny got in the passengers side right after. Boss automatically blasting the AC in the car, they sat there for a few minutes before starting to drive off. Driving around they both were trying to decide which crib to head to, Boss eventually started driving down south. It took less than a few minutes for him to get completely distracted all together, riding down the road he swerved to the left, right into the Freckle Bitch’s parking lot and drove into the drive thru.

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked.

“Stopping for milkshakes real quick, you want one?” Chris replied, rolling up to the speaker to order.

“Not really.���

“Ah, whatever you say.” Chris just shrugs, ordering a large chocolate milkshake. Driving up to the window and paying and receiving the shake, they just started driving around aimlessly around the Barrio’s. Sipping on the shake while driving, he reached out him arm towards Johnny shaking the cup in his face, not taking his eyes off the road. “Yo, try this. Try it.” He continued annoyingly shaking the cup in his face. “Would you quit it, I don’t want your fuckin’ shake.” Johnny said, furrowing his brows and pushing his hand away. “I’m not gonna quit it 'til you try it,” Chris laughed while still holding out his arm. “Come on, it’s good!”

Chris kept shaking the cup while chanting “try it” over and over. Johnny’s frown deepened, finally feeling irritated with his friends annoyance. “Fuckin’ hell, alright, I’ll try it! Man, you’re so annoying today.” Johnny snapped, ripping the cup out of the other man’s hand. Chris giggled at him, making Johnny just glare at him more. “Aw, don’t pretend you don’t love it.” Chris teased, touching Johnny’s cheek with his hand. “Sure.” Johnny just replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

He was about to take a sip before a thought struck him, this would technically be a indirect kiss. He grinned to himself at the thought and took a sip. Chris and him sometimes share things with each other but he can’t remember the last time he shared a drink or something where he put his lips on together. There was this warm feeling perk up in his chest thinking about it.

“Hey, don’t hog it all! Get your own, bitch.”

“Fuck off.” Johnny laughed taking more sips while making him annoyed now.

“I fucking paid for that.” Chris frowned.

“What you want me to pay you back now?” Johnny asked smirking.

“If you drink it all then yeah. Gimme my three bucks, fucker.” Chris said. Johnny just chuckled handing back the cup to him. Chris grabbed it and put it in the cup holder. “Hey, since we’re near by let’s head back to the penthouse.” Chris said, he was already driving down the road into the parking lot. Both entered the hotel, walking to the elevator they stepped in and rode up to the crib on the top floor. Walking in and downstairs, they saw there wasn’t anyone there besides the two of them, usually there were Saints and strippers everywhere partying. But today everyone’s gone and it was a great time to be alone together.

Being alone together was in fact amazing. The AC was turned all the way up, beers were cracked open and the Boss was starting to get more and more touchy. Oh it was amazing. Subtle touches here and there, but the lingering touches, on the leg when sitting and the arm, even sitting way too close to Johnny. He noticed, definitely noticed, and he liked it. Really loved the boldness in the Boss, he was playing the game again that’s been going on wonderfully. He played back, of course, also touching Chris and getting in his personal space. One point he did put his hand on his hip, really wanting to slide his hand down to feel his nice muscular thighs, he didn’t even try to be casual about that move. He wanted him to know.

Johnny was downstairs alone, Chris ran upstairs saying he was going to change clothes. Short time after he walked back down, when Johnny looked over at him his eyes went wide. The Boss stood there in front of him with a slight devious grin pulling on his lips. Boss was real bold today. He stood there practically half naked besides wearing a small swimming bottoms, almost looking like a speedo.

Johnny froze there, staring, his whole body felt hot under his clothes, even the chill air in the building can’t help cool him down. If he didn’t know better he would’ve thought he died and went to heaven. Boss’ whole body was on display and his hands ached to touch it, roam everywhere and anywhere on his body. It was honestly the first he saw Chris like this and it was phenomenal. Chris chuckled standing there, the look on his best friends face was priceless. He’s pretty sure he broke him because Johnny didn’t leave that spot for a few minutes plus he didn’t say a word. A smirk plastered on his face he walked slowly towards the indoor pool, still wanting to tease the shit outta Johnny more. “I thought I’d go into the pool for awhile.” Chris said, casualty in his tone but the teasing was thick.

His eyes were locked right on Johnny’s as he went to the pool. He eventually broke eye contact by actually dipping in the pool and it felt like a spell that was casted on Johnny was broken. He blinked his eyes and moved over towards the edge of the pool where Chris was floating. “You wanna come in?” Chris asked in a low tone, smile showing teeth. Johnny looked away from him feeling flustered. “No, I’m fine.” He grunts. “Aw, come on you baby, join me.” Chris smiled up at him, resting his arms on the edge of the pool. “I’m not even have a swimsuit,” Johnny flung out the crappiest excuse, and Chris knew it. “And I’m not a fuckin’ baby.”

He snorts through his nose. “You sure act like it,” Chris mumbles. “Come join me then if you’re not a baby.” The word “baby” was stretched out in mocking tone. Johnny stared down at him expressionless, arms crossed. “Y'know I’m just gonna pull you in.” He threatens, a toothy smirk plays on his face. “Oh yeah?” Johnny said, a brow arching up. “I’d love to see you try.”

They both knew that he was serious about what he said. Grabbing his leg he did pull him in, a big splash and a soaked gangster later, the Boss knew he was dead. All he could do is giggle as the other man fumed. “You’re paying for this.” Johnny said darkly. “Ooh, I’m so scared! I’m shaking!” Chris mocked, still laughing while pretending to cower in fear. Johnny launched at him as he laughed, both splashing and grabbing on to one another.

They wrestled in the water playfully for awhile, both laughing, until they were both holding on to each other. Calming down, they stood there bodies close and press together, both staring deep into each other eye’s. Johnny’s glasses were gone somewhere and Chris got lost staring into his brown beautiful eyes. Chris’ were like golden honey and Johnny had no clue how that was possible, they were incredible. Johnny’s hands slid up his sides as they still were in close together, Chris’ arms lazily wrapped around his neck. Chris started closing to gap between them and leaned in, lips both brushing each other. Parting his lips, Johnny felt his hot breath on his lips. His body felt so warm against his, Johnny’s hands roamed up and down his bare back also sliding down to his thighs and ass. He did grab it, not really caring anymore, it was squishy and soft and absolutely perfect. Chris snorted out a loud laugh as he grabbed his ass, it was actually pretty surprising. They end up standing there what felt like an eternity, both not moving an inch while being pressed together.

As his lips moved closer and almost planted on Johnny’s the ringing of a phone went off. Both getting startled they backed off from each other. Johnny cleared his throat and climbed out of the pool, Chris following behind. Grabbing the buzzing phone off the table he answered it. It was some annoying call about the gang shit, he loves his work and being the boss but today it was ruining his fun time that could've been. As Johnny went off the change his wet clothes he ended the call, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist and then sat at the couch. He pouted as he stared at the plasma screen, this is the first time he stepped that far with Johnny, it was amazing and left him tingling with bliss and he wasn't pleased that it was abruptly ruined.

Johnny came back down and walked in the living area, sitting next to him on the couch. Chris glanced over at him but then took a double take, Johnny was wearing one his shirts. Specifically one of his band shirts. Something warm bubbled inside him and he had to control himself to not look like a dumbass right there. He just settled with a huge dumb grin on his face instead. They sat there in comfortable silence watching tv, Chris leaned against Johnny daring to lay his head on him. Johnny smirked, resting his arm behind Chris.

[misssophiachase]

A gift for @supremeuppityone for kicking our asses in Klaroween Bingo : ) I'm sorry it took me so long, I hope you like what I've done with your prompt. It's a very loose fusion with the movie of the same name.

"She met him while robbing a stagecoach - which meant she had no time to get distracted by a pair of dimples."

Maverick

Wyoming, USA - July 1883

"I suggest you drop those reins and step down from the coach real slow," she demanded, her gun pointed squarely at the driver's chest. It wasn't an easy feat to catch a passing stagecoach but it seemed they had stopped to water the horses and Caroline decided it was the perfect time to attack.

She looked down briefly at her once pristine dress now caked in dust and god knows what else from the elements, Caroline was hoping she could get this whole ordeal over and done with so she could bathe and change. She considered herself a lady after all, not that you could tell from her current appearance.

In all of the time surveying her clothing situation the driver still hadn't moved an inch. Caroline rolled her eyes annoyed that a chauvinistic, male idiot couldn't take her seriously even with a gun trained on him. Tiring of his inaction she aimed her gun and pulled the trigger, knocking off his cowboy hat in the process.

He was shaken, so much so that he fainted from the coach without any further effort on her part. Caroline made a mental note to do that first next time. What robber bothered with conversation anyhow?

“Admirable effort, love,” the voice seemed to materialise from nowhere. Unfortunately, it was a rare accent in these parts that she knew well and was immediately annoyed she hadn’t shot him instead of the driver. 

“There’s that condescending attitude I know all too well, Mikaelson,” she growled, her gun focused on his smirking expression. Now directly in her sights, it was difficult to ignore those crimson lips but even more so those dimples that seemed to be taunting her.

Caroline shook her head determined to get those particular facial features out of her mind and focus on her current task at hand. 

“Seems I beat you to this stage coach, Forbes,” he offered, stepping from the carriage and making his way towards her gun in hand. It was difficult not to notice just how handsome he looked in that suit. “But I’m willing to share as long as you don’t shoot the driver just yet.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really like manual labour or getting my hands too dirty if necessary.” Klaus replied crisply, his eyes travelling over her dress, his meaning not lost on Caroline. 

“How about I just shoot you instead? Between you and me I’m beginning to warm to the driver, you not so much.”

“That’s not what you said last night, love.” 

Thirteen hours earlier...

Klaus Mikaelson wasn’t from here and it was fairly evident given the dubious welcome he received as he journeyed throughout the sleepy towns of Wyoming towards his final destination. 

He’d rebelled from his high society upbringing to travel from England to take advantage of the lucrative beef export trade that was thriving in the United States. Well, that’s what he told his family anyway. It was really an excuse to escape the rigid life they had mapped out for him to follow.

Klaus wasn’t one who liked to be tied down and although he expected it, it took him a few months to realise that he wasn’t cut out for the life of a rancher. The climate and conditions were foreign and so too the people who saw him as nothing more than a spoiled Englishman with few skills to offer.

But he’d always prided himself on his wit and intellect. His speed to finish a book with minimal effort, his exceptional knowledge of history and, thanks to his grandfather, an impeccable poker record and ability to read even the most unreadable of people.

It was edging close to 10pm, Klaus had been playing at the poker table in the local saloon. Generally, most of the inhabitants didn’t take him or his poker skills seriously given his origins. But that was the best part.

He was up a considerable amount, the cowboy to his left wasn’t taking it too well. Klaus kept his eyes firmly trained on his hand flickering over his gun holster ready to draw at any moment.

What he wasn’t expecting was a sharp intake of perfume and a beautiful blonde to take the empty seat to his right. Her skin was pure white, her eyes the deepest of blues and those lips a cheeky shade of pink. Not that he noticed at all.   

Klaus didn’t consider himself old fashioned but women didn’t play poker, that was how things worked here last time he checked. 

“Deal me in,” she instructed, glancing curiously at the cowboy with the itchy trigger finger. Not surprisingly he sat up straight and did as she’d asked. He no doubt thought he’d get something sweet in return.

Klaus watched as the cards were dealt swiftly, the blonde picked up her hand her expression stoic at first. It was only after she’d procured two extra cards that her nose twitched briefly. It was damn cute, first and foremost, but her biggest tell. She had a good hand and Klaus knew it. He surveyed his cards noting nothing more than a pair of sixes. 

They went around in a circle, the cowboy raising the stakes. Given the way he was tapping his left index finger on the table, Klaus knew he had nothing and was attempting to bluff his way out of trouble. He decided to do the same, his eyes resting on their newest competition. She called it and won the hand as he’d expected. 

Klaus was more entertained than anything, the cowboy not so much. Rather than draw his weapon, he berated her and her place at the table like the sore loser he was. Klaus meanwhile was intrigued. It was clear she could fight her own battles given her steely gaze, strong stance and equally sharp tongue. 

“Seems like someone has a little man complex and can’t handle losing to a woman,” she bit back, gesturing towards his groin. 

“She does have a point,” Klaus murmured. “My apologies for your shortcomings and I don’t mean those less than impressive winnings.” 

Any goodwill the cowboy had previously shown was destroyed in an instant as he drew his gun and fired. Klaus didn’t think just ducked and covered her protectively as a round of shots peppered their surroundings. 

It wasn’t an unexpected occurrence but it was inconvenient. Klaus had hoped to secure the funds needed to enter the big poker tournament on the Green River Paddle Steamer in a week’s time. 

What he hadn’t expected was for the woman he was trying to protect to push him away and pull her own gun from beneath the multiple layers of her dress and aim it squarely at the cowboy. Seems like she didn’t need him at all. 

A shot fired which landed just south of his little man syndrome which was enough to scare him away, leaving his money in his wake.  She scooped it up happily, handing him a share.

“Even if you did cower like a girl, I’ll still give you half.”

“That was actually trying to protect you,” he shot back gruffly. As much as he wanted to hate her it was far too difficult given the way she made him feel. Frustrated with a side of begrudging attraction.       

“Is it the stuck up Englishman in you?” She mused. “Because it’s kind of cute.”

“Oh really?” He smirked. 

“How about we just have a drink, don’t want your head to swell any more.” 

Present day...

“I said nothing of the kind,” she argued, thinking back to their evening together but dismissing his version given it implicated her actually feeling something. 

“You said I was cute.”

“Obviously I was delirious,” she shot back. “It wasn’t difficult given all the male egos I was trapped with under the same roof.”

Caroline Forbes didn’t need a man, she never had in the past or ever would in the future. Seeing just how badly how mother had been treated by her father first then subsequent men, Caroline had decided they were all bad news.

When her mother passed away unexpectedly, Caroline knew she needed to make the best of her own life. She’d decided the only way she could improve her existence was to try and make a better life for herself.

Caroline had shown promise in poker from a young age. That much she knew given how the saloon staff who minded her while her mother looked after clients praised her talents.    

She had always worked alone and today wasn’t any different. When he decided to ruin both her poker match and first stage coach hijacking, Caroline knew this guy was just bad news. Moreover, he just liked to rain on her parade. 

“I’m getting the impression you don’t like me very much.”

“What gave you that idea?” She scoffed. “I just need to be at Green River and you’re messing with my timeline.”

“Something we happen to have in common then,” he offered. “Seems like we have a perfectly functioning stage coach to take us there.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’m riding up front with my new driver friend, I’m sure there’s no hard feelings after that whole shooting incident.”

“That scared to be in such close proximity of me huh?” He replied, cheekily. “If you’re taking part in the poker championships I could give you some tips.”

“Like not to blink?” He was silent at first, absorbing what she was saying. “You do it if your hand is bad.”

“But how...”

“Turns out you’re not as wonderful as you think.”

“Says the girl whose nose twitches if her hand is good.” At that point they stopped bickering and just looked at each other carefully considering their options. 

“How about we make a deal then?” Caroline offered. “We exchange notes in time for the poker tournament in transit then go our separate ways?”

He’d nodded half heartedly, Caroline put it down to the fact the horses were riding on uneven ground at that moment. 

It was only when the sky darkened and Caroline found herself in the coach due to the inclimate weather that things became more clear. He’d offered the blanket immediately, Caroline not expecting such a kind gesture from a man. But his blue eyes were kind and she found herself sharing the warmth.

Morning broke, Caroline nuzzled against the nearest surface not expecting it to be his toned chest and his crimson lips so dangerously close to hers. If she moved an inch they’d be kissing. Surprisingly it didn’t bother her at all.  

“Pretty sure we’re going to be wanted across the state now,” he murmured against the bare skin of her neck. “But I’d bet on you anyday, love.”

“You just wanted me to say you were cute again, right?” She grinned, cuddling into him as close as possible.     

Maybe,” he drawled, pulling her closer and placing a chaste kiss on her temple.

“Because I’d bet on you any day too,” she murmured, finally feeling at peace even given what they might face. “But that poker match is ours to lose and you know how much I hate losing.”

[hardyimagines]

An Almost Happy Ending

—————————————————————

“I thought you loved me.“ + “So that’s it? It’s over?“ + “About the baby... it’s yours.“

Could you please do #7 #30 #35 I’m in the mood for some angest Alfie! — Anonymous

—————————————————————

Plate after plate shattered on the floor. The sound of each one smashing made you flinch each time Alfie hurled a new one. A few hit the walls, others crashed against the table. Cyril was cowering away behind the sofa in the living room and you were stood shaking in the doorway to the kitchen. “Alf-“ Another plate shattered. “Alfie, I just-“ Another. “Alfie!” Six more plates and, as you looked down, cups were broken on the floor. It was a glass infested, disaster area. You held your breath, lower lip trembling, but you bit down on it harshly to cease showing him how upset you were. “I’m not.. I’m not asking you to leave your wife, Alfie, i just came by to tell you about the baby... it’s yours.”

Another wave of frustration coursed through the man at your words. He turned on his heel to open a drawer. His shoulders were hunched as he rummaged through the opened cabinet. You weren’t sure why he was so upset. Over the last few months of this affair, he had made it very clear that you meant a lot more to him than his wife did. His wife was hardly ever around and when she was, she didn’t care to have conversations with him. You lifted your hands to your face and rubbed down your exhausted features. You glanced over your shoulder and out the window to your house. You lived right across the street.. you’d already told him about the baby, you could go now and the pair of you could talk later. Before Alfie had started throwing this tantrum, he’d been loving on you. Kissing you. Holding you. Telling you how much you meant to him. But when you told him you’d just found out you were pregnant, he’d lashed out. He didn’t wait to hear if he was the father or not. He didn’t care. If he was the dad, that fucked him over big time. If he wasn’t, that made him want to strangle whoever else had been sleeping with you. “Fucking useless, innit. You-“ He didn’t look at you. “You’re the whore, not me, right, you came over here, yeah, and you seduced me.” That wasn’t exactly true. “You fucking came over here, yeah, you did, knowing you’d wreck my fucking marriage and you- you’re not having my fucking kid.” He finally stated.

The floorboards creaked beneath you as you took a small step back and that made Alfie blindly throw the first thing his hand wrapped around. Your shrill cry filled the room, hands lifting to your cheek where the broken ring, he’d slung, hit you. Alfie looked over his shoulder at the sound, brows drawing together at the thin line of blood that marked your face. “I- I should go, I didn’t come over here to upset you, Alfie, please..” You whispered, beginning to back away from his large form as he turned to face you. The gleam in his eye was guilty, apologetic. You could see the regret wash over his face the second he saw he’d hurt you. He hadn’t had time to consider his verbal attack and how it may have impacted you, but the physical attack instantly hurt him. He practically lunged forward so he could grab ahold of you before you got to far.

A shaky gasp left your lips, one of fear and surprise. He didn’t ease up, merely pulled you close to him so he could inspect the wound. He was behaving uncharacteristically. He’d never hurt you intentionally.. you were sure of it. Your hand defensively moved to your stomach, afraid that he would play you, make you think he was forgiving you and then actually hurt you again. This was all your fault. You fucked him. He had no part in this. Alfie growled softly before hauling you into his embrace so he could cradle you. His nose skimmed your ear, eyes closing and heart racing. He felt suffocated. He didn’t want to be with his wife and yet.. he couldn’t leave her to be with you. You were still in his arms, hands dangling by your side. He’d called you a whore. He was putting the blame solely on you. “You had a part in this too, Alfie.”

The flat part of your hands pressed against his chest so you could push him back and create some distance. “This isn’t on just me.” Alfie ground his teeth together visibly before turning away from you to retreat to the table. It jiggled as he sat, shaking from the impact of his thighs hitting the sides. “I know that, yeah, I’m not fucking stupid, am I.” He grunted, eyes low and head heavy. You slowly moved toward the table, sidestepping the shattered glass that stained the floor beneath you, before lowering yourself down at his side. Eyeing him curiously, you set your hand on top of the table, fingers quietly drumming against the surface. “I didn’t come over here so you could shout at me, I just came to tell you what I found out.” Alfie rubbed his teeth together harder, trying to keep control of his anger. His eyes lifted to you, boring into your pretty, worn, sad features. He looked away when he saw the mark on your cheek again. “Right, well, you’ve told me, so get out.” His words hurt you more than any physical pain ever could. “Why are you treating me like this? Yesterday you told me you’d do anything in the world for me and now you’re the biggest ass I’ve ever met.” You stood from your seat, ready to storm out, but he grabbed ahold of your wrist and yanked you back down with an angry snarl. “Y/N.” He warned. You snatched your arm away from him, head shaking visibly. “I thought you loved me.” You cut off any sentence he might’ve been about to set free. “I thought.. I was what you wanted, Alfie.”

The words you spoke were shaky and your voice cracked with each one as your throat began to dry. You loved Alfie. He was well aware of that, but apparently, his ‘I love you too’s were empty. He leaned back in his chair, hands clasping together on the front of his stomach. “I do.” He said firmly before looking away from you. “Right, I do love you, but I love my fucking wife as well and you know what she’s been talking about doing, pet? Have you got any fucking clue?” His eyes fell to your belly. “I’m sure I can guess.” You sighed, arms folding and head tilting downward. “You’re blaming me, Alfie. This is just as much your fault as it is mine. If you didn’t want to risk the chance of having a baby, you shouldn’t have fucked me.” You stood once more and the man followed. “Oi,” he grabbed your hand and spun you once more around to face him. “that’s not what we fucking did, right, I do love you and I wasn’t fucking using you.” Your jaw popped. Alfie had never liked it when you referred to the sex you had with him as ‘fucking’, you only called it that when you were upset and it made Alfie feel like he had used you as nothing more than a toy. He hadn’t. “Okay.” You muttered simply, waiting for him to let you go.

He released your hand with reluctance before taking a small step back and observing the kitchen. It was an absolute wreck. He moved away from you to begin cleaning up and when you followed to help him out, he gave you a look of bewilderment. “Stop-“ He frowned deeply, brushing your hand away from the glass. “Get away. You don’t need to be fucking helping me. I made the fucking mess, right, I can clean it up.” He was scooping shards of glass into his hand and dumping them in the bin beside his thigh. “Do you want me to go?” You whispered, hands dropping to the front of your dress so you could grip it nervously. His eyes were low and his lips were parted. You could see that he was having an inner battle with himself. “No.” He said firmly after a few moments of silence. “But you don’t want me to stay either.” You pointed out, hands sliding to reside on your hips.

Alfie sat back on his knees before looking up at you. “Pet.” He licked his lips. “You, right, you fucking know what the right thing to do would be.” Your brow raised. “I’m not getting rid of it, Alfie. This was a risk we took and I-“ he shook his head. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.” He muttered, exasperated. “You keep it.” He nodded. “But you keep it. I don’t want it to ever know who it’s dad is. I can’t be raising a kid with my wife and then coming across the street to handle yours as well.” Your heart broke. His words split your heart directly down the middle and you felt like punching the shit out of the man. “I- I can’t do this on my own, Alfie.” He looked away. “And I can’t fucking do it with you. My first babe, right, it isn’t going to be with a neighbor I slept with, it’s meant to be with my fucking wife, innit, and I-“ you groaned. “Will you stop talking about her! Christ, Alfie! You act like you’re head over heels in love with her and you’re not! You’re pissed because you cheated and you betrayed her and karma is biting you in the fucking ass. You hardly see her, you don’t talk to her, you spend more nights at my house than you do here with her, so quit it!” Your chest was heaving and your cheeks were red. You’d never shouted at Alfie before. Ever. You had no idea of how far his anger went. What you’d seen earlier had terrified you and he wasn’t even angry. He was just upset.

Now, he was livid. He stood from his knelt position on the floor, dropping previous shards of glass back on to the ground. He was silent as he approached you and for some reason you couldn’t move. Your hands lifted defensively, ready to do your best to fight him off. Your elbows moved south to your stomach, doing your best to protect the child growing inside you, but Alfie didn’t hit you. He didn’t shout, he didn’t swear. He grabbed ahold of you firmly, but gently and when you lifted your gaze to look up at him, he drew you into his chest. His mouth lowered to press against your own and despite his moving in a frenzy, yours moved slowly, trying and failing to keep up with his pace. A strangled whimper escaped your throat and your back arched lightly when he pressed you further against him. This was how the two of you always made up over little disagreements, but why would he want to do this now. Weren’t things over between the two of you?

When his mouth traveled south to your neck, your brows drew together and your mouth fell open. “Alfie.. Alfie, hang on, I..” Your legs felt like jello and they were giving out beneath you. “Please..” you whispered breathily. He finally drew back. “Your.. your about to do exactly what got us into this mess, Alfie, and I refuse to keep letting you have me. It’s obvious you’re always going to pick your wife over me and I deserve better than that.” You whispered. The man was breathing harshly so his words came out as pants. “So that’s it? It’s over?” He whispered. Your bottom lip trembled again so you looked away. No part of you wanted to accept the fact that Alfie Solomons would never be yours. “It’s over, Alfie. You made your decision.” When you began to turn away and move toward the exit, the puppy followed you. Cyril watched his father, trailing along behind you like a wounded animal. He whined beneath his breath, knowing that if Alfie let you walk out that door, you’d never come back and his father would mope around all day. You opened the door, ignoring the sting in your chest when you felt the man’s hand skim your own. “Wait.” Alfie pleaded, though he made no movement to physically halt you. You turned slowly. “Why do we have to end things?” He studied you, hand resting on the door handle. “Because. I don’t want to be someone’s secret anymore. I want to have someone who will hold and kiss me in front of others, not take me to the bedroom and tell me I mean the world to them while they wear a ring that bounds them to someone else. I’m pregnant, Alfie. I’m having your baby and you just told me to never tell him or her who their dad is. That shows me that you aren’t the man for me.” His dark eyes were glossy from the tears that pooled in them, but none dared spill over. “Y/N..” you shook your head. “Leaving your wife and telling me you want to be with me is the only way, Alfie Solomons, that I will ever take you back.” Your hand skimmed the front of his chest, fingers tracing the buttons on his shirt as you took one last long look at the man. “I love you, Alfie.”

( ALT ENDING STARTS HERE )

His response was unheard for you turned around and made your way along his driveway. The tears that had been building up for the entirety of the conversation finally fell free when you made it across the street and into your home. You couldn’t live here though. Not for much longer. You’d have to watch his family expand. You could see the future now. You sitting in the front yard, watching your little boy or girl play with their toys in the grass as they watched their father play with his other children across the street. It would break you and it would break them. You had to get away from Camden Town. You’d go far, far away from this place. You would forget Alfie Solomons and you would raise this baby on your own. Women did it all the time, didn’t they? You were bound to be called crude things, but perhaps you could buy a wedding band, wear it on your ring finger and tell the world your husband passed away. Yes, then nobody would call you harsh names. You slammed the door to your home and twisted the noisy lock. Your new life started now. It was just you and your baby.

For an alternate, happier, ending, click here

—————————————————————

For those of you who did not enjoy this ending, I will have an alternative added soon!!! I will link it into the story as soon as I’m home, but for now you can read both endings if you want haha! If you want to be tagged in the happier ending, then comment below!!

Also I’m receiving requests for a part 2, so I may do that!

Tagged: @thatsamegirl @peakyhoegh @ihclipse @callisen @hardygal69 @centerhabit @favouritereadings @goodiesintheclosetlove @buckypetal15 @kitcatimpala67 @captstefanbrandt @meer0rauschen @crldrr

[formerprincess]

Mirror of Origin | Chapter 2

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe, Tomb Raider, Swearing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Guns, Violence, Minor Character Death, but only bad guys die I swear, Blood, Injury

Read on AO3

Notes: Something I totally forgot to mention in the first chapter, is I will be changing Povs between Liam and Theo. Don't worry, I will mark every change accordingly, so you know who is currently the one whose thoughts and impressions you're reading about.

“So, Liam, our experts were able to match Ferguson’s notes with a map of the jungle and created the perfect travel route for us,” Vera announced and Liam, who had looked out of the window of the private jet Insight owned (because of course, a mysterious organization owned a private jet) and marveled at the world beneath the plane, now got up from his seat and walked over to where she was hovering over a map. The way Vera voiced it sounded like she was going on a nice little vacation and Liam wasn’t so sure she knew what lay ahead of them. Had she forgotten what Ferguson had written in his last note? “We should start here.” Vera pointed at the map. “It’s a small village but Ferguson passed through during his expedition, he even mentions it in his early notes.”

Yeah, Liam had started there as well when he began his search for the Mirror but after what he knew now, he had taken a closer look at Ferguson’s entries and notes and decided on a different approach. He tipped his index finger on another point at the map. “No, we should start there. It’s a small jungle mission, nothing extraordinaire, but Ferguson also mentions that. I thought it was just him listing some things he had seen during his travels but now I think differently. There are quite some miles between the mission and the village, maybe something between these two places gives us a clue about where the artifact is.” “Didn’t you research all this before? I seem to remember you telling Vera you traveled to Peru before. You want to go back to places you visited before to maybe find something you didn’t find previously?” Theo asked from where he lounged in his seat and cleaned his gun.

Liam shook his head. “No. Yes. I mean…The goal of Ferguson’s expedition to Peru had not been the Mirror of Origin at first. He actually went to Peru to find the Hidden City and maybe some other artifacts as well. The Incas had such an amazing culture that alone would have been great fun to research and dig out. He didn’t believe in the stories about the Mirror until he found some reliable clues in Peru. So when I first traveled there, I paid his descriptions no mind, now I obviously think differently and I’m starting to doubt anything he wrote. The guy also didn’t really keep a diary in form of a book, most of his notes and entries are on single sheet papers and he rarely dated anything. Who says he didn’t rewrite some notes to back up his lie?” “Basically, we’re starting a brand new expedition since we act like Ferguson’s notes are non-existent?” Theo asked and raised an eyebrow. “Why, this will be an even bigger adventure than I thought and an even better victory when we finally have the mirror. To have overcome all these obstacles, it will be rewarding,” Vera chirped and Liam frowned. “Unless we die before we even get out hands on the mirror.” He usually was optimistic but he also kept the warnings made by Ferguson in the back of his mind. “Ah, shush, you’re too young to think about dying. We have a good team and good equipment and you are a brilliant archaeologist, don’t sell yourself short,” Vera calmed Liam down and patted the back of his hand. Liam ignored her as well as Theo’s scornful snort when she had called him brilliant. “Know what we should do? We should split up. One group goes to the village and starts looking there for clues, the other starts at the mission and travels through the jungle to the village. If we split up, we save time and work efficiently,” Liam suggested and Vera put a finger on her chin while she considered this. “This is a fantastic idea. Team 2 and 3 will come with me to the village, Theo and his team accompany you to the mission,” she ordered and really, that was not what Liam had wanted at all. Theo looked just as annoyed by the order as Liam and they both made a face when they glanced at each other. But since Theo didn’t even speak up he clearly followed his boss’ command. Vera had a pretty impressive hold over her mercenaries.

******                                  ~~~~~~ THEO ~~~~~~ “I don’t like this.” Theo took a drag from his cigarette and tilted his head back to let the smoke slowly flow out of his mouth again. He glanced at Donovan who sat on a rock and sharpened his knife. “Like what?” “That he has weapons. He’s not one of us.” Donovan pointed his knife in the direction of Liam who stood a few feet away and talked to a merchant. They had decided to just stay long enough in the mission to get enough provision and then start following Ferguson’s lead into the wilderness but that didn’t stop the other from having a nice little chat with the people living there. Theo usually would be annoyed but he had to admit, Liam being that friendly had given them a discount on the provision so he would tolerate it for now. Now Theo’s eyes scanned over the shotgun strapped across Liam’s back, the two pistols in the holsters left and right, the knife and he climbing ax he carried with him. That guy was almost as armed as Theo and his team and Theo really hoped he didn’t carry those around for show but really knew how to use them. They would need any firepower they could get once they were inside the wilderness. “We’re about to walk inside the jungle. What do you want him to carry? A slingshot? I’m kind of glad he carries those or else we would have to protect him. I’m not dying for this fucker.” He took another drag from his cigarette and then tossed it to the ground and stomped on it. It was still relatively early, they could make some good use of the day when they started now.

“Can we start?” Liam actually jumped when Theo spoke up which only solidified Theo’s assumption he was just great at making a show and would only cower when things went south. But then he nodded. “I’m ready to go.” Davis, one member of Theo’s team, shouldered his machine gun. “Which way to go?” “We should start over there, right after the bridge,” Theo said at the same time as Liam replied with “Behind the graveyard is a good entrance to the jungle.” Both glared at each other. If there was one thing Theo hated, it was people acting like they were in charge when they absolutely weren’t. He obviously had to set some things straight. “Listen, you spoiled sorry excuse for an explorer, Vera put me in charge. We do as I say!” “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were a specialist on Ferguson’s discoveries and his expedition route. My bad. Go on, tell us where to go. I’m sure, you already figured out the exact spot of the Mirror, right? Enlighten us.” Liam faked inquisitiveness.  Theo pressed his mouth shut because frankly? That had been on him. He knew other things, had read some things about Ferguson but then given up when the guy turned dipshit crazy, so he really had no idea where to go. He just had seen some old ruins when they arrived and that’s why he chose the direction he did. However, Liam indeed seemed to have a better knowledge of Ferguson and while Theo was sure he would get an aneurysm just admitting it, for now, he would follow the idiot’s lead. “Fine, we follow your directions!” He grabbed Liam by the arm. “But make no mistake, I’m not risking my men’s or my own life to save yours. If shit happens, we make sure we are safe and don’t care about you. You’re on your own then. I will gladly sacrifice you for our lives.” “Don’t worry, I’m aware of that. You should be aware I’ll handle it the same way. Shit goes down, I give a rat’s ass about any of you and leave you behind.” “Know what, Dunbar? That’s the first thing you said I believe without a doubt.” Theo abruptly turned around and therefore ended their stare off. Liam huffed behind him but then brushed past Theo and took over the lead while shouldering his backpack.

Their way led them through the graveyard of the mission and then right into the wilderness. They saw some birds with colorful feathers and even some turkeys. He knew the jungle was dangerous but Theo could not help but find the plants, the unruly nature almost untouched by humans, beautiful. The uneven ground made walking challenging, they had to make sure not to stumble over roots and also beware of any animal crossing their way. It didn’t take away any of the beauty.

After they walked for some time, they came to a waterfall which also seemed like a dead end. Theo had to bite back a mocking laugh when Liam glared at the water as if had personally offended him. “Wrong direction? Should have gone my way?” He taunted and Liam gave him the finger without looking at him. His fellow mercenaries roared with laughter and if Theo let Davis trip over his foot for that nobody had to know. Liam meanwhile tilted his head to the side, reminded Theo of a curious puppy while he did that, and stared up at the waterfall. And then his arm shot out moreover almost smacked Donovan in the face. “There! We have to climb.” To further prove his point he walked straight to the wall next to where the water came from and rammed his climbing ax into the stone. True to his words it stuck and Liam used it to pull himself further up. The mercenaries shared a look but then Theo shrugged. Going back to find another way around would cost them hours, he preferred the direct way, even though this was challenging. It surprised Theo how agile Dunbar seemed to be and how fast he could climb. But Theo guessed when you were the son of two archaeologists, you got trained in rock climbing since you were a young kid.

“Oh my god, this is the Monkey King.” Liam’s voice came from above. Theo raised his head but could not see the other at the moment, since he was still plastered against the wall and on his way up. Given how excited Liam sounded, he found something very interesting. After arriving at the top, Theo wondered why. He had expected some old temple or a tomb but only found a monolith in the middle of nowhere. Liam pulled at some vines and weed to uncover the stone and read what had been carved in the stone. “It tells the story of Husiy, the Monkey King. According to this, he got the name because people believed he could turn into a monkey and used it to steal from his enemies. And that part here says he came to a woman in monkey form and impregnated her.” “Hm, sex with monkeys, the old Incans knew how to party, what?” Theo muttered while he wiped his brow. The humidity of the area was probably his least favorite aspect of Peru. He enjoyed the warmth though. Better than Russia. That had been a few awful months… He now watched Liam pull his own notebook from his backpack, the one where he kept copies of Ferguson’s notes, and flip through it. His eyes wandered over the text and he pointed to the left. “Ferguson and his team passed this monolith but he barely mentions it. They continued their way down to the river. I see the river from here.” He still pointed in the left direction while he talked. Theo rolled his eyes and fetched his water bottle from his own backpack. Why did the little prince always feel the need to elaborate? They all could read and make sense of what the old man had written. That wasn’t an accomplishment and you surely didn’t even need the Ivy League for that.

“I just wonder…” Liam closed his notebook and put it in his bag again. And then he turned right and walked away from the group until he disappeared behind a few large bushes. Vera would kill all of them if something happened to the precious little boy but there was only so much Theo could do when the other strayed away from them. “If he gets eaten by an animal we tell Vera we did our best to fight the beast,” Davis suggested and Theo laughed loudly. “Deal.” They grinned at each other but then Liam called out for them. “Found something!” “Does he expects us to come running?” Donovan seemed irritated by that, Theo could not blame him. He groaned. “If he finds the mirror and we don’t help him, Vera shoots us. Come on, guys.” He pocketed his bottle again and then followed the path Liam had taken.

They found Liam in front of a wall made from yellow and black stone. The top of the wall was decorated with waves carved into the stone, only interrupted in one place by a stone gate. Liam currently tried to open the gate but failed miserably. “A little help?” He asked breathlessly when he spotted them. The other men chuckled and even went so far to mumble something about him being weak but then actually came to his aid. And together they managed to wrench the gate open.

The thing was, Theo loved exploring ancient tombs and when he now wormed his way through the gate and set eyes on the old ruins in front of them, worn down by weather and centuries, partly overgrown with plants, he felt the rush of excitement. The mission they were currently on was a great one and Theo had always enjoyed the Incan and Mayan culture, he just had kind of forgotten that over the anger of having a bratty twenty-something guy with them. He decided to ignore Liam the best he could and rather focus on his mission and unveiling past cultures.

Liam had pulled out his camera and was taking some pictures. “This is remarkable. The carvings on the wall outside are not related to the Monkey King. I don’t know what else they could be. This is close to his territory, why would somebody else even get a building here?” “Even Monkey Kings die, maybe this was for his successor or the king before him.” Theo shrugged and slowly stepped into the first chamber of the abandoned building. If he didn’t know better, he would say this was a temple. A very small temple but still a temple. Liam followed him and pointed his flashlight on the walls. He studied the paintings there and Theo saw him scrunch his nose in confusion. “Why are you here? You belong far more East. What are you doing here?” He mumbled suddenly and stepped closer to a painting showing a man in splendid robes, presenting a golden box to a female while his followers waited behind him. “This is Amaru, the Monkey King’s fierce rival. His territory was more East, I don’t get why someone made a painting of him here.” Theo didn’t really have an answer to this nor did he want to answer and instead wandered around the little hall. He paid the paintings no real attention since Liam was already all over them, and instead looked through the vases and chests gathered there. Most were empty, others still held some stones but Theo was not interested in raiding this ancient place. He wanted to find the Mirror and bring it to Vera so she knew she had made the right choice by putting him on this mission.

Upon his searches, he came across a document. His Quechuan knowledge was rusty but the longer he stared at the words, the more he remembered. “This document tells the story of two kings courting the same woman. It says something before woman but I can’t decipher it. The kings did their best to trump each other and win the woman over. One king surely was Amaru, the other seemingly the Monkey King. Now you know why there’s a painting with the guy.” Liam stepped closer to Theo so he could look at the document as well. “The thing you couldn’t decipher means family. A family of women, more than one. And the kings tried to make sure the family found one of them the most suitable.” He turned around and pointed his light to the painting with the king and the golden box again. “The woman there, that’s the same woman as in this painting.” He moved the flashlight to another painting showcasing the king arriving at a very noble looking house and being greeted by the woman from the first painting and five other women behind her.  “You think that’s the family from the document?” Theo asked.  “Would make sense, right?” It was probably the first time Liam looked at him without glare but just honest and neutral. Theo could not deny the logic. “Guess so. Then again, you have two kings, powerful men, why would they try to gain the approval of a mother and her daughters? I’m just going to assume that was the mother. What made that family so special two kings fought for them?” “That’s something we have to figure out. Maybe we’ll find more information the further we venture inside.” Liam pointed at the hallway leading from the first chamber. “Isn’t our mission to find the Mirror of Origin?” Burwell, another member of Theo’s team and rarely someone to speak, said. He had followed them inside, just like the rest of the group slowly filtered in, but stayed out of the whole looking around. Like previously stated, he wasn’t much of a talker but he had always been there when Theo needed him. “This is our big mission but since we already here might as well figure out some smaller secrets. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Liam answered and then simply left the first chamber to step further into the building. “See it that way, the more data we have and the more discoveries we make, the happier Insight will be,” Theo reminded his team and though they all grumbled, they followed Liam.

Instead of a second hall, the way led them through a corridor and given what was still standing from the walls, Theo had no trouble imagining how luxurious this must have been when it had been in use. Whoever had built this made sure Amaru felt cherished. There were colorful ornaments, adorned with beautiful stones, and murals showing various gods. “Beautiful,” Liam muttered and ran his hand over a sun made from Jade. “I think it’s kind of tacky,” Donovan complained and again Theo rolled his eyes. “Can you ever not be negative?” He fired over his shoulder and Donovan kicked the heel of his boot. “Fuck off, Raeken!” “You seriously need to chill out. All of you kind of having a problem appreciating beauty, huh?” Liam mocked them and now it was Theo’s turn to glare daggers at the back of Liam’s head. Just when they got along without fighting for a few seconds, the other reminded him how arrogant he truly was and Theo wanted to kick his ass. “How old are you?“ He questioned and Liam looked over his shoulder, a quizzical look on his face. “23, why?” “Just wondering how you managed to reach 23 without anybody shooting you.” His comrades laughed and Liam scowled at Theo once more. “Fucking asshole!” “Takes one to know one, rich boy.”

They rounded a corner and entered a hallway less decorated than the other one. In fact, there was no decoration at all on the walls and the stone ground was plain. It should have been a giveaway something was not as it should be but none of them fully realized that. Liam spun around and poked Theo’s chest with his index finger. “You’re such a menace. I rarely met anyone as annoying as you are.” Theo shrugged. “Like I care what you think of me.” Liam opened his mouth and…growled? “Geez, calm down. What are you? A wolf?” Theo mocked him but Liam shook his head. “Wasn’t me.” Another growl. When Theo paid closer attention it sounded like wheels of an old machine slowly turning after years of not having been moved. Before he even got a chance to explore this further, the whole floor opened and they all fell down.

It wasn’t a long fall but it ended rather wet with them all landing in a flooded part of the building. The water reached Theo to the middle of his waist and soaked his clothes. It was brackish water and cold since the sun never really warmed it up and it had been surrounded by stonewalls for god knows how long. Donovan frantically looked around. “Okay, no traps, just the water. Good, good.” Davis looked up. “It’s too high to climb up and the walls are too sleek.” He rubbed over the wall. “Have to find another way to get out.” “I mean, it’s just water. Not that bad, right?” Donovan decided and Theo was keen to agree. As on cue, however, they heard the wheels turning again and slowly the floor started to close above their heads again, effectively locking them in. To make things worse, water started to spray from different holes in the wall and the chamber started to flood quickly. It didn’t take long for them all to be completely drenched and the water level rose and rose.

“We have to find a way to make it stop!” Burwell roared and searched as frantically as the others for any sort of trigger on the wall to make it stop. “Amaru had a strong affinity to water. It makes sense it would be present in a building dedicated to him in any form or way,” Liam mentioned. “Oh, that you know but you don’t know how to make it stop? Fucking clever, Dunbar!” Theo barked. The water already reached half of his chest and he didn’t have any mind for history know. Liam looked at him and then took a deep breath ere he dove under.

                                 ~~~~~~ LIAM ~~~~~~ He needed to find a way out and he needed it quickly. He had expected it to be dangerous but Liam refused to die on the first day without even getting close to the Mirror of Origin. He refused to die, period. But if he had to die, he would decide on a different way to go.

It was hard to see underwater, a lot of dust and dirt had come with the additional water. Liam swam past the mercenaries, hands on the wall to find an opening. He found something on the other end of the chamber but the need to breathe became too strong before Liam could inspect it further. He swam back up and gasped for air. The chamber had filled significantly and Theo and his men were barely able to keep their heads above the water. Liam needed to act fast.

He dove under again and went straight for what he had discovered. It was an old mechanism with a broken handle. Liam didn’t need to think twice before he snatched his climbing ax from his belt and rammed it into the spot the handle once had been. It fit right in and he could use it as a lever. Putting his feet against the wall next to the mechanism, Liam used his strength to pull on it. The distorted sounds of the other guys calling out to each other and the water mixed with another grumble. Liam pulled again and a third time after that. He felt something move inside the handle and his ax sunk even deeper in. It still didn’t bring success and Liam tugged harder. His lungs burned with the need for air and he started to feel dizzy but this was their only hope.

Next to Liam two wooden flaps opened to reveal two rectangle-shaped holes and then the water was washed out of the chamber. Liam barely had time to extract his ax and surface again, then he, along with the others, was rinsed like somebody flushed an over-dimensional toilet. The undertow dragged Liam underwater again and he was tossed and spun around so often, he lost all sense of direction. The water rushed them through some chambers and underwater caves and then it finally spat the men out in a little pond. They gasped for air and crawled on land where they sputtered and frantically tried to get air in their lungs again. “Are you happy?” Donovan coughed up water. “Your little detour almost killed us!” He spoke to Liam, of course, and Liam spat out water before he answered: “How was I supposed to know something like this would happen?” “I don’t fucking care but we’re not taking any fucking detours again. From now on, we take the straight route.” “Yeah. No more crawling into any tombs or buildings we don’t need!” Theo ordered from where he laid flat on his back and tried to regain his breath. A part of Liam wanted to argue but he also knew right now that would have been foolish. Besides, those were their rules, he didn’t need to listen to them.

He looked around. “Say what you want but the detour helped us get over the river. We came from up there.” He pointed to the distance where you could see the monolith. The river flowed peacefully a few feet away. “That’s great. Next time, chose a way without almost killing us!” Theo retorted and Liam rolled his eyes. “We should rest for a while,” he then suggested. Theo glanced at his waterproof watch and shook his head. “We didn’t come nearly as far as I wanted before our first rest. We will continue our path. You may be used to taking breaks every hour or so but we don’t. Get used to that.” He got to his feet and waited for everyone else to follow his example. Liam really didn’t like him. That guy took himself far too seriously. Yet he grabbed his backpack and tightened the straps on his shoulders. “I thought after almost dying even you guys take a break. Forgive me for assuming you are human beings.” “If something like that makes you take a break, you would never survive a real battle,” Theo lectured him, another thing Liam hated. “Welcome to the jungle, kiddo. This is how it will be from now on.” “Asshole,” Liam mumbled under his breath but followed the mercenaries further into the jungle.

He stayed behind the group, a few feet back, not in the mood to be too close to them. Liam knew why he liked working alone. He didn’t have to wait for anybody and he also didn’t have to care about anybody. From experiences, Liam knew it was better if he worked alone. The few times Mason and Corey had been with him had made him so worried for his friend’s safety. He would never forgive himself if they got hurt because Liam dragged them into something. It was safer when they stayed at home where Mason could research and Corey could work his computer genius skills. Well, he only had to find the Mirror and then see how things would go from there. Maybe he would go on a trip to Egypt and try to continue his dad’s research there. Or he would venture to the North and try to find some artifacts there. Alone, naturally. 

****** It had gotten increasingly hotter during the day and walking through the jungle became more and more tiring. He cast a short look on his watch, they had been making their way through the jungle for hours now without setting sit on any other ruins. Liam sometimes stopped to check Ferguson’s notes but the guy wasn’t really helpful at all. Maybe Vera had been right with starting at the village. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a bird jumping out of a bush and then taking off in the air. Liam watched the animal soar and then he noticed how silent the jungle was around him. He stopped walking. Listened and looked around, up the trees, everywhere. “Would the little prince please move his ass?” Theo sounded fed up with Liam but this was not something Liam really cared about. Not in general, especially not right now.  “Don’t you hear that?”  He asked. “I hear nothing.” Burwell shook his head.  “That’s it. The birds stopped singing, no animal makes a sound. There’s a saying around here: If the animals become quiet, he’s near,” Liam explained.  “Who?” Donovan questioned with an angry frown. He clearly thought Liam was playing them.  “The Jaguar,” Liam stated dryly and they stared at him like he completely lost his mind. 

“You seriously believe what some uneducated peasants say?” Davis asked and walked over to Liam. “There’s no jaguar there, man. Get a grip.” To further prove his point, he even walked around and poked into the bushes with his gun.  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He might consider it a threat,” Liam warned.  “Stop fooling around! If you’re scared, fine, but I’m not! I’ve dealt with worse before. Move your ass!” Davis grabbed Liam by his arm and Liam’s fight instinct kicked in. He tore his arm away and pushed Davis.  “Don’t touch me!”

Davis snarled and then shoved Liam back with such a force he stumbled back and then lost his footing and fell flat on his ass, fall only stopped by a tree his back collided with. Liam hissed and then tried to kill the mercenary with his glare. Anger bubbled inside him and he was about to jump to his feet and tackle the guy when a shadow on the ground caught his eye. The sun peaked through the large leaves of the trees around them and it looked like...Liam gulped and slowly tilted his head to look up the tree.

And there he was, on a large branch hanging above them, stood the jaguar, pale green eyes watching them intensely, beautiful golden fur shining in the sun, and muzzle pulled back in an angry snarl. His fur around the muzzle had dried blood from feeding and his fangs were bloodied too. They were intruding in his territory and he obviously didn’t like it. 

Liam’s heart hammered inside his chest and for a moment his mind went blank. It took one wrong move and he was cat food.  “Don’t move,” he said slowly directed at Davis and lowered his head to look at the other man. “For fuck’s sake don’t move.”  He saw the rest of the group approaching from the corner of his eye, guns ready to shoot, and he really hoped that didn’t anger the predator even more.  “I’m not afraid of a stinky cat!” Davis declared and then grabbed his machine gun, ready to shoot the jaguar. Liam’s eyes widened and he wanted to scream but no words left his mouth. It was too late anyway, the hectic movement had riled the jaguar and he jumped. Before David could even pull the trigger, the jaguar was on him and bit down on his neck. Blood splashed, the man screamed and the animal roared and Liam took this to get to his feet and start running.  “RUN!” He yelled at the other three and for probably the first time they took his command without arguing and started running with him. 

How long they ran, Liam didn’t know, too agitated and too scared to check for the time. He just wanted to get away from an animal able to kill him with not much more than two large bites. His blood was pumping and his heart was still thundering inside his chest and he probably would see Davis getting killed by a jaguar in front of his inner eyes for a while now. 

They finally stopped in a shallow part of the river to catch their breath. “Where is he? Is he still around?” Liam panted and they all looked around for any sight of the jaguar but found none.  “I think he’s gone. For now. Does anybody know where we are? What’s our position?” Burwell inquired and Donovan looked at the GPS system the troops from Insight carried around.  “We strayed off from our path. The easiest way is to get back and then straight forward. Everything else would be a diversion.” That guy had to be joking! “Are you fucking serious right now?? Have you been asleep for the last minutes? We’re literally walking through a jaguar’s hunting ground! No way we can go back!” Liam yelled and he wanted to punch the bastard. He was putting their lives in danger. “We have our guns! If we stick together, the big cat doesn’t stand a chance.” “Your friend had a gun too and it didn’t help him at all!” Liam argued back, voice rising with anger.  “Any diversion will cost us hours, probably days. All because you are scared?” Donovan really seemed so dumb, he misjudged a fucking jaguar. “Being scared and being cautious is not the same thing,” Liam and Theo said at the exact same time and they shared a look.  Theo was it who broke the eye contact when he looked at his comrades again, one after the other. “We will continue this path, find a safe place to rest for the night. We all need something to eat and some rest.” “Are you for real? I didn’t think you would be that much of a pussy, Raeken,” Donovan mocked him.  “Think of me what you want, we’re not going back! Vera put me in charge, don’t forget that!” Liam watched Raeken give Donovan a hard look and though he still seemed pissed about it, Donovan didn’t object. 

The second chapter already. I'm really happy you guys liked the first chapter so much ♥ The adventure is really about to start or rather it has already started. There is far more to come and it will be really interesting to see how long Theo and Liam can go without punching each other. Stay tuned for this.

As always, tell me what you think in the comments. I'm happy to hear from you.

Love you all ♥♥

[demialwrites]

Kitty Kompanion Ch 8

Angela had you start right away. You agreed, clearly needing the distraction. You dragged your fat, pregnant self out of bed in the morning to head to the medbay. You were grumpy, but things would be probably better once you got started.

"Just keep me stocked," Angela told you after you settled your weight in your desk chair. "Stocked with coffee."

Your new job turned out to be more interesting than Angela previously told you. At first, you sorted out the appointment schedule. That was normal enough, and you could rest your feet at your desk. Then a haggard McCree walked past your desk, asking for some coffee. Begged for coffee. Just take it to him during his appointment. He didn't care.

You walked in on he and Angela having a staring contest over his smoking habit.

"Yer not gonna win this time, Angie."

"I will win."

You had an idea. You blushed, feeling this was out of character for you. But Angela might appreciate the help.

You walked over to place Angela's mug at the sink behind her. You leaned down to place it just so.

Leaned a little further.

A little more.

You squeezed your forearms together.

Your pregnancy-enhanced cleavage was staring at Jesse from across the room.

You wiggled.

He glanced at you, and Angela jumped in victory.

"Ha! Take that!" she exclaimed, pointing at him. Then she held out her hand to receive his latest pack of cigarillos.

He muttered angrily to himself and left.

"Nice job," Angela told you, impressed.

You grinned, happy to be of help.

"So, who's next?"

"Reinhardt. He's a tough one."

"Tougher than that?" you asked, referring to McCree.

You were about to learn what that meant. Reinhardt strode in proudly, proclaiming his great health.

"Strong as an ox!" And "No, she can stay. See what a real man is like!" with a wink at you.

You raised your eyebrows at that and settled onto a stool in the corner with some decaf.

Within a minute, Reinhardt was whimpering and begging the good doctor not to give him a vaccination. He scooted away and cowered when presented with the needle.

"You are going to an area infected with malaria! You have to get this or you're not going!"

Reinhardt bawled loudly next. Seemed fake to you. Angela waved you over. You dragged the stool with you and sat next to the trembling man on the exam table.

"Hold him down."

You shot her an are you kidding me frown. She nodded, Go on.

You put your palm flat against his chest, expecting him to throw your hand off.

"Damen, bitte!" he exclaimed.

"Nein," the doctor growled.

Reinhardt cried quieter under the weight of your hand but did not move. The doctor pulled up his sleeve and inserted the needle into his upper arm.

"Why would you do this to me," he begged.

"All done," she said, removing the needle and patting his arm.

"That's it?!" he gasped.

"Yup."

Reinhardt sprang up from between the both of you, back to standing like his usual, proud self.

"See? Nothing to it!" he told you.

You don't know what just happened, but Angela thanked you after. So you must have helped. You told Genji about your success at work that night over a video call on a secure channel just like he said you could.

"I can't tell you the details, because that'd be unprofessional. But it is hilarious."

"I'm glad you are doing better."

"I am!" You beamed.

"It is really hard to be away. And-and I can't make love to you...? Do you know how hard...? How hard I am right now?" He pouted at you with his lower lip stuck out and his thick eyebrows tilted sadly.

"Isn't that distracting? Why don't do you do something about it?"

That got Genji's attention. Sent his heart speeding, pumping more blood south. He took a deep breath, then said, "I have an idea."

Genji ordered you a bullet vibrator. He said you should entertain yourself with it as you pleased, and he would send you naughty pictures. You agreed.

"Okay, but you better send those pictures. This is an equal deal."

"Of course," Genji promised with a purr. "I can't wait."

The look in his dark eyes is reminiscent of when you first told him you were pregnant. He left, and this time the sting of his absence was tempered with excitement. You hung up and lay back, considering what might happen next.

Genji sent you a good morning text the next morning before work, indirectly reminding you about your deal. Excitement prickled up your arms. The image of Genji stuffing himself in a random corner mid-mission to jerk off in a desperate huff as a poor substitute for making love to you came unbidden to your mind. You inserted the vibrator before heading to work. Because honestly, you missed making love to Genji as much as he did. You needed the substitute as much as he did.

You enjoyed the dull buzz between your legs as you brewed coffee and organized the doctor's schedule.

The first orgasm hit mid-conversation with Angela. Your phone buzzed, a message from Genji. Maybe the dick pic you wanted. Only a gentle push mentally, that sent you over the edge.

"Oh. Oh, fuck," you groaned suddenly, swaying in your desk chair.

"What? Something wrong?"

"I just, umm, peed myself a little."

"That's odd. You never mentioned this problem before."

"Yeah, it's new. Mind if I just go clean up really quick?"

"Sure. Come right back. Coffee's running low."

You hurried to the bathroom. You washed the vibrator as best you could and tucked it back in. This secret little arrangement with Genji was proving to liven up your work day. The first picture was Genji's crotch with his modesty plate missing and the outline of a semi-erection tucking upwards behind the black fabric. You set the toy to low again and went back to work, waiting for more pictures.

The next picture had Genji's dick hanging out of the black fabric. The one after was from behind, showcasing his shapely ass. He held his dick down between his legs so you could see everything in one frame. You went weak, melting over in your chair onto the desk.

"Jesus Christ, Genji. How are you so good at this?" you whispered to yourself.

It turned out to be a bad combination with the current size of your bladder. It seemed to tickle your bladder through your walls, leading you to squirm in your chair and being hit with weak orgasm after weak orgasm until you ran awkwardly to the bathroom again, holding your breasts in place to keep them from swinging.

It totally killed the mood and your energy level.

Angela caught you sleeping at your desk at the time you normally took your nap. You apologized, but she sent you to bed to rest. You did get in bed, but you stayed awake to message your baby daddy.

I think I have to end our deal. I had fun, but having to pee ruined it, you sent him.

:( That is saddening news. However :) I have something that might cheer you up. ;P

Your phone lit up with a video call from him, and you answered right away.

"Hello," he said, sounding a bit distant from the call.

You smiled, happy to see the light shining in his green visor, but wishing he was there for you to reach out to and take his hand.

You wiggled your fingers in a wave. Genji waved back.

"I have something to show you..."

His hand dipped down, and he produced a small object; the same remote as the one Genji gave you.

"Oh, really?" you said, smiling and sitting up.

What a pleasant surprise. Genji looked away, concentrating on working out the plate protecting his nethers and pushed aside the black fabric on top. His chest fell with the sigh of relief from being free, and he flipped the camera around.

"It has been like that all day," he whined.

"Then take care of it. Let's see."

Genji ran his hand up his reddish, stiff erection and give the head a quick squeeze.

"Alright, but I have to be quick. They are waiting for me."

You slipped some fingers in your mouth in lieu of his cock.

"See this?" He lightly pinched the slight bulge the base of his length. "I was thinking about you, and my knot grew."

Genji tugged on his foreskin, relaxed his fist and stroked downward, pulling the skin down to show his slick cockhead.

"You know, Honey," you began.

He looked up from his dick to lock eyes with you.

"If the rumours about you are true, then can you put on a show for me?"

Genji laughed.

"They are partially true, but it has been a while since I did that."

He sat up and placed the phone down to show the nondescript safehouse bed he was lying on. He sat back on his heels with his erect cock nestled in the junction between his thigh and his pelvis.

Genji drummed his fingers on his jaw, pondering what to do. He looked around. Then he grabbed the pillow behind him. He put the pillow under his stomach. He fell forward on it, onto his forearms, giving you a view of his body from the side.

Your eyebrows shot up, and you couldn't believe he was about to fuck a pillow for your entertainment. But he arched his lower back, curving his fleshy ass up. Genji rocked his hips into the valley his cock pressed into the pillow. Purposefully and slow at first. Your surprise morphed into delight as Genji inhaled broken gasps, getting off nicely on the friction.

He full-body rocked into the pillow, moaning deeply. His cock was hard and straining. The dark pink head, shiny with precum dragged against the fabric.

He slowed temporarily to taunt you.

"This pillow is no substitute for you, but I can see you can't take your eyes off me."

You blushed and covered your mouth with your hand.

"So cute," he said.

"Hey, you're the one putting on the show here. Don't forget."

"It's good motivation," he assured you.

"You're something else," you said, shaking your head.

"What's something else...is my love for you."

You feel onto your face and groaned.

"Stoooop."

"No," he chuckled breathily, "I'm almost there."

You lifted your head and Genji was facing the camera. Genji jerked himself furiously. His fist was a blur, but he was having trouble finishing.

"It's not the same as your cunt," he growled, biting down on the last word.

"Why don't you just imagine it's me, then? Your hand."

"Okay," Genji panted.

He closed his eyes and went at it harder. His lips grew apart as he neared his climax. You were smug, because normally he was louder while buried inside your clutching heat.

But his cum did shoot up high. He opened his mouth at the last second, and the thick stream landed partially inside his lips. He coughed once, having inhaled some of the thick fluid. Then he laughed at himself.

"I forgot how that tasted." Genji gave you an open-mouthed smile. "I didn't think I could still do that."

You facepalmed, but you admitted it was a good show.

[tominicholland]

Time of Your Life

Pairing: Harry Holland x Protagonist (brief, planned), Tom Holland x Protagonist (main, planned)

Synopsis: Jacob Batalon’s youngest cousin (Protagonist) is now – as of August – 18 years old. At the nearly-ripe age of 17, she accompanied her cousin to the Spider-Man: Homecoming premiere where she grows acquainted with the younger crowd of the star-studded cast and – most importantly – piques the interest of two Holland boys, Harry (who’s the same age) and Tom (who’s three years her senior).

Author’s Note: TOM HOLLAND AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD FINALLY MAKE THEIR WAY INTO THIS STORY WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO. In other news, this is kind of lengthy because it goes into a whole story about the protagonist’s school crush, Jake, and how much of an ass he is and how the Holy Trinity helps her forget the douche, and yeah. Such excitement!1!!!!! If you like stories about girls getting over fuckbois, read this!!!!! 

Trigger Warnings: Protagonist has somewhat of a breakdown, there’s mentions of suicide but they’re brief (not even central to the plot) 

Word Count: 2,992 

Part I // Part II //Part III: The Holy Trinities   In which the protagonist learns of the two holiest trinities out there: Intellectualism, False Hope, and Loneliness; Tom Holland, Jacob Batalon and Harrison Osterfield. 

My role in student government (ASB) was plain and simple as the Attorney General. Like the Attorney General of the United States, I basically represent the ASB in conflicts and preside over the “legal” aspects of clubs, such as the drafting of their charters and other procedural duties. Each day I’d be allowed to leave Study Period fifteen minutes early to assume my position at the front desk of the Student Government office and consume my lunch before parents, staff and students came barging in with worthless questions and futile threats. Study Period was with Vicky, Sam, Imani and Carlos in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class that day, and we noticed that he was unusually irked with us. Normally, he’d pull up a sixth chair whenever First Period classes served as Study Period homeroom and openly prattle on with his favourite students, but that he didn’t seem quite in the mood. Neither did I, after Third Period, in between.

I’d already had a whole block period – two hours – of the four of my friends jabbering about how, technically, if the premiere was going to supplant my prom experience, Harry Holland could be my “date,” and I’d grown sick of it. On top of that, during Third Period AP Calculus, I’d dozed off after the sugar in the Slurpee wore on me. Jake was in the class with me and, just like in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class, he sat across the room from me. Instead of ignoring me, his chair was perfectly positioned to give him a spectacular view of my drool dripping onto my textbook and the scaly calculator imprint on my cheek when I finally woke up from that glorious slumber.

Jake had somewhat of a laugh and a smirk and a snigger, with dark coiffure of John F. Kennedy, Jr. volume. His lips were thin and his eyebrows the polar opposite, but somehow the lines of hair above his eyes remained symmetrical and tame. When he turned to the side, his profile was perfectly chiselled – his jaw and cheekbones formed a perfect triangle-like dip when he would suck his cheeks in, and his nose was big but not too big. And he had light brown skin, the perfect mixture of his father’s and mother’s. It was miraculous that this was what my mental capacities generated with a lack of sleep, and even more of a blessing that Jake was laughing more to himself that to his friends who were perplexed by rotations problems.

This reel of Jake’s amusement from my struggle to stay awake replayed and replayed in my head as I was fighting my anxiety to saunter towards Mr. Rosenblatt. Jake sat in the chair closest to his desk and the wall, so he had a perfect view of Mr. Rosenblatt on his desktop and anyone who came up to ask him questions.

As I approached Mr. Rosenblatt I saw Jake’s head perk up a little. His phony attentiveness became clear as his eyes skimmed lines of Shakespeare and averted to me. The brown circles rested on the left corners of his eyes as his smirk curled on the right side of his mouth. Indubitable eavesdropping done by the prettiest boy in school, and it was on my conversation.

I cleared my throat: “Mr. Rosenblatt?”

“Yes, Ms. Maja,” he scrunched up his nose like a little mole rat. Mr. Rosenblatt kind of looked like one but no one scrutinized his looks because we all knew he had breast cancer, and for our class, he’d missed the most days for chemotherapy. It fell under some cardinal sin to give him shit because he was dying.  

“I just wanted to ask if I could go to the ASB right now instead of later,” I prefaced. “I finished part of the CRQ’s in class but I wasn’t feeling well in calculus –”

Jake deadass cackled.

“Uhm, Jake?” Mr. Rosenblatt inquired. “Do you have anything to contribute to this bilateral conversation?”

“I’ll make it trilateral by letting you know that Maja did indeed fall into a deep slumber in calculus and I watched it from an admirer’s distance,” Jake’s charmingly apprised our teacher and caused Mr. Rosenblatt to chuckle along with him.

“Well, if that’s the case Ms. Maja, I’ll let you go to the ASB. It must be quieter there,” Mr. Rosenblatt was right. Everyone was still in Study Period and no parents, staff nor students could pester those in the office until lunch.

I felt all heat escape from my face as I turned a pale colour and dragged myself back to my seat to get my things. I reached for my backpack as Vicky asked, “Hey, where are you going?” 

“The ASB,” I said. I yanked my bag from the back of my chair and tossed it over my shoulder. My right hand shoved the door open when she exclaimed that all of them would join me; I used my foot as a door prop and said in a stern tone, “No. I’m gonna take a nap in the beanbag in the back office. I can’t talk.” I didn’t even have to fake being tired. A yawn escaped me at the perfect time.

“Oh… ok,” she said, taken aback. Somehow she and the others couldn’t put two and two together, that I was stressed above all things about this even though it was a month away, and if I really thought about it, it a few weeks away, and if I really, really, really wanted to torture myself, I’d realize that it was three school weeks away, right after exams.

Study Period was only about thirty-five minutes, so I had twenty minutes of napping time in total. Ideally I’d use the fifteen minutes to gather lunch, but seeing as I’d stopped by 7-11 earlier I bought myself some Hot Cheetos and a Caesar Salad to serve for my afternoon meal. I did, however, trot to the vending machine outside the office to get a blue Gatorade.

When I came back I popped my salad open and ripped the chip bag and dug in. The bell rang and I heard all the eager underclassmen literally racing each other to the lunch lines. I rolled my eyes and disturbed the desktop in front of me, launched Google Chrome and opened Twitter, hoping to find some interesting articles.  

The door swung open after a good ten minutes, while I was enjoying a New Yorker article by Jia Tolentino, who disparaged some book by Ivanka Trump. Lo and behold, it was Jake; lo and behold, I was stupid and almost choked on my salad.

“Oooh,” he teased. “Just the Attorney General I wanted to see.”

“I’m the only Attorney General,” I sassed.

“I know, I know,” he knew then that he’d be more circumspect in his statements. “I’m in the same AP Government class with you in Preston’s room. I gotta know how this shit works, right?”

He slammed his hands on the counter in front of me, stood on the tips of his toes and peered down at my screen. “God, you’re such a nerd,” he poked. “Always reading some dumb shit that’s not so dumb.”

He let the balls of feet drop back to the ground, placed his elbows on the counter, crossed them, and then let his chin rest on the formative lump of his hands. Jake was a south paw and his left hand overlapped his right. Always.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help you with?” I questioned.

“Yeah,” he had that smirk again, which oozed of a sort of brazenness and insolence that made me cower behind my laptop. “I want to take Sami to Prom.”

Everything by my eyes were completely frozen, and they gave him an icy glare.  

“Not your Sam,” this was a gratuitous reply. “Sami the soccer player.” I

 knew her – she was just as tall as I was (5’8), a bit more fit than I was (she was a tri-sport athlete, I merely did swim), was blonde (I could never compete there), and popular.

“And?” I’d no idea why he needed to tell me this.

“I just felt like I needed to tell you,” he teased.

Contrary to the strong woman I believed to myself to be in that moment, I was on the verge of tears. This was kind of brutal.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he went back on the tip of his toes again and looked at me over the screen. This time he was sterner and his rosy cheeks of douchebaggery faded into the pallor of a self-aware asshole. “I was just shitting around. Don’t cry. This is like sophomore year all over again when I sat next to you. I don’t want to get in trouble with the ASB Dean for making the Attorney General cry so just.. j-just..” he started laughing to himself again, as one would laugh in a surreal situation.

I swiveled farther away from him. Thank god for swivel chairs.

“Look, I’m trying not to be an asshole here, okay? I’ve been meaning to tell you this since last week. I figured Sam’d already told you because she was right behind me when I said it –”

My nostrils flared and my pupils shrank.

“Yeah, I know she knew and I know you know. I was only entertaining the thought of asking you, even went so far and thinking what it’d be like to have you as a date. You can fill in the rest. But I didn’t not ask you because I was judging your friends. I didn’t ask you because I don’t want to be the asshole who leads you on.”

As intense and painful as this moment was for me, I did my best to relive it just to clarify to myself that there was no yelling, no melodrama. Jake said this to me in hushed tones in a span of ten minutes and left.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Fifth period AP Chem was just god-awful. Carlos was there with me and I didn’t feel like filling him in on Jake or letting him copy my quiz on poly-atomic ions, so I walked up to the front of the class while our teacher, Ms. Romualdez, was lecturing and moaned to her about how I had to go to the nurse. I was a depressed, sobbing mess and needed to go home no matter what. She understood, and all twelve other kids in the class understood in respectful silence. And even though I was annoyed with him, Carlos was gracious enough to walk me to the front office, where Nurse Kelly was.

Nurse Kelly was the most neglectful nurse to ever make a cameo in my life. She dutifully attended to students who had more tangible sicknesses, but when a mentally distraught child came in, she was notorious for simply calling their parents and asking if they were stable enough to walk home. Granted, though she wasn’t a therapist or psychologist, she could have at least done more to help people who were sick of high school, as most people should for the sake of the youth. However, on this specific day, I wasn’t having it. I needed her sloppy caretaking to get me a pass off the premises of Hell and back into my bed. And she happily obliged.

When I got home, my mom was so concerned about me. She cupped my face in her hands and screamed at me, “Don’t tell me you tried to kill yourself, please, not like that one girl we read about when you were in middle school!” “Phoebe King? What? Mom, mom no!” I ripped myself from her grip and started marching up the stairs. “Mom, just leave me alone, I started crying because I didn’t get any sleep last night and I don’t understand Chemistry and equivocation in Macbeth!” I was already in my room when I screamed this last part: “I’M SO STUPID I HAVE TO USE NO FEAR SHAKESPEARE ON SPARKNOTES BECAUSE I HATE THE FOOTNOTES!”

My face sank into my pillow and my body relaxed as I fell into an effortless nap – a nap where you can’t forge an entire plotline in your dreams and can only remember the climax of whatever your soul told you mind to project. I felt like I was enjoying it until my phone rang. It was a Facetime video call from Jacob.

“Hey, Cuz, he greeted me. His face was at the center of the screen and I could tell he was looking down at his phone. I didn’t think he was at his house because I didn’t recognize the color and texture of the ceiling. “How ya doing? Tita (Aunt) told me that you had a shitty day.”

“Oh yeah,” I rolled my eyes and sniffled a little. I saw my face in the little screen thing and saw that my eyes were ridiculously puffy and red. “I just told her I had a shit time at school.”

“Hey, man you know me, I dropped out of college and now you’re our only hope. Ya gotta become a doctor or something,” he joked, “because if anyone had a brain like yours and didn’t do anything with it, that’d be a waste.”

I smiled. Jacob always lifted me up when I felt like I wasn’t enough for the world academically, so he had a bunch of canned pep talks that would get me to cheer up no matter how incompatible they were with the situation I was in. My self-deprecation was, to Jacob, the root of all evil, so everything could be cured if he tried to talk that down. I had to stop him here, though, because this wasn’t an academic struggle or an inadequacy. I felt heartbroken because of a boy.

“It’s not because of school being hard or anything, it’s just that Jake pulled an asshole move on me today,” and so I went through the motions of everything, with Jacob barely making any interjections like “daaaaaammmmnnn” like he does in interviews. He’s an all-around attentive person.

“So it’s because you’re too smart for him,” this wasn’t a question he was asking, it was a fact.

“I guess. If you want to put it that way. He made fun of me from the get-go about me being bookish. Always thought I was an undercover college student,” I chuckled and sniffled at the same time. “But like, I feel like I’m experiencing the Holy Trinity that all the nerd girls go through in high school: intellectualism, false hope and loneliness.”

“Aw,” I heard a voice say from the background.

“Wait – am I on speaker?” I asked.

“Uhhhhh….” Jacob was collecting details to build a story as to why we weren’t talking in confidence.

“Kuya (brother, older male cousin)!” I screamed. “Who is that?”

“Listen, Maja, I’m so sorry but my Beats ran out of battery and your mom really pressed me to call you, and you know you’re like a sister to me and I thought you tried pulling some weird shit in school so I called you and –” Jacob’s phone was snatched from his hand. It flipped onto the faces of two white guys – one shirtless with a killer jaw and brown eyes and the other in a black v-neck shirt, blond hair and powdery blue eyes.

“Hey, Maja,” the one on the right with the blond hair greeted me with an awkward wave. He had a deep voice that rung out in an English accent, and he pronounced my name with the stress in the first syllable: “Maaw-huh.”

“Hey,” the other one waved shyly.

“This is Harrison, but you can call me Haz,” the blond one smiled.

“And I’m Tom, and you can call me Tom,” he laughed lightly at his joke before he realized the gravity of the situation as Jacob walked into the shot from behind them.

Jacob placed his arms around Tom and Haz and sighed. “You said you experienced the ‘Holy Trinity’ of high school, but we’re the Holy Trinity from Spider-Man and we’re here for you.”

“Yeah,” Harrison – I mean Haz – added. “We hope you don’t mind that Jacob’s been talking to us about you, and all that’s been happening regarding your attendance at the premiere.”

“But – but we didn’t know about all this stuff about this other Jake until now, darling” Tom interrupted. “That wasn’t at all expected and we’re sorry. Jake’s Beats did die and we were in the hotel room with him and we can’t go out because there’s a mob of fans trying to take a peek at the Spider-Man suit –”

“Shut up, Tom, she doesn’t want to hear this!” Haz exclaimed.

Tom. As in Tom Holland.

Harrison. As in Harrison Osterfield.

Spider-Man and his lovely assistant were joining forces with my cousin to cheer me up.

“Well, the point is, darling, is that we’re excited to finally meet you at the premiere and we’re going to do our best to make sure you have a damn good time that you can rub in that arsehole Jake’s face.”

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded along. “And Tom, you can cuss, you know.” Tom looked quizzically at Jacob.

“It’s just weird hearing you say ‘arse.’ You’re not a euphemistic kind of guy in hotel rooms, usually,” Jacob giggled.

“Jacob, I’m talking to a lady. More importantly, your little cousin,” Tom explained.

After a few awkward exchanges of excitement and anticipation, we ended the video chat (well, I did, because Tom had the phone in his hands and didn’t know how to end the call).

“Dammit, how do I turn it off?” he yelled as Jacob, Haz and I laughed.

“Bye!” I waved at the camera and hit the red button. Back to my home screen. All I could think about was how stupid I was for not screenshotting the video call for proof that I’d spoken with Tom and Haz.

[judasbeast]

Apotheca: Business

@skwilliam (i hope this tagged you tumblr’s doin some weird shit.)

here is my fic thing I wrote for my favorite 20′s style queen, Apotheca. it also includes my own oc. pls take it i’m so t i r e d

 It was a cold night in Gotham, and the good doctors stood in front of the Iceberg Lounge. Apotheca stood with her head held high, her red ‘business’ lipstick painted brightly on her lips. She absently played with the pearls on her necklace. Her beloved husband stood next to her, dressed in a simple brown coat and khakis. They appeared to be waiting on someone. Jon checked his watch every so often.

 "Where’s the child we never had?“ He asked. Apotheca giggled behind a delicate hand. "Late as usual, I assume. We’ll just have to begin the party without her.” The doctor adjusted the brim of her white cloche hat. Before she could open the door, Jon took hold of her hands and pulled her closer.

  “A moment, darling.” He said, giving her a kiss. It was their tradition to give each other a kiss before she conducted business, a good luck gesture if you will; but let’s be real, they’d kiss each other anywhere, anytime, good luck or not.

“Knock 'em dead, my love.”

“Only if necessary, dear.”

   And with that, they opened the door and stepped inside. One could always hear the click of her heels before you saw her coming. Jonathan, always her faithful shadow, stayed behind her during these deals, as they were known to get a bit… messy. They reached a table with three, clean cut men in suits, talking over wine and steaks. Apotheca set her sequined handbag on the table and went to take off her lavish, white fur coat. She stopped when her husband helped her out of it instead and hung it on the back of her chair.

  “Thank you, Jon.” She smiled and curled a finger under his chin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It left a lipstick stain, but he didn’t notice nor did he care. They lingered in the moment before taking their seats. An empty chair was to Apotheca’s left.

  “We waiting on someone else?” The man who seemed to be the boss asked. “Oh, yes my friend should be arriving shortly, but we can start without her. She won’t mind.” She said, crossing her legs. A nervous looking waitress came by and took her order, just wine and a whiskey for her husband. Their… Friend would bring her own sugary, caffeinated drink. Most of these deals began with small talk and pleasantries, just to be civil before the real difficulties began.

 They were hardly ten minutes into their chat before the doors busted open and the pungent perfume of gasoline and sewer hit the company like a tidal wave. The disgusting smelling person at the door stopped to flirt with the nervous waitress before weaving her way through tables and chairs, stealing a woman’s wine glass, and plopping at the chair next to Apotheca. Loudly propping their grimy boots on the table, she downed the glass of wine in one go.

 "Sup, suits, how we doin’ tonight? Sorry for the fashionable lateness, my date with Jonesy caused me to lose track'a the time.“ She said, slamming the wine glass on the table and wiping her mouth with the back of her grimy hand. Apotheca grinned politely at her associates, patting her friend’s knee. The men looked at one another before gray haired man on the right pointed his steak knife at the kid. "You bring children to your business deals now?” He asked.

 "Razor is much older than she looks. Besides, she always been such a help when things go south.“ The doctor lovingly ruffled Razor’s greasy red mohawk.

 "S'Right.” She said, looking proud of herself as she cracked open a rather large Red Bull. Apotheca swirled the wine in her glass, and Jon lit a cigarette. They let the moment sink in before the doctor cleared her throat.

 "I think that’ll be enough idle chat.“ She said, suddenly switching gears. Her posture changed and she sat up straighter. "Now, Vincent, let’s discuss your affairs. You’ve gotten yourself in quite an economical pickle. I’m afraid I’ll have to stop the supply of pain pills and other such luxuries until I get my money. And that’ll include interest.” She said, sipping her wine.

  Vincent sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I told ya, Doctor, I don’t have it. I’ve been trying to collect, but business is tanking. I barely have enough to pay my employers.” He griped. Apotheca grinned again.

 "And yet you seem to have plenty for expensive booze and fancy dinners. And those lovely suits, must be Italian, am I correct?“ She asked, her eyes looking for traces of lies on their faces. Apotheca had sent Razor and few of her employees to spy on this particular mob family, so she knew plenty about where there money was going. Razor pulled out a knife and jabbed it in the bread basket, getting two rolls on a knife and eating them shish-ka-bob style. She winked and flicked her tongue at the nervous boy to Vincent’s left. He blushed darkly and tried to eat his steak without looking at Razor too much.

  "W-well we’ve also been trying to pay off other bosses, y'know. We’ll have your money next month, I promise.” Vincent was really trying to cover his ass now. Apotheca tsked and opened her handbag, pulling out a small notebook. “Now let’s look at numbers. See, you’ve been promising to pay me since November, and it is January now. I’ve been ever so generous and patient with you since you pay pretty well for my products, but I’m afraid if you don’t pay now, then we’ll take our business elsewhere. So pardon my French, but at this point in the game, your promises don’t mean shit.” She snapped the notebook. A vein began to pop in Vincent’s forehead.

 "Are you calling me cheap, you sorry, conniving-“ he wasn’t given a chance to finish when Jon jumped to his feet and Razor attempted to lunge over the table at him. Apotheca caught her husband by the crook of his elbow and Razor by her patched vest. "Now, now, sweets, let’s not cause a scene. I’m sure Vincent didn’t mean what he was about to say, now did he?” She asked, her voice leveled but hinting that if she were to let go of her people, it was going to get violent. Vincent cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Not at all.”

 Apotheca rested her chin in one hand, keeping the other on her lap. “Wonderful. Now back to your payment, I want my money by tonight. I will accept it no later. Cash only, I will not take checks.” In the early days, she learned never, ever use or accept checks. They were easily traceable and besides, what bank would take checks from mob bosses?

 "And I’m telling you, I. Don’t. Have it. End of story. I can have it to you by February.“ Vincent waved his hand dismissively. That made her blood boil, but she kept a cool smile on her face. "Oh, dear. I suppose February will have to do, won’t it?” She asked, feigning defeat with a hefty sigh. Jon smiled, he knew exactly what was coming next. Razor tried to muffle her giggle. Before Vincent could say another word, Apotheca reached under the table and pulled out her handgun, hitting Vincent point blank in the head and his gray haired partner in the chest. The boy to his left, with black, curly hair and hardly out of teen hood, had covered his face and cowered in his chair. Jon was on him in seconds, a syringe of fear toxin at his neck with his thumb on the plunger. Razor came up behind him, grabbing some hair and poising her knife like she meant to scalp the poor boy. Apotheca stood, the beads on her sumptuous black dress swaying as she walked, and sat across from him on the table.

  “Now you seem much more agreeable, sweetie, what’s your name?” She asked softly, holding his chin. The boy gulped and stuttered out “Michael.”

  “Alright, Michael. You’ll have my money to me by tonight, now won’t you? In exchange, I’m sure we can find a nice suitable position in our family. Maybe you can even have a little fun with Razor. Would you like that, sweetness?” She asked, comfortingly touching his face. It wasn’t his fault his boss was an idiot, why punish the kid? He gave a weak nod.

 "O-of course ma'am, tonight.“ He said, his voice cracking with anxiety. Apotheca looked pleased and gently poked his nose with a long, perfectly manicured nail. "I knew I could count on you. Let him go, sweets.” Jon withdrew his syringe and put it in his pocket, straightening his jacket. Razor ran a hand through his hair and pulled the knife away.

  “You’re free to go, young man.” Apotheca said shortly and the boy scrambled to get out the door, forgetting his jacket. Razor cackled. “Man, his face! He was pissing himself! He was lucky he was so cute, I woulda been harder on him.” The mob boss smiled before they heard someone shouting.

  “Goddammit, Apotheca! What have I told you about shooting up my club?!” Oswald waddled towards them as fast he could, the thick cigar in his mouth puffing with smoke. “I’m sorry, Oswald, but business went sour with him. It was necessary violence. I promise, we’ll have it cleaned up for you.” She said, her voice like velvet, hoping to quell him before he got worked up.

 "Better watch the old blood pressure, Ozzy. Wouldn’t want you to have a stroke.“ Razor said from behind her, giving Oswald a Cheshire grin. Apotheca sighed deeply. She loved her friend to death, but she never knew when to shut her mouth.  

  "YOU!” Oswald bellowed, brandishing his umbrella at Razor, his face red and splotchy with anger. “You are violating about seven different restraining orders by being here you lunatic piece of gutter trash!” He jabbed the end of the umbrella to her chest. Razor didn’t even look slightly fazed. “Yeah, yeah, waddles, I’ll be outta your receding hair in no time. This place is too stuffy for me anyhow.” She flicked the barrel of the umbrella gun before she was whacked over the head with it.

  “What she means to say is that we’ll get going once we clean up and pay.” Jonathan intervened before Razor and Cobblepot killed each other. Oswald glared at Jonathan. “You’ll make sure of it, Crane. Spotless! I want no blood stains. I will NOT have my business ruined by your 'business’!” He snapped before waddling away.

 "He’s gonna give himself a grand mal seizure one’a these days.“ Razor muttered, picking dirt from under her nails with the point of a steak knife. They cleaned up the blood and disposed the bodies in the boiler room below the club. Once they payed for their drinks, they walked outside into the night.

  "I think that went rather well.” Apotheca said, putting her tiffany blue plated gun in her coat pocket. Jonathan nodded and wrapped his arm around his gorgeous wife. “I’m off to Jonesy’s. Gimme a holler if you are in need of my services, m'lady.” Razor gave a dramatic bow before giving her friend a bear hug. “Don’t cause too much trouble sweetpea.” The doctor smiled, knowing fully well Razor WAS the trouble.

  “Oh, you should know me better than that, Doc.” She laughed and ran off into the darkness. Jonathan’s arms slipped around her waist from behind. “Where to now, darling?” He asked, resting his bony chin on her shoulder. His long ginger hair brushed against her rouged cheek. Apotheca sighed in content. “Home, dearest. I still have some… Unfinished business to take care of.” She purred, and he felt her nails gently trace up his thigh. Now that’s the kind of business Jon loved.

[araneaes-order]

In the Bleak Mid-winter Ch. 3

LAST HERALD-MAGE FANFIC

Fix-it…ish. canon mm

Young Stefen, living on the streets, found out someone was looking for him and decided to lay low, avoiding the mysterious stranger in red, so he’s never taken to Haven by Bard Lynnell. It was an unfortunate decision, but in spite of it, he and Van do meet up, just later, and under less kind circumstances. Basically a redo on the ending. ~55k words Finished.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Visit my master list

Word Count: ~4960

Rating: Mature for, sorry, lots of bad stuff, rape, sexual abuse, child abuse. Canon was pretty dark, especially what I was redoing here, so’s this.

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: We see something of Stefen’s life over the last few years. Also this is where we cross with some of the darkest events in canon. Mind the rating and the warnings. 

They rode through the night and much of the morning, Stefen only kept awake by the rough, punchy gate of his little mount. There were mountain passes only the bandits who claimed these woods knew, where only their stocky, sure-footed ponies could climb; once they’d reached them they had little fear of the guards catching up to them even if any of them noticed in time that the Herald and minstrel were gone. Stefen was in no hurry to reach ‘home’ but he couldn’t put it off either.

Rendan’s hall was hardly worthy of the name, but it suited the bastard who’d claimed it. Largely lacking in amenities, and barely more than a tumble-down hovel for all its size, Rendan wasn’t the sort to waste time and men on repairs.

In the winter—so most of the damned year—just like the guard post, they didn’t bother with the kitchen, just roasted meat and stewed up boiled whatever over the fire in the great hall. The boy, Damen, took care of that, though he got little thanks for it. Rendan had tricked the poor thing into coming to live with them while Stefen had been with Master Dark and the kid counted himself lucky if cooking was all that was asked of him when Stefen wasn’t there to keep Rendan and his men off.

“Oi, and what pretty little snow hare did you bring us back for dinner, eh?”

Stefen’s mouth twisted in disgust but he knew Gerth wasn’t talking to him. He slid off the unpleasant pony, dodging both its snapping teeth and its side-stepping attempt to trample his feet. “Back off, you, or I’ll make a blanket of you yet,” he hissed at it.

“Got the Master’s boy, sure enough,” Tan answered, dismounting and hurling the Herald back over his shoulder again with a hollow, meaty thud, letting Gerth take the horse. “Was our sweet Stefen ran him to ground though. He did alright. Might be time we stop leaving the little bugger behind when we go hunting. Good as bait even without Master Dark’s tricks, I reckon.”

Stefen’s hands fumbled at the pony’s reins so badly the ill-tempered beast managed another snap at him. He wanted no credit for bringing the Herald to them and he certainly didn’t want to give them ideas of dragging him along on their raids.

He knew better than to respond though. Instead he wrestled the pony back under control and silently took the reins of Tan’s mount from Gerth and led both animals away.

Stefen let himself into the hall as quietly as he could.

He needn’t have bothered though, Rendan and his men were entirely preoccupied with their guest. Many of Rendan’s boys originally hailed from further south, but had been driven hard into the far northern wilderness beyond the border, Heralds ever on their tails. There wasn’t a one in the lot who didn’t fully deserve to dance a hangman’s jig, but that didn’t stop them from blaming the king’s men, and especially the Heralds, for their sorry lots now.

Stefen winced and broke through the circle gathered around the Herald. They were holding him up like a rag doll, and Heverd was driving his fists hard into the man’s torso like he was just a training dummy. Gods.

He headed for the fire where Damen was turning the remains of a deer on the spit in a slow, mechanical measure, though he stopped first to fill a dirty bowl from the barrel of beer always given the place of honor on the table in the center of the room. Damen side-eyed him as he took a seat beside the fire and tucked his gittern against the wall.

“Want a bowl?” the boy asked, not to be caught shirking, though Stefen wouldn’t cuff him or rat him out to Rendan if he hadn’t.

He just shook his head and reached for the flask in his breast pocket. A small measure added to the beer would make things better. As better as they ever got for him.

Damen didn’t say anything else, not until Stefen had taken two long sips, with a weary, bow-headed pause between. Old Berte—he’d been so prickly towards her and her vices once, but he knew now what peace dreamerie could provide when nothing else did. It went down bitter but the clouded mind it left you with couldn’t mourn for choices made or choices never given. Gods forgive them both.

“They’re gonna kill that ‘un,” Damen said quietly and Stefen groaned a little, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. As a liquid instead of smoke the dreamerie was more potent, but he also seemed to be adjusting to it faster. He’d need a double dose to really push the world away and he was running low. The blood price on the Herald’s head should be worth a good size bottle, and spare him having to deal with Master Dark again for a bit, not that he wanted to think about that.

If the boy would just shut up—but no, even if Damen kept his tongue, Stefen would still hear the grunts and thuds and jeering of Rendan and his men as they played with the Herald.

Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, living legend, savior of the meek and the lost inside his borders and beyond, brought down from grace by a worthless street rat with a pretty voice and a quick hand at doctoring a drink.

“They won’t,” he promised the boy as he stood and moved to the corner and the threadbare pallet that he’d claimed as his bed long ago, before they’d had Damen to tend the fire. “They don’t dare. Master Dark would flay us all.”

He turned his back on the wide-eyed, shivering boy and pulled the piece of cloth that passed for a blanket up over his head.

For a while, between delayed sleep and the little bit of dreamerie he’d portioned for himself, Stefen was able to escape, but he woke to Damen, sniffling now, hunkering down beside him in the corner.

“Wha’s’a matter?” he slurred and yawned at once.

The boy’s expression was haunted but he just shook his head and hid his face against the wall, curled up and looking half his already meager years.

Thrice damn it, they hadn’t killed the Herald after all, had they? Stefen wondered in alarm, panic forcing him to his feet for a better view of what was going on on the other side of the room.

Rendan and his gang had been at the beer too long, the taste of it permeated the air. The Herald was laid out across the bench near the door, tied to it, belly down. The bench. He’d have known what had spooked Damen then even if Rendan wasn’t in the process of undoing his trews and Tan wasn’t holding the man’s head up by a fistful of silver and black hair and crooning in that awful way he had.

Shiteshiteshite. Too far was too far, even for Stefen.

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, weaseling in between the eager observers who hadn’t already crashed into drunken stupor on whatever surface was convenient. He grabbed Rendan’s hand before he was done freeing himself.

“Wait now! No need to waste that ona fucking Southn’r like ‘im!” he tried to purr, but the dreamerie tangled his tongue and made his words come out slurred. It didn’t do enough to dull the pain when Rendan backhanded him hard enough to send him flying, skidding on his arse across the flagstones.

He’d expected it. He welcomed it. He was too old to be of much interest to them anymore, Tan in particular liked them much younger, and they were mostly bored even of knocking him around these days, but he was younger than the Herald and unlike the Herald he was conscious enough to cry out and cower, both definite attractions to this crew.

He crawled back to Rendan’s feet like he couldn’t keep himself away, feigning at being more drunk than he was.

He was also damned good with his mouth, if he did say so himself, and with more than music.

Rendan only shoved him away in disgust one more time—perverted shaych fucker, he muttered, like Stefen was the disgusting one—before he gave in with a sneer and fisted Stefen’s hair to pull him closer.

When the last man wandered away, sated, Stefen collapsed against the bench where the Herald was still bound. He wiped at his mouth, not sure, with his bleary eyes and so far from the firelight, if the wetness he found there was his own blood or something worse. His head spun, he couldn’t catch his breath and he desperately wanted to vomit but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His hands shook as he set his pants to right.

A darting glance showed him Damen had taken the bed in the corner, hidden under the blanket, facing the wall. He didn’t have the stomach for this life. He wasn’t as practical as Stefen had been, even at his age.

His stomach heaved and his head fell back and he cracked it on the bench, seeing stars for a moment. He licked his lips and the taste made him instantly regret it.

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there before Damen shook himself free of the blanket and his own memories and started scampering around the fire to gather a chipped bowl full of melted snow and a rag torn off a dead man’s shirt.

Stefen closed his eyes, hating the boy and the Herald both. I’ve done this for you more than once too, you damned little git, he thought. He didn’t remember anyone ever taking a punch for him, let alone a cock up the ass. He turned his head and subtly tried to hide his tears against the Herald’s soft, quilted doublet.

He heard Damen’s sharp gasp when he was still a few feet away and opened his eyes to find the boy stopped, chewing at his lip, worry carving lines too deeply in his young face.

“He don’t look good,” he said, eyes past Stefen, on the Herald.

He didn’t look good? Stefen was the one who’d—

But he craned himself around to check the Herald and his breath caught just as Damen’s had. The Herald looked more than half dead. His face, turned to one side against the rough-hewn bench was a mess of bruises and swelling, probably a broken nose, definitely a split lip, but worse, under the rising black and purple he was frighteningly pale, utterly bloodless, and his lips had a blue tinge.

Not daring to breathe at all Stefen reached for the high collar of his shirt, fumbling it aside to feel for the pulse in his neck.

His breath was a shuddering sob when he managed one and then, “Rendan!” he screamed.

Even Rendan had the wit to look a little worried when he felt the Herald’s weak, thready pulse for himself.

“He’ll probably be fine—” he started to say, no conviction in his voice.

“He’s on death’s door, you idiot! What the fuck were you thinking?” Stefen’s words were cut off in a gasp when Rendan grabbed his throat and used that grip to pin him to the wall, lifting him so the toes of his boots strained to find enough purchase on the smooth stone to keep him from choking.

“You’ll mind that sharp tongue, boy. I can do worse to you, right enough,” Rendan growled through gritted teeth, his foul breath washing over Stefen and doing as much as the grip around his throat to make the world spin and darken.

But he’d left him enough leeway to shake his head, a little. “Good! Because what Master Dark’ll do’ll be worse than anything you can come up with. Kill me now and face him yourself!”

Rendan’s own younger brother was a good enough example of that: when the nights were calm enough you could still hear him screaming, and it had been years. Even a painful death was better than one that just wouldn’t come.

He frowned and let Stefen down, but didn’t take his hand away.

“The damned pretty boy needs help,” he mused, looking over at the Herald.

“He needs a goddamned miracle!” Stefen squawked. “He needs—”

“A Healer,” Rendan announced slowly, a smile stretching his lips.

“A miracle’d be more likely. There’re no Healers within leagues of here and with the storms—”

“I have a Healer,” Rendan said.

“You have a…”

Rendan nodded and grabbed his cloak where it’d been flung over a pile of still unsorted plunder. He stopped in the doorway to look back at the frightened circle of his men—and Stefen.

“You!” he barked at Stefen. “Take care of him. If he’s not still breathing when I get back I’ll just see if I can’t come up with something to rival the Master’s tricks—before I hand you over to him. And the rest of you lot, keep your hands off of both of them or I’ll cut them all the fuck off when I get back.”

Every man there turned away as soon as the door closed, not willing to even breath too hard in the Herald’s direction and risk being blamed for worsening his condition.

Not that Stefen could imagine how his condition could be any worse, short of death itself, which would probably be a mercy at this point. He should’ve just let them bugger him to death, saved himself the pain and the Herald the lingering, he thought, using the knife from his boot to carefully cut the Herald loose.

He stared at him hopelessly. He didn’t stir, not in pain or complaint or even just restless dream. But he was still breathing.

“Damen,” he called over his shoulder. “Go grab me some blankets from Rendan’s bed.”

When Damen returned they made a nest of the blankets and a few musty pillows and Damen helped him lower the man onto his back in this softer new refuge.

They stripped him and Stefen was aware of the irony, considering how hard he’d been trying to keep the man in his clothes only a short time ago. The rest of him looked as bad as his face: broad, darkening bruises and a maze of cuts all laid over a whipcord lean body that didn’t look like it had any reserves to spare for surviving such a brutal assault. His hands and feet and head were like ice, but his chest was so hot it seemed to scald Stefen’s hand as he used the rag and the melted snow to try to wipe away the crusting and oozing blood.

Between his pallor and his fever, Stefen would’ve laid odds that he was bleeding internally. He wouldn’t survive the night, let alone being transported to Master Dark, unless Rendan came through with his Healer quickly. Stefen wasn’t certain it still wouldn’t take a miracle, Healer or no, to fix what Rendan and his men had done.

He finished cleaning him up as much as he could do with a rag and water and pulled the rest of the blankets up around him, leaving only his head uncovered so he could breathe.

With his back to the room, Stefen touched the ruined face, under the guise of turning it as gently as he could towards the light for a better look. It would be best if he never woke at all. Stefen could smother him with a pillow before Rendan returned—even if the Healer was good enough to put the broken man back together, Master Dark would surely just rip him apart again.

And it was Stefen’s fault for bringing him here. For giving him to Rendan and his jackels. It didn’t matter that he’d had no choice, that a command from Master Dark was a death sentence to those whose efforts failed, or that he was Rendan’s cur, dependent on him for everything and due for worse than just a beating if he tried to run off again.

He ran his thumb through the air above the swollen, cracked lips, and felt the soft puff of the Herald’s feeble breathing and knew he couldn’t do it.

With a sigh of frustration he sat back on his heels. “Get my gittern,” he snapped at Damen, who hadn’t gone far from his side since he’d returned with the blankets.

If he couldn’t help him and he couldn’t free him, at least he could make sure that if the Herald still felt anything, it wasn’t pain.

“Outta the way, half-wit,” Rendan growled, toeing Stefen away from the Herald with unusual gentleness.

He blinked, scrambling to his feet to allow the stranger Rendan had brought to take his place at the Herald’s side.

“What in the hells did you do to him?” the older man demanded, going to his knees and rolling the blankets partway down the Herald’s chest before stopping to split a glare between Rendan and Stefan.

Stefen didn’t care whether the Healer blamed him or not, he was dizzy from playing so long and his throat was parched.

Gods, and how long had it been? he wondered. His fingers burned and cramped when he flexed them, and he stared down at them as though he didn’t recognize them. They didn’t even feel like they were still fully a part of him.

“Don’t worry none about that,” Rendan said gruffly, but Stefen could still hear the worry behind his words. “Just fix him up neat. Master Dark wants him alive and you’re the one he’ll want to talk to if you botch it.”

It was an empty threat, but the Healer couldn’t know that, and he paled. Or maybe it wasn’t completely; Stefen wouldn’t put it past Master Dark to level the forest and everyone in it for the loss of the Herald, as bad as he’d apparently wanted him.

“Then take yourself off and let me work,” the Healer snapped pointedly and after a short stare-down Rendan snorted and withdrew, filling an old mug with beer and taking it to nurse across the hall, literally kicking one of his lackeys from the seat he wanted.

As soon as Rendan was gone Stefen felt something bump him in the back of the arm and he turned to find Damen standing behind him with a clay goblet full of beer.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even meet his eyes but Stefen took it gladly and folded his legs beneath him to sit again and watch the Healer at his work. He could mix in another precious dose of his dreamerie, even just a few drops, to take the edge off. But he couldn’t help feeling he’d need to be sharper than it would leave him for whatever was coming.

Because something was definitely coming, he thought, as the Healer put one hand on the Herald’s forehead and one on the center of his chest, and closed his eyes.

The beer did soothe his throat at least, though his fingers continued to ride an uncomfortable edge between numb and burning and he rubbed them absently. Near as he could tell he’d been singing a good six hours; it was a wonder he’d hadn’t played his fingers down to nothing and sung his voice away entirely.

“What’s he doing?” Damen asked.

“Healing magic,” Stefen said, wincing at the way his words came in a croak.

“Will he really save him?”

Stefen shrugged. “Who knows?”

“What happens to us if he don’t?”

“Just don’t think about it—”

The Healer’s head shot up and he pulled his hands back to grab his knees so tightly his knuckles showed white. His eyes blazed and his face was drawn in tense, hard lines. “He’s as near to death as anyone I’ve ever seen. I don’t even understand how he’s still alive. But he won’t be much longer if I—” He stopped, inhaled deeply, and shot a quick look over at Rendan before turning back to Stefen. “I can’t get in to heal him, there’s some sort of barrier.”

Stefen’s eyes widened. The damned powder that was keeping the Herald quiet was keeping the Healer from his work?

“I can take it down—” His thin smile said he had some idea what that would mean, but not enough, if it didn’t frighten him. “—if that’s all right?” he finished. “I can’t do anything for him with it up.”

Stefan looked at the Herald, still and quiet as he’d been since he’d drugged him. Even if he hadn’t been aware of everything that happened since—good, if it meant he wouldn’t remember the beating at the hands of Rendan and his men, or what Stefen had been up to afterwards—when he regained consciousness he would probably remember the last face he’d seen before he’d gone under, which would mean it was Stefen he’d be after.

Demonslayer. Shadowstalker. Valdemar’s Vengeance.

Shite.

Stefen licked his lips and nodded.

The Healer returned his hands to their places at the Herald’s head and chest and closed his eyes again. If he could actually do this…

Stefen snaked around and grabbed Damen’s wrist.

The boy jerked and then froze at the unexpected touch, his expression one of terror and betrayal.

“Go to the storeroom and lock yourself in and don’t come out no matter what you hear,” he told him.

For a moment the boy just looked at him, paralyzed by fear.

Stefen shook him, harder than he’d have meant to. “Go!”

As soon as he released him the boy took off running. Stefen watched him shoving the heavy door of the storeroom closed behind him—the door was still cracked when there was the first sign of movement from the Herald.

A gasping breath, deep, ugly, shuddering.

Rendan and his men took no notice.

The Herald opened his eyes, bloodshot, the silver of his irises standing out even more.

Half the roof exploded, like a giant had reached down from above, torn it off and crumpled it in an enormous fist, allowing the debris to rain down over the hall, dust and snow and sharp bits of wood and stone and mortar. Stefen dove to the side, close to the wall, hiding from the worst of the falling rubble, which was so far mostly concentrated over Rendan and his crew.

They’d been completely engaged in their beer and dice games until then, but after picking themselves up and shaking away the strange, wooshingsound that had accompanied the violence, they’d grabbed their weapons and were squaring up to face their attacker.

The Herald was clambering to his feet as well and his eyes weren’t just bloodshot, they were glowing an infernal red. The Healer had been knocked aside at the same time the roof had exploded and lay crumpled against the wall, unmoving, and Stefen didn’t know whether the brave fool lived or not. Either way the Herald paid him no attention, and neither did he look at Stefen, who kept himself very, very still while the Herald stalked across the remains of the hall to Rendan.

He spoke, but his voice was low and deadly quiet and Stefen couldn’t hear what he said over the wind that moaned across the open roof of the building like breath at the mouth of an open bottle.

Three of the men, Resley, Gerth, and another Stefen couldn’t see, suddenly fell to their knees, screaming so loudly he could hear them even over the wind. Some of the others panicked, scrambling away from their fallen companions, others, hardier or more foolish, stood their ground, but none dared advance.

Then out of the sky above them, still swirling with falling snow and bits of the roof, a finger of lightning reached down like an arrow and struck Gerth, lighting the hall with a terrible glow, leaving a smell of ozone and burnt meat and a smoldering, black pile of refuse. One after another the lightning took out all the kneeling men, as though they were no more than ants being crushed by a capricious child.

Who’s next? Stefen thought he heard the Herald say, but he couldn’t be sure.

Two men, Kef and Jess, tried to make a run for it, stumbling through burning wreckage for the door, but the Herald waved one hand and both of them flew at the wall as though they’d been struck by cannonballs, and they hit the stone and timber with such sickening crunches that Stefen wasn’t surprised that they didn’t rise again from where their bodies fell.

Five more went to their knees, screaming like Resley and Gerth before them, unholy screams, like something was tearing them up from the inside, until the lightning silenced them each again.

Stefen couldn’t find pity for them. Rendan’s men were black-hearted brutes without exception, but he couldn’t stand to keep watching as the Herald picked them off.

Hoping the Herald remained distracted, though he fully expected to face him soon, he shuffled forward along the wall to the slumped Healer. The man was not only still breathing, but he was already stirring, twitching at Stefen’s cautious touch and stretching from his crumpled position with a pained expression.

“God’s, what’s going on?” he asked weakly, blinking and clearly unable to focus on the massacre happening before them.

“Shhh!” Stefen hissed. He’d had some vague thought of shooing the man through the door that was only a few short feet away, but the old Healer was so woozy he doubted he’d make it without help and he didn’t trust that the two of them moving together wouldn’t attract the Herald’s fury.

He couldn’t stop thinking now that the Herald-Mage was accounted a hero in all the songs out of Valdemar—but the songs that came from Karse called him the demon. How could this much power, even if used against evil men, be anything but evil in itself?

Surely the magic wasn’t endless? Surely he would tire soon?

Stefen let himself collapse against the wall. His hands hurt when he used them to brace himself and adjust his position and it took him a moment to remember why that was. Could it have been such a short while ago that Rendan had stopped him playing?

Across the hall there were only three left standing: the Herald, Rendan, and Tan. The Herald could have been the stone effigy of some ancient god, naked and beautiful in it, even with the bruises like blooms of darker stone in white matrix.

It was quiet. Even the wind had calmed. Had that all been the Herald?

Tan moved stiffly away from the two other men and picked up the shaft of a spear, broken at each end by the carnage that had gone on around it. The Herald made no move to take the weapon as Tan brought it back, and held it out between himself and Rendan.

They each took a stiff, unwilling step towards the sharp points of broken wood nearer to them.

He’s going to make them impale themselves, Stefen realized, and turned his head so he didn’t have to watch.

The door of the storeroom caught his eyes—because it was creeping open. He tried to shake his head in warning, but Damen wasn’t looking at him, hidden in the shadows of the wall by the bench, a direction the boy had never liked to look too often anyway. The boy’s eyes were wide on the wreck that had been made of the great hall: the bodies, the fallen ceiling, the scattered fires, the little whirlwinds of snow.

He took a faltering step out into the room, not seeing anything but the chaos the Herald had left, not noticing the danger he was stepping blindly into.

He was closer to the Herald than he was to Stefen and the Healer.

Stefen held his breath, hoping the Herald would remain focused enough on Tan and Rendan that Damen would have the chance to run either back to the storeroom or to the door.

The gods protect fools and children, Stefen had been told, but he’d never found that to be true.

Damen’s shocked gaze finally fell on the strange tableau the Herald made with the robber lord and his man, and he gasped, a sound so loud in the silence that had fallen that Stefen could hear it clearly from his place by the bench.

The Herald whirled, hand outstretched to the boy, a white glow kindling in his empty palm. His face was already looking more like it had when they’d first met, the bruises fading, the swelling diminished. A terrifyingly beautiful face with no mercy in it.

Stefen flung himself to his feet. “Damen!” he shouted, distracting the boy and the Herald both.

Though that glowing, outstretched hand turned menacingly towards Stefen, the Herald’s eyes clearly tracked the boy, who’d immediately started running, even when Stefen himself ran a few paces to meet him and shove the child behind his back.

Stefen was panting with fear, not exertion, so lightheaded he had good reason to hope he’d pass out before the Herald turned his powers on him. Damen was clutching his hands, burying his head in the small of his back. It only struck him then that Damen would probably have been safer if he hadn’t let him come hide behind him. If the Herald called his lightning on him now, Damen would be caught by it.

He forced his breath to steady; forced away the black edges of terror closing around his vision; forced his spine to straighten and his chin up, and stared square into those disturbing silver eyes.

Continued in Chapter 4

Or switch to AO3