#they share a smoke after that mountain is all i'm saying

[seren1tyhaze]

Unconditional

PAIRING: jaehyun x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

SUMMARY: dating a hot actor is great and all, until you find some texts on his phone that make you wonder if he's really the man of your dreams

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back after another unplanned hiatus. Even when I'm not posting here, I'm always thinking about writing things and wanting to share more. I have written a couple things for Ao3 so those will be up there soon. As usual, Mr. Jeong Jaehyun himself has ruined me again with his new song and video to the point where I sat down and wrote this in one sitting and never looked back. More from me soon, I promise xx

WARNINGS: established relationship, domestic fluff, explicit smut, swearing

PLAYLIST: Unconditional by Jaehyun, Smoke by Jaehyun, Birthday by Ten, Honey by John Legend

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“I just don’t believe you Jae! Do you think I’m stupid?”

Your cheeks are burning red and you know your chest is splotchy as your temperature rises, heart pounding. Ever since you were a kid, your skin would turn bright red the moment you started to get agitated, making you a terrible poker player and never one to even try to lie to anyone. It was one of things that endeared you to Jaehyun immediately, his bright red ears the moment someone teased him or he felt embarrassed.

“Baby, baby,” he starts, groggily reaching a large hand to you from the mountain of pillows and plush white sheets. His hair is still pushed back in that stupid plastic headband he fell asleep wearing the night before, making it hard to take him seriously in the heat of the moment.

You wipe a single tear from your eye before it can slip down your cheek and turn away from him, throwing his phone onto the covers with more strength than you thought you had in the moment.

Dating a famous actor who spends most of his time at premieres in Seoul and on movie sets around the world wasn’t easy. You had turned Jaehyun down the first few times he slid up on your Instagram stories, a mutual stylist friend having introduced you at a small birthday dinner you both were invited to.

Grabbing his phone off the nightstand instead of yours this morning had sent you into a spiral, shaking him awake in the bed to ask for an explanation about why he’s messaging someone about a “gorgeous girl named Honey” and how he “can’t wait to spoil her the way she deserves.”

“We’ve been together for a year and now you’re going to start cheating on me? Really original, Jeong.”

Your eyes roll back into your sockets and you scoop all your long, curly hair onto the top of your head, pulling running shorts and socks from the dresser near the window as you continue to grill him.

Jaehyun sits up fully, the comforter slipping off his shoulders and exposing his bare, chiselled chest. He’s still pale from having spent the whole winter filming in Canada, not having had enough trips to the nearby beach to have his adorable freckles reappear on his cheeks. His hair is bright white, platinum, and long in the back, soft in the morning light streaming in the floor to ceiling windows.

“You know I went out with Mingyu last week to that Dior party and he said if I ever wanted it to be a real date, just say the word and he would drop everything and everyone.”

“Dior? You wound me,” Jaehyun replies, mockingly rubbing his pec as he rolls his eyes. You know how much the statement had to hurt him, he always had been worried about your closeness to his friend Mingyu (and Mingyu’s long wavy hair, sparkly eyes, and massive biceps), even if he lets that go unsaid now.

“I’m going for a run and when I get back, I really hope you’ve managed to get up, shower, and figure out how you’re going to tell your PR team about this, unless they are all in on it too,” you finish, wobbling near the foot of the bed as you try to put your socks on while standing.

A firm hand is on your wrist, instantly balancing you. You look up to meet Jaehyun’s eyes, soft and glittering and sending you back to the first time you ever met.

“Who needs the candy, you look sweet enough to eat,” he had practically purred in your ear, pressing a hand between your thighs, under the silky material of your Vivienne Westwood skirt in a private booth in the back a dark room, surrounded by tall crystal jars of sweets.

Your marketing executive job had your team planning events for high end clients on a regular basis but this event had been extra special as your best friend had finally launched her own luxury cosmetics brand. The event was a mix of rich pops of red, velvety cushions and extravagant accessories, diamond necklaces draped across necks of models with artistic and bold eye looks. You had spared no expense for your friend and your assistant had the mountains of receipts to prove it.

The guest list was no exception, you had made sure every A-list name had received an invite and hundreds of attractive and trendy faces from fashion and entertainment filled the event space. That included Seoul’s hottest star, known for his striking and stoic look and deep, rich voice.

“You are not using that as an opening line on me,” you had sighed, trying to push down the moan bubbling up in your throat as long fingers toyed with lace dangerously close to slipping out of place.

“Technically, I asked you if the brownies had tree nuts because my body guard is allergic,” he quipped back, thumb brushing over you with intention.

You had bit your lip in frustration and swatted his hand away, grabbing his phone from his coat pocket and giving him your number, insisting that he had to reach out first because you were busy with a “real job”. He had laughed, sucking his now wet thumb into his mouth and letting it slide out with a loud popping noise and a simple “Yes, ma’am”.

That same phone was now in his hand a little under a year later, his fingers moving quickly against the glass screen.

“You don’t have anything to say?” you ask in shock and before you can say another word, your doorbell is chiming and he’s up from the bed and down your hallway, wearing nothing but his stupid boxers with lemons on them.

You roll your eyes and move to your large kitchen for a glass for water, almost letting it slip from your hands as he places a large Prada shopping bag on the marble island.

“A bag? A fucking purse is supposed to make me forgive you? How did you even get that this fast?”

“Baby, just look inside and it will explain everything,” he speaks calmly, sliding the bag carefully closer to you.

You untie the ribbon holding it loosely closed and you think you’re losing your mind when you see the bag move on its own. As soon as the thick paper opens, a tiny brown and curly head of fur appears. Neatly groomed ears are shaking and a tiny black Prada collar is clasped around the neck of the puppy.

“A dog?!” you exclaim in disbelief. The puppy lets out a small but high pitched bark, demanding to be let out of the bag with a fluffy paw nudging your hand.

“A chocolate French poodle puppy,” Jaehyun corrects, moving behind you and wrapping his arms around you, pressing his bare chest into your back. He lifts the puppy from the bag and places her into your waiting arms, the puppy taking no time at all to snuggle into your neck.

“Her name is Honey,” he tells you and you can practically feel his smile from the way he speaks.

“Honey…” you repeat. The dog’s eyes are wide in curiosity, head tilting to the side as she appears to recognize her name.

“Yeah, baby?” he jokes back, pressing warm lips to the short hairs at your hairline. You can tell he thinks he’s funny for that joke and you don’t need to turn to see what kind of look is in his eye. He trails his mouth to your ear, nudging the metal hoops along the shell and kissing the “14” ink at the skin behind your ear.

Your mouth is suddenly so dry that you can’t speak so you simply turn in his arms, letting Honey drop to the floor and bound excitedly on your slippery floors.

“How long had you been planning this surprise for me to just ruin it with my paranoia?” you murmur against his forehead, pressing a tender kiss to smooth skin.

“A couple months, I was just trying to find the perfect puppy for us,” he replies, fingers drawing circles on the bare skin exposed between your sports bra and shorts.

“I’m so sorry,” you reply, feeling embarrassment heat up your cheeks and sweat start to prick at your hairline.

“Don’t be,” he smiles back with his million watt smile that landed him his first commercial at eight years old, plucked from his class trip to a theme park by a talent scout.

“You know how I feel about you, nothing is going to change that. Not even if you go on 127 million dates with Kim Mingyu,” he finishes, sealing his lips over yours.

You open your lips and greedily press your tongue behind his annoyingly perfect teeth, lifting your fingers up to tug at the hair almost touching his shoulders.

“God,” Jaehyun growls in between kisses, grabbing at your ass to hoist you up on the counter, tugging roughly at your shorts to push them down to your ankles and ripping your legs open.

You’re panting, resting back on your wrists as he holds your knees open and presses wet kisses to your inner thighs. His energy is wild and chaotic, exactly as you’ve always expected from him and your mind is starting to go to that numb place it always goes when gets his tongue on you.

You arch your back in pleasure, letting moans tumble from your lips freely, trying desperately to ignore the adorable face now perched on your couch, eyes curious but also dozing off from exerting energy after running the full length of your penthouse.

You let your eyes fall to the rolling waves out the window, morning sun blinding you and forcing you to look down at the bobbing head of the blonde man between your legs. He meets your gaze with sparkling eyes and drops a kiss to his self proclaimed favorite tattoo of yours, a small rose on your hip bone. You smile softly at him before shrieking and almost crushing his head with your thighs when he takes sharp canines to the spot, almost drawing blood.

He jumps up and starts running towards your bedroom, scooping a startled Honey off the back of the couch and holding her in front of him he runs backwards.

“Jaehyun, you cannot use our child as a shield!” you yell, almost slipping in your socks as you bound after him.

When you round the corner, you slam into his bare chest, standing at the foot of the bed. Honey is curled up on the same pillow Jaehyun had tucked under his arm as he slept, already dozing again.

“Our child? I like the sound of that,” he says seriously, his voice velvety and tempting. His hands are at your waist again and you are having a hard time thinking straight.

“Calm down there, mister,” you chuckle, pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed and dropping to your knees in between his open legs.

“Let’s see how you do with this dog first,” you mutter, hands pushing down his boxers easily to take his hardened length between experienced fingers.

He smiles with his whole face at your words, eyes crinkling up in the corners and shoulders shaking a bit as you move your mouth over smooth skin, letting his soft moans fill the room and calm your racing heart.

[pityroadart]

Here's my piece for the @mcspirkevents Big Bang! I was paired with the excellent @twinkboimler and their fic Jim Kirk's Guide to Delivering the Goods, which you can find here (E, AOS McSpirk, 60k)

Summer just started, and Jim is bored out of his mind. The courses he needs to take aren’t being offered until the second half of the summer, so he has an entire month to bother his roommate Bones. At Bones’ suggestion to get a job, Jim fixes up a motorbike and starts making deliveries to people in town, including a cute Vulcan professor named Spock. But when Jim is beaten up while making a delivery, it’s Spock who delivers Jim back to the apartment he shares with Bones. After the meet-cute from hell, Spock and Bones start dating… and so do Jim and Spock. With neither roommate aware they’re both dating the same man, there’s only so long that things can go well for them before the other shoe finally drops.

Also as part of my Big Bang offerings, I made a fic playlist (below) — partly a love letter to McSpirk, partly a love letter to myself and Fletcher's overlapping music taste.

Thank you again to Fletcher @twinkboimler for working on this project with me, it's been an absolute joy!

Until the Birds Return on Spotify

Tracks and choice lyrics below the cut (contains vague spoilers):

Astronaut | Future Crib

I wanna be an astronaut Fly into space I wanna see Mars from Venus I wanna go to that place And if you come with me They'll be room in my ship I'll take you up there with me It can be just you and me

Afraid of Heights | boygenius

I never rode a motorcycle I never smoked a cigarette I wanna live a vibrant life But I wanna die a boring death

Day by Day | Old Sea Brigade

Time and time again, I think I'm falling through space And I wake up in my bed just sweating in sheets

... Then I think of you growing old and it breaks my heart

Factories | Autoheart

When you found my body by the lake You wasn't sure if I was still alive

You and Your Friend | Snake River Conspiracy

Must we go run through our lives with our eyes closed To the loving happiness that we can share I think I'm in love with you and your friend

My Gal, My Guy | Darlingside

My (guy) he's the bluest ocean, (he) Waits under the bluest sky for me I belong to (him) When I'm in the water

Santa Fe | Autoheart

Heaven sent You were like a present I should not have kept A sticker on your forehead saying 'breakable And I broke you bad

Coat on a Hook | The National

Two days, we're still not talking You're the opposite of an open book Come back for me

Top to Toe | Fenne Lily

So I'm changing all my days To make your nights It's just not right

Pigeon Song | Patrick Wolf

Now the pigeons gather 'round my feeding hand And we talk 'til the evening fades I have learnt how it goes What you wait for never shows And what you least wanted, holds you down like a stone

Hornets | The National

But I don't wanna leave And I don't wanna hide I just don't wanna run Into you tonight

Tea, Milk & Honey | Oh Pep!

If you stick with me, I'll make sure your time is all right If you don't understand where I am now, it's better if we leave it

The Spiritual | Jukebox the Ghost

We might have kissed a bit too soon I could feel what was coming and I didn't mean to hurry you I just knew that time would find our fingers linked, through and through Forgive me, I'm human too

Bike Dream | Rostam

Two boys, one to kiss your neck And one to bring you breakfast Get you out of bed

Don't Go | Yazoo

Can't stop now Don't you know I ain't never gonna let you go

Jenny | The Mountain Goats

I hopped on back of the bike, wrapped my arms around you I sank my face into your hair And then I inhaled as deeply as I possibly could You were sweet and delicious as the warm desert air And you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon We were the one thing in the galaxy God didn't have his eyes on 900 cc's of raw whining power, no outstanding warrants for my arrest

Old Old Fashioned | Josh Ritter (Frightened Rabbit cover)

Oh let's get old fashioned Back to how things used to be If I get old, old fashioned Would you get old, old fashioned with me?

[distinguisheddwarffriend]

Inspired by that post about Thranduil being all defensive/protective over Gimli in Valinor:

We all know the head canon of Thorin being all "no nephew of mine even associates with an elf" BUT

Just imagine, in a world where all three Durins survived, and Tauriel saved Kili (again), and some other elf healed his and Fìli's wounds last minute.

Thorin saw both his nephews almost die before him, has LIVED through how the gold sickness twists the mind and perception of things, and after coming to terms with Bilbo's theft of the Arkenstone, he for a while questions EVERYTHING.

And yes, he totally has a dramatic phase of self pity, holing up in his rooms, drinking Elvish wine (cus thats all there is atm) and smoking Gandalf's pipeweed, and mourning how "everything i knew is a LIE" and "if elves can make such amazing wine there HAS to be some good in them" and "I almost got my boys killed I am such a failure boooohoooo", and after Bilbo kicks his ass out if depression (and a STRONG worded letter from his sister) he is like "okay FUCK y'all I have TRAUMA TM and will do WHATEVER I WANT!!"

So when Kili all shyly comes forward one day asking if Tauriel can please stay with them in the mountain because she's banished from the Woodland Realm he's all "OF COURSE she can stay, you do you my precious boy, if Thranduil is stupid enough to let such a great warrior go we'll stick it to him"

and BAM, Tauriel joins Dwalin in leading Erebor's guard, and Dwalin is torn between "excuse ME u want me to share my job with a pointy eared maiden?" And "holy hell that lass has fire can't show how impressed I am".

And Tauriel Takes No Shit even from her own boyfriend, so Kìli is forced to take his new responsibilities seriously because "I did NOT lose my home to live with a CHILD, Kili", and Fili gets dragged into the whole thing without really understanding what happened, but hey, his lil brother is happy so who cares really.

And whenever someone at council (like Dain) complains about an Elf in the mountain, Thorin goes absolutely FERAL like "are you saying I don't know what's best for this mountain I just won from A DRAGON?! are you suggesting that my perfect baby nephew has bad taste? Huh? Exactly, didn't think so!!!!" And is a protective Papa bear "listen Tauriel if someone gives you shit you SHOOT them. No, not killing them, but, you know, just maim them a little to make a point. Trust me I'm the king."

And once Kili and Tauriel have their first child Thorin constantly kidnaps the kid and has them in the forge before they can even talk because "need to keep up that good old dwarven influence".

Anyway I'll go cry myself to sleep now.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[virune]

Oh oh story prompt!

"After a rather long day, two very tired hedgehogs find out they've been sharing a secret resting place"? Hope that makes sense, just two hedgehogs being like "oi this is my isolated sleepy spot-" LMAO

Sonic was bone-tired.

Eggman had really pulled out all the stops today. Droves upon droves of badniks, all powered by a chaos emerald that the doctor had somehow managed to get his mitts on. Then, if that weren't bad enough, he'd even brought Metal Sonic along with him, if only to add insult to injury.

It was all over now, at least: with the help of his friends - Tails' smarts, Amy's perseverance, Knuckles' strength, and Rouge's cunning, the doctor's evil plot had been sufficiently brought to an end, one destroyed badnik at a time.

"Wasn't expecting you to join the party, Rouge," Sonic had told the bat, smiling at her as she dusted off her immaculate clothes.

"Well, let's just say I happened to be in the area." Rouge's replies always seemed to be intentionally cryptic, Sonic noticed. "And besides, any chance I have to knock that rotten doctor down a peg, I'll take. He's a nuisance for all of us."

"Hah! Can't argue with that." Sonic rubbed his arm, and then reached out a hand just as Rouge was about to fly off. "Wait! I - can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Big Blue." There was a twinkle in the bat's eye, one that Sonic only usually saw when Shadow was nearby. Speaking of which…

"How come Shadow wasn't with you? Is he… on a mission?"

"That's right." Rouge's eyes seemed to glitter even more, as though she could sense his disappointment. "Very important business. I'm sure you understand."

Sonic offered a smile. "Yeah."

"Why, were you hoping to see him?"

"What - I - no! I was just curious! You two are friends, aren't you?"

Rouge's hand found a place on her hip, pinning Sonic in place with a gaze that seemed to be able to find anything it ever searched for. She had always been so incredibly perceptive - especially when it came to Sonic's little… crush.

"Of course," she said, her voice smooth and nonchalant. It made his fur stand on end. "Don't sweat it, hon. I'm sure you'll get to see him soon."

Before Sonic could babble out a flustered reply, Rouge took off at last, disappearing into the darkening sky.

Wow, was it that late already? Despite his frazzled nerves, Sonic found himself feeling tired, mouth stretching open into a generous yawn. Well, since Eggman had been taken care of, surely it couldn't hurt to grab some shut-eye.

Luckily for him, he knew a nice little spot. Somewhere quiet and undisturbed. And it wasn't too far from here - at least, not at the speed he was capable of.

And so, with a final wave goodbye to his friends, Sonic vanished up the mountain in a cobalt blue streak.

---

Someone was in his spot.

Even from up on the bank, Sonic couldn't miss the orange glow coming from the cabin windows, nor the smoke billowing from the chimney. It was getting darker still, and somebody had stumbled upon this place and made it their own.

But who?

This old cabin had been left, seemingly abandoned, up on a mountain. Surely nobody could find it under normal means. Sonic himself only found the cabin because he'd decided to take a detour from his usual running path, winding up the mountain until he was pushing open the door to look inside.

It was a nice little cabin, too. Nobody came back to claim it so Sonic decided to… well, make it his own little place, so to speak. He didn't have any qualms sleeping outside, but sometimes curling up in front of a warm fire was nice too. So what if he wanted to indulge himself from time to time? He thought he'd earned that at least, saving the world as often as he did, and as he continued to do.

So to discover that someone else had snuck in while he'd been distracted made him a little annoyed.

He didn't want to just barge in the front door - after all, if they were capable of scaling the mountain, Sonic couldn't underestimate whoever was inside. Was it Eggman? Had he found the cabin somehow? Had he followed Sonic there and set up a trap?

Whatever the case, Sonic had to be ready for a fight.

He approached as quietly as he could; stealth was never his forte, but if he wanted the upper hand, then he needed to be delicate. After all, he'd hate for his beloved cabin to get destroyed in an altercation. Maybe he could take down the intruder swiftly, or find some way to lure them out before they fought. Keeping the cabin intact was his main priority.

Sonic went to peek through the window, but he grit his teeth with some irritation to find that the curtains had been pulled shut. Damn. What now? The front door lacked any windows or mail slot. How could he get inside without being noticed?

He saw it then. On the second floor. An open window.

Hah! Had the intruder completely forgotten to close it? Sonic took a couple steps back and gauged the distance - he could probably climb up. A running jump would be too noisy. So, giving himself a moment to stretch, he braced himself against the bricks and began to ascend.

His fingers hurt, digging deep in the crevices between each brick, but he pushed on. The window was inches away now. He pushed himself up, brushing the windowsill with his fingertips and hoisting his body up. Slowly, silently, Sonic climbed through and into the bathroom.

It was dark. But it was also empty. A good sign. That meant he hadn't been caught yet. He closed the bathroom window behind him before he tried the door handle, opening it as carefully as he could to avoid making any sound. It was so uncharacteristic of Sonic to move this slowly, but he tried his best, because his favourite sleeping spot was in jeopardy.

He tiptoed along the carpet at the top of the stairs and peeked down over the railing to see if he could spot anything. The glow was brighter from here and he realised it was coming from the hearth in the living room. Someone was using up all the firewood! Oh, the nerve. If they weren't dangerous, maybe Sonic could convince them to leave.

The first step creaked under his weight and Sonic froze, expecting alarm bells to sound off, expecting a trap to spring, expecting badniks to swarm him. Anything. Instead, nothing happened. The fire crackled. The peace continued on.

OK, well, he wasn't in trouble yet. He still had time to figure out who the intruder was. Taking a deep breath, Sonic made his way down the rest of the stairs. He was standing near the doorway now. The living room was just around the corner. He could see the shadows of a figure dancing on the opposite wall; whoever they were, they'd made themselves pretty comfortable on the sofa.

Sonic squinted his eyes. As he focused harder, he realised that the silhouette looked vaguely familiar. They weren't moving - were they asleep? - but he couldn't deny that the stranger seemed to have quills that turned upwards at the end in a way that was so distinct, so unnatural for a hedgehog to have.

He inhaled again, and he caught the unmistakable scent of lavender in his nose.

It couldn't be.

He turned the corner at last.

"You!"

Shadow jolted upright, the book he'd apparently been engrossed in falling from his lap and thudding against the floor. His red eyes met Sonic's, burning brightly against the glow of the fire.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Shadow asked.

"What am I - what are you?" Sonic cried, incredulous. "This is my cabin!"

Shadow removed the green woollen blanket from his legs to stand up. "Don't be ridiculous. I found this cabin months ago."

Sonic balked. That couldn't be right. He found the cabin. He'd been coming here regularly for weeks - months, even!

"I don't understand. This is my favourite sleeping spot. I didn't think anyone else knew about this place…"

Shadow retrieved his book from the floor, dog-earing the page he was on and sitting back down. "That makes two of us."

"So, spill. How often do you come here?"

"Couple times a month. When I have a moment."

"So do I." Sonic stepped closer. "Listen, I had to deal with Eggman today. Rouge was there. Where were you?"

"Elsewhere," was all Shadow answered.

Sonic clenched his fists. He was always happy to see Shadow, although he'd never admit it, but he wasn't happy about this new discovery.

"Alright, well. I'm pretty tired, and I wanted to rest here tonight…"

Shadow stared at him. "So?"

"So!" Sonic fumbled, gesturing vaguely to the door. "Leave! So I can relax."

Instead of leaving, Shadow tilted his head to the side. "Why don't we both just stay here? I'm willing to tolerate it, if it's all the same to you."

Sonic's mouth snapped shut. His face was warm, and not because of the fire. Absolutely not. There's no way he could relax with Shadow, of all people, around. Especially not in such a… comfortable, domestic setting. It was too much for him. He'd rather run a hundred laps through a blizzard than cope with his stupid feelings.

A hand patted the empty spot on the sofa, breaking Sonic from his thoughts.

"Sit. I want to finish this chapter."

Sonic frowned, willing his heart to stop racing. He eased himself onto the sofa next to Shadow, staring straight ahead. For some reason he was afraid to look. Shadow was much too close.

"Rouge recommended this book to me." Shadow's voice was soft and deep and it all but made Sonic nearly jump out of his pelt. "I'm about halfway through now. She expects to hear my thoughts on it."

"Oh?" Sonic dared to look, then, if only because Shadow's attention was directed down at the book in his hands. He scooted closer, just a fraction, to see what the writing was like. The scent of lavender was much stronger now. "Is it good?"

"I'm enjoying it," Shadow admitted. Sonic caught the ghost of a smile on Shadow's face and decided that he liked it, and would very much like to see Shadow smile more often.

"Good," was all Sonic could say, quite hopelessly, as he willed himself to relax into the sofa cushion. His eyes drifted closed for just a moment, exhaustion setting in as he basked in the soothing warmth.

"Let's agree that this cabin is off-limits for fighting," Shadow said. His eyes didn't leave the book, but Sonic wasn't so sure he was actually reading anymore. "It's too nice to ruin."

Sonic's mouth suddenly felt dry, but he worked hard to get his voice back. "Y-yeah," he stammered out, feeling like an idiot. "I don't think either of us will wanna give it up, right?"

Shadow hummed in agreement. "We'll just have to compromise. That means sharing."

"Sharing," Sonic confirmed. Despite himself, he found himself smiling at the idea.

Basked in the firelight, he snuggled just a bit closer to Shadow, whose body was as warm as the fire. He could probably get used to this, he reckoned.

Before he knew it, Sonic fell asleep to the scent of lavender and an arm around his waist.

[runawaymarbles]

9-1-1 fic recs

because if I do nothing but read 9-1-1 fic for a month solid I feel like I should. Since my bookmark notes are all spoilers. Buck/Eddie unless specified otherwise.

to your front door by hammersmiths | G | 3k

Buck and Pepa are bridge buddies and Pepa is happy to arrange everyone's lives.

i'm headed to the mountains by hammersmiths | 8k | G

a.k.a. Abby Clark does deserve rights

pick me, choose me, love me by trysetmeonfire | T | 9k

It is some kind of hell, it seems to me, to be forced to choose one irreplaceable thing over another. Buck and Chris get stuck and Eddie has to get one of them out first.

brick by spqr | E | 10k

9-1-1 fic I read and loved before I knew anything else about 9-1-1. Post lightning strike, Buck and Eddie are not at all on the same page.

i love you, ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard? by rarakiplin (gmontys) | T | 10k

"Because, Evan" is actually a love confession, but Buck's with Taylor. They handle it great.

the stick-around by derryfacts2 (winchysteria) | T | 10k

Buck is bleeding out. It's surprisingly funny.

Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon | T | 10k

The poker night was a date but Buck doesn't realize it until later.

darlin', i'm just tryin' to tell ya by archerincombat | T | 10k

The station adopts a dog that has cancer and Ravi has some feelings about it.

still by brewrosemilk | T | 10k

Eddie is standing on a bomb.

the light's been out though, baby by hattalove | M | 15k

There's a video of the shooting.

like a hole in the ground by clytemnestra | T | 15k

Buck shares his feelings but they still don't know how to communicate.

maybe love won't let you down by sibylsleaves | M | 15k

Buck tells Eddie he loves him; Eddie thinks he himself is terrible at relationships and so he dodges the question. Things are OK until they aren't.

False Start (timing’s everything) by Morgane (smilla840) | E | 16k

Buck and Eddie hook up, and then Buck gets back together with Taylor. Ouches all the way down. It's great.

i would like a place i could call my own by maybeamystery | E | 17k

Buck and Eddie hooked up at the end of season 3. It does not make things better.

find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson | M | 20k

Buck doesn't realize he has feelings for Eddie until Eddie lets Linda set him up. They both suck at coming out.

stay soft; get eaten by eddiediass | T | 20k

Ramon Diaz is dying.

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by withmeornotatall | M | 20k

Buck is being reckless, Eddie's pissed about it, and Natalia is asking a lot of questions about everybody's trauma.

where there's smoke, there's fire by wakeupnew | T | 24k

You're really not supposed to be secretly dating your coworker. Luckily, they have a union rep.

into the fire by brewrosemilk | E | 27k

Cheating fic (complimentary); Buck and Eddie sleep together. It's messy.

Tick Tick Boom by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky | 30k | T

Buck's having a breakdown; he's not talking to his parents; he doesn't tell Maddie this but he does go to drag brunch.

I Kinda Fell Half In Love (And You're To Blame) by orphan_account E | 33k

Eddie is dating Ana and Buck can't figure out why he doesn't like it. Also, Chris is trying to return to school after COVID and they're really stressed about it.

the going water and the gone by trysetmeonfire | T | 30k

Eddie is lost at sea and presumed dead. The logistics of death are complicated and custody isn't as easy as saying you want your platonic bro to raise your kid without telling anyone.

i don't swim and you're not in love by hattalove | T | 30k

Eddie is dating Ana, Buck tries to get over himself, and there's a sewer leak at Abuela's.

listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee | T | 40k

Buck goes down in an earthquake and is missing, presumed. He and Eddie leave each other voicemails.

everything (nothing) has changed by bizarrestars | E | 50k

Buck goes to therapy, tells Eddie that he's in love with him but he's going to get over it, and Eddie has a meltdown for 50,000 words except this is from Buck's POV and Buck's an idiot.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catchingpapermoons | M | 50k

Buck and Eddie go to couples therapy in s5 and I? Cry.

a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum | E | 117k

Buck gets caught up in Natalia, Eddie starts dating someone else, it goes about how you'd expect. Hurts in a delightful way.

tell me about despair by hattalove | M | 150k

THEEEEE Eddie Diaz fic.

just to be with you by woodchoc_magnum | M | 150k

Buck and Eddie keep their relationship secret for months and it turns out it's hard to come back from that.

The things we lost in the fire by SunSpell80

Buck's uncle molested him when he was a kid. Buck's relationship with his parents is complicated in a way that doesn't villanize them, but is still messy as fuck. I am rotating it in my brain. (Note: the author presumably wrote this before we met Buck's parents in canon, but got tired of changing the names a couple chapters in.)

[seneitut]

Hii!!! I found your work and i LOVE it so much! especially the wordcount!!

if its ok can i request gekko x freader but the f reader is really dom? assertive like gekkos talking but stutters so much and forgets what hes saying when she like looks at him the wrong way **doesnt have to b nsfw but whatever works thanks!

“Quietness”

[Part 1][Part 2] [Part 3]

[Gekko/F!Reader]

Words: 9K (I'm so sorry is this freaking long)

Tags: Fluff, violence, deaths, teachnicality of the game because I miss Ice box, slow-burn, NSFW (+18), Dom!Reader, Sub!Gekko.

[It seems I didn't know how the queue works because I thought this was posted days ago im so sorry gfjnfghgh

You can skip the nsfw part when the words are bold like this, its near the end!]

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

The silence that envelops the common room is ringing deep inside his ears. 

Vibring, trembling, deafening. 

Gekko hates the silence. A reasonable amount, you could say, to not be able to stand it to the point he wants to rip his brain into shreds to stop the thinking and not process the buzzing.

It brings memories he tries to suppress, echoing within the silence and rolling like a corrupted movie behind his eyelids over and over again. Gekko grunts in discomfort, trying to dissipate the images by rubbing his eyes with force until it stings but that doesn’t deter the silence to swallow him whole. 

Since when has he become this dramatic.

He whines loudly, head thrown back, “Why is it so quiet in here, dios!” But finds not even the echo of his voice filling the void.

Most of the agents have left for missions earlier that day, leaving only the most reclusive people at the base alongside him, hence the quietness. 

And it is not like he didn’t want to go—he’s always eager to accompany his allies in battle and have the time to bond with them through killing their counterparts— but the reasoning of Brimstone when assigning the teams is based on whether or not their powers and abilities compliment each other and not how well they get along.

KAY/O and Skye were out on two different teams, so his kits were not really necessary for the mission at all. Sova was out of commission until further instructions after getting injured and Fade was…well, he doesn’t know her whereabouts, but she must surely be busy with something else instead of hanging out with him.

They are on pretty good terms thanks to Neon, so he doubts she would avoid him on purpose. The only reasonable option would be that she was busy. And Breach? Breach is Breach, the man is unable to stay still in one place so he must definitely be either hitting the gym or committing crimes. Not really of his taste.

That only left him, the last initiator, back at home. 

Most of the sentinels were with him at the base; but like the cliché they are, none of them were eager to share their spaces with others nor entertain him in, how did Chamber put it…´dumbassery´ of sorts. 

Rude, honestly. Gekko is not at fault that they don’t know how to have fun outside missions. 

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

Whipping his head around, he finds you leaned on the doorway with a clipboard on hand. The dark shades you’re wearing do not give away whether you’re surprised or emotionless to his presence here, which, in retrospect, wasn’t important to know. 

He’s just happy someone is here to make the silence go away.

“I’ve got no missions today!” Turning his body around, he rests his head on the back of the couch to get a better view of you without breaking his neck. “I thought you left with Sage hours ago. Weren’t you going to…uh, what was it called…”

Frowning in concentration, he tries remembering the name of the place you were to set off, but none came to mind. Ice cube? Ice mountain? It had something to do with ice and something something…right?

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears from your thinking alone.” The subtle smirk on your face was noticed by him, pouting by the teasing. “Sage is unable to go to Ice box with me.”

“Ice box, that’s it!” Sitting down on the couch next to him, he continues. “So, what's up? Change of plans now?”

Nodding, you go through the pages in the clipboard before raising your eyesight to him. Gekko seems eager, if not a little energetic for someone who has nothing to do. He seems expectant as well, jittery and a little fidgety with how often he toys with his gloves.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ponder whether it's a viable idea to ask him to duo with you on the task that was assigned. Although you don’t have the energy to deal with someone like him: a little chatterbox and full of energy; his abilities might come in handy if the situation calls for it.

But this is an important mission, and you haven't worked with Gekko before. It would be a gamble whether the mission goes well or not and you’re not sure if you want to put something this important on line.

Gekko waves his hand in front of your face, a frown apparent on his features, “Hola? Are you okay there?”

Avoiding his question you decide to deflect it with another one, “Do you know where Cypher is?”

“In his room I think? I tried going in but I got tangled with his tripwires at the entrance and he just shut me off.” Crossing his arms, he sighs. “I’m kind of tempted to think he doesn’t like me very much.”

No shit. Who goes inside another’s bedroom without asking first? And Cypher, above all, is such a secretive man it is no wonder he loves to hide his secrets under lock and blackmail to keep it safe; the worst person to skip over pleasantries and ignorance was him. 

Gekko has pissed him off, then. Great. Out of options.

“So he is in no mood, got it.” 

“What do you even need him for? Such a grumpy man to work with.”

With no desire to argue, you leave Gekko to run his mouth about why he is so pissed about most sentinels at the protocol and how little social life they all have to be wasting it holled up in their rooms.

The need to defend Cypher is big, but you know the man has cameras all over the place and you don’t want to say something out of pocket in his presence—digital presence, in truth—or worse, out yourself with the soft spot you have for the secretive man.

Cypher wouldn't let it die down.

“...And you know, I tried speaking with Brimstone about having activities inside the protocol to strengthen our partnership, friendship, whatever the heck we are so we can be more trusting to each other!” Rolling his eyes, he huffs loudly. “But he said no, because this is not a fraternization house and I should take my work more seriously.”

“He is not wrong.” You comment absently.

“But I feel like it is necessary!” He continues. “How can we be a team if we aren't on friendly terms?”

“Not everyone will be your friend, Gekko.” Sighing, you stand up and begin to leave. “You cannot force yourself into others just to fulfill your need to get along. If it happens, happens, if it doesn't work, just let it be.”

“B-but, wait! Where are you going?”

Raising the clipboard, you move it slightly to let him know you still have things to do instead of indulging in his little chat. 

“I'm busy. And I need this done by today.”

“But you don't have to leave!”

Frowning, you turn around to see him slouched over the couch with a pout on his face and a look that begs for you to stay. 

You're not easily swayed by childish behavior from people you don't know. It didn't work on you as one might assume from your laid back personality, which most confuses it as rudeness, but this kind of attitude is what you hate the most.

If Gekko doesn't confront you about why he doesn't want you to leave, you won't hear him out. If he isn't honest, then you won't entertain him any longer.

“See you later, kid.”

Not even two steps ahead, you stop dead on your tracks when you hear him whine loudly. 

He's not even looking at you, eyes downcast and making sad noises; like a kicked puppy. It makes you question how old is this kid to be throwing a tantrum because he doesn't have his friends around.

This is not your problem, though, you can just keep walking away and try your luck with either Chamber or Killjoy to fulfill your task instead of lounging around and wasting time. But deep inside, there is a little fire that has been ignited by seeing someone like him acting so pathetic that you just want to strangle him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” You spat with anger. Uncalled for, since he's done nothing wrong. “Fucking childish.”

Gekko looks offended by receiving such rude treatment in a single question that his sad façade is forgotten.

“Why are you—!” He exclaims. “¡Háblame bonito!”

“I don't understand spanish, you dumbass.”

“Speak nicely to me!” 

“I am speaking nicely. I don't get why the fuck you're so childish about this. Do you want something from me? Then say it.”

“I don't want anything from you! I just wanted some company but you're leaving like the rest do!” Huffing in frustration, he scratches his head in an attempt to subside his irritation. 

“You never said you wanted company, what am I, a mind reader? And why is that a reason to be acting like a brat? Grow up!”

“No, you grow up! You are so irritating!”

Scoffing, you close the distance slightly, hovering over his form with a menacing aura and scowling at his defensive stance.

Gekko is frowning, his hazel eyes holding back a fury only he could comprehend but softens ever so slightly when you approach him and, if your eyes don't deceive you, his cheeks reddens when his sight roams your body now that he had a new angle from you.

He stammers when he asks you to back off, eyes to the side and fidgeting on his seat.

You fix your shades before starting, “I told you I can't stay, I've got work to do yet you insist on me staying to fulfill your own desire? Don't be selfish.”

“Am not…”

“You are. Stop pretending that this isn't to make you feel better.”

Gekko's eyes widened in embarrassment, “Yeah? What if I am! Is that something wrong to wish for?”

“No, only immature.” Checking the time, you decide this has taken too long “I've gotta go.”

“Nadie nunca se queda de igual manera. Go off, just leave already.”

You sigh. 

Is never easy to confront others about the feelings bothering their minds and souls, and you know a person is easy to rile up if you press their buttons constantly. 

You've heard of the happy Gekko at all times, bringing laughs and smiles to his fellow friends and filling that void of a friend if needed—but who does the same for Gekko when he needs it?

Usually the happy people you encounter like him are the most troubled within their hearts. You don't want to be pointing fingers, but this boy has some deep issues with solace and individuality. It makes you wonder if he's ever had a healthy friendship or a healthy relationship in general.

Because now that he's this angry, he could use some emotional support to go through his feelings and what wrongs he's done.

Capable of angering someone like him should be a feat, but besides that, you must have acted terribly for him to get to this point of annoyance.

Gekko seems really upset, but mostly, he looks so worn off that you pity him for whatever he's going through. 

God, you cannot leave without resolving this first. Is going to nag your brain with guilt if you don't make amends with him.

“I apologize for my behavior.” You begin, Gekko levels you with a skeptical look. “Let’s try this again: I’m busy, I can’t stay, and sorry about that. The others might return later today if you’re patient enough.”

“Yeah, in hours maybe, or never.”

“Have a little faith there.” you shrug. “Aren't they your friends? They are coming back for sure, don't worry too much.”

“It's not only that.” He says. “I- um, I don’t like the silence here, it's too deafening, you know? I just wanted some noise, something to fill in while I wait. I keep talking and talking now because I don’t want it to be quiet.”

“Yeah, I quite get it. Still, I'm sorry about earlier.”

“I accept the apology because it really was rude of you to snap like that.” Gekko sighs, “Why did you even react like that? Like, what prompted you to do that?”

How do you explain to him you don’t even know exactly why you’ve snapped at him?

Perhaps you won’t. There is a small idea planted that you don’t want to dwell on because it would be too embarrassing to admit and you don’t think Gekko would appreciate your thoughts.

“Didn’t have a good day.” You lie. He seems to buy it. “Shouldn’t have taken it on you, though.”

Gekko nods and offers a small smile. Things seem to have calmed down for now and the other looks a little better than before, which is good in your opinion.

“Go,”  He nudges your arm with his finger, smiling. “I think Cypher really likes you in comparison to us, if you ask him, he might go with you.”

Ah, clever boy. 

“Maybe, I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Waving your goodbye, you take your time to regard him silently before walking away from the common room, sighing in tiredness and stress consuming you entirely when you’re finally out of his vision.

This is not how you expected the day to be going. You expected nothing; just to do your job, return to the base and maybe get a nice glass of wine—you feel like trying your luck and figure out if today is the day you’re gonna like the beverage—puke from disgust because you will probably still hate it and take a long ass nap.

But by the looks of it, maybe you're doomed to solo this.

God you won’t be able to finish this alone.

Going back your steps, you reach the common room once again, startling Gekko who seemed to be playing with his knife. He takes a moment of consideration, gaping like a fish out of water before realization dawns on him.

You raise your hand before he can even say a word, watching his smile stretch to a grin while he waits for you to give him the chance to say something.

“I’ll offer this once: I’m going to Ice box, and I need a partner for this specific mission, are you up to this?”

Gekko didn’t even let the question be finished, jumping from the couch with a loud: ‘Hell yeah!’ and a fistpump in the air, a bright smile adorning his face. Doing him once over, you decide that the deed is done and now there is no turning back.

Take it or take it.

“We leave in five, be ready at the launching site or else I’m leaving without you.”

With that final warning you take off to gather your equipment. 

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

Ice box is not like it used to be. 

Throughout the time you’ve been working for the protocol, this place has changed a thousand times. You don’t even remember how it was supposed to be in the first place, but your best guess is the omega agents had something to do with it: the cargo ships, the laboratories, everything has been modified to their convenience thanks to kingdom. 

You are thankful enough that at times that this place has been in danger, your team has been able to stop the detonation of the spikes and prevent further catastrophes. Either you knew the place better than them or their teams weren’t able to catch up with how fast you did the retake of the sites.

Luck was on your side, you suppose.

This time, however, you won’t need any of that to complete the mission.

Go in, download the data, steal the samples if there is some, and get the fuck out of there.

You wish your duo were someone able to surveillance while you get what you need, but it is okay, you can make it work. Gekko will keep watch while you gather the info, or maybe he can go and inspect the samples near the kitchen so the work can be doable and quick to do. 

“Damn, this place is huge!” Gekko watches around him with wonder in his eyes and excitement pouring from every word uttered. “And so fucking cold, god, what the fuck.”

The wind seems to have gotten stronger after many months of keeping this place barred from people. The blizzard was picking up fast, making the snow rise with strong bursts of air and freezing you to the bone. Your shades were getting covered in snow quite quickly and you were annoyed you had to clean them up often. A bit more and your fingers will become windshields.

Gekko was wearing his usual fit, which is not proper for this kind of weather. Either he was going to die from hypothermia or worse, become an actual ice statue with the lack of clothing. This is partly your mistake for not warning him on time before taking off; you cannot expect people to travel somewhere called Icebox and not be aware that it might be a cold place.

“Here, warm yourself up.” Taking off your coat, you fix it on top of his shoulders until he pops his arms through the armholes. He sighs, burrowing his face on the fur covering his neck and shyly inhaling your scent.

Smiling at him, you pat his head gently and begin your walking towards the rafters on A site. The turtleneck you’re wearing should be enough to cover you until you reach the surveillance room. Being a closed space, you guess the old scientists might have a heater installed; and if they don’t, you are going to curse their entire lineage for this crime.

Is pretty cold out here, your supposition that people might still linger around the area is close to none, so you can breathe in peace for the time being.

“Hey, aren't you cold?” Gekko treks besides you, catching up with your quick pace. “You're not wearing much, I'm sorry I had to take this from you.”

“It’s okay, I’ve worn less when I had to come here and fight for our lives, this is alright.” Is not and your chattering teeths gives away how cold you were getting. 

Gekko stretches his arms out, wiggling his hands to signal you to come to him and you cannot help but raise a brow at his antics. Rubbing your hands together to breathe in some warm air you ignore him to reach the destination.

The site is clear, quiet, and echoing the footsteps you fear someone might hear it. Gekko is keeping the silence still, and you wish he would speak or say something so the atmosphere would not be perceived as…deathly.

Is way too quiet.

“I need to download some data from the main room, it might take a while until I find what I’m looking for.” You comment, Gekko nods. “I need you to reach the kitchen and find the secondary lab to take some samples. Remember the pictures I’ve shown you on the jet? We need to take them back to base for Killjoy to analyze them.”

“You got it boss!” He exclaims, saluting you. 

“Once you’ve got them, return here. Is better to stick together, but knowing this won’t take you long, we will separate for a while.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not gonna be gone forever, you know?” He sets off, giving a slight wave in your direction. 

That brings a grin to your face. 

Opening the compartment where most of the computers are located frightens you a bit. The metal doors sound like they need maintenance with how rusty they crack while opening, scaring you to the bone with how loud it is. 

Everything inside the room seems impeccable and things are where they are supposed to be. Most of the computers are off right now, except for one that is stuck in the far corner of the room, the screen on sleep mode and projecting a small animation of the logo of Kingdom. Is warm inside, too, which you are thankful for so you can shake off the coldness chilling you.

There is no password required when you move the mouse, the desktop greets you with multiple files organized on the side and you wonder if this should feel easy to scavenge through kingdom’s most important secrets.

Don’t mind the hours put into learning how to hack into computers taught by Cypher, you are going to get the info and get out of here as soon as possible.

Getting the usb from your back pocket, you put it in and wait for it to load. Drumming your fingers, you get a glimpse of A site from the window and admire the pristine and cleanliness it maintains while you wait. One of the reasons this place has always given you the chills, is how weird it works. 

Despite how often it snows, none of it gets inside. As if it avoids entirely to be dirtied by it. Does it have to do with any of the inventions they’ve worked on here? Could it be that it had something to do with the experiments they’ve tested on Yoru’s ancestors' armors? An invisible shield?

Ping!

The computer loads the usb without problems, the work starts here.

Going file through file might take a while, but you hope this doesn’t take longer than what you expect. 

There are some files already open that you think will go over first. Some titles you don’t understand quite well, but there are profiles from the alpha agents that have the basic information one might get if the both worlds share the same fates.

Some are coordinates to cities that still exist in their world and the current location of every omega agent. All their data, every single mission they’ve been assigned and their contact information is there, in open sight.

This is no coincidence. Someone had left this on purpose for you to find, but why?

You decide to dwell on it later, copying every data of importance to the usb and reading the remaining files. Paragraph through paragraph, each sentence you read is worse than the other and the horror it hides behind this screen is worse than you imagined.

Who keeps this on a scientist computer? 

Unless this isn't information saved here. All you've encountered here has been placed exclusively for someone to find, with a purpose.

Oh, fuck.

Who else knew? Besides you and Sage, there has been no one else this mission has been talked about. 

Brimstone and Viper are both very picky with whoever they share important details about kingdom or omega earth; unless there is a rat in your forces, you doubt anyone else would snitch it out.

You trust Cypher with your life, and after learning what's going on with his counterpart, you doubt it could be him. Killjoy is a no-no, she is Brimstone protegé and someone who you cherish very much.

There is only one centinel left whom you found nothing inside these files.

You cannot grasp the why, though.

Someone who wanted to warn you about this and knew you were coming to gather the information that was left long ago—why would he expose himself like this? 

You were tasked to figure out the experiments on radiants and the power the armor from Yoru's ancestors held; to find the correlation to the spike and the radianite they so desperately wanted to steal.

They have an intel too, sharing the information openly and creating a bridge of knowledge for both sides without actually involving any party.

The intel is here.

And Gekko is alone.

Taking the usb with the information it loaded, you run out of the computer room towards the kitchen with rapid footsteps.

Your heart is pounding wildly inside your chest, terrified of anything happening to Gekko while you were not there to help. 

Tapping on your comms, the only answer you get while calling out Gekko's name is pure static; that only heightens your worry.

There is a small chance he might be alright and is only messing around while he waits for you to finish. Maybe he's only exploring the sites freely because no one is here and you are just paranoid and overthinking stuff.

The blizzard has gotten stronger for the past hour, covering almost everything outside in big piles of snow and picking up air currents. It made the running impossible to do and the desperation to get a hold of your senses, making you feel like your steps were slower or simply not enough.

“If he's okay I'm going to murder him myself.” you take the mental note, worried sick and furious.

Once you've arrived at the door frame from the kitchen, you are quick to notice the door to the lab is wide open. There is no sign of your partner nor anything to indicate there has been a fight here. Some things are messed up in the lab so you could only assume it was his doing while searching for the samples.

But where is Gekko? Where the fuck did he go that he is unable to answer the calls?

Going down the hallway you stop dead on your tracks when you pick up the faint sound of ticking. Above the raging weather, it is impossible for you to not recognize that awful sound.

Taking out your ghost, the only weapon you brought with you, you swing on the corridor to B site. There is a Fade holding the angle, she seems bruised and worn off, but still holds onto her phantom with the strength she has left.

You fail your first shot, which is fatal because she injures your leg with one of her bullets before you can land one through her head. You gasp in pain, leaning on the doorway and breathing in heavily while her dead body falls to the side.

The cold is not helping the wound at all, feeling the tender skin burn under your touch and friction against the tight clothing. You're not sure the bullet has exited the appendage and don't want to figure it out now, that’ll be a problem for your future self.

Gekko is your priority. 

Biting back a pained groan, you rush your walking to get the weapon, leaving the ghost strapped to your waist.

Hovering over the threshold, you are quick to spot Omega Chamber holding the angle to snowman, undisturbed and unaware one of his teammates has died. The loudness of the blizzard could be in your favor right now, since you didn’t know how many of them were left and the comms were unavailable for all of you.

The best option was to back off to the entrance to snowpile and jump down. From that distance Chamber won’t be able to detect you and you will have a chance to lower their numbers.

Reloading the gun, you follow your plan until you are close to B site. 

You didn't want to use your powers, always having faith in your aim and supported your missions with that alone.

On this occasion, there is no other option left.

Taking the shades off, you breathe in deeply, holding onto the phantom tightly and canalizing the energy from the spike ticking down. 

One of the reasons you fear your powers is when the spike is down. 

The longer you use it, the faster the ticking goes and closer to exploding, exposing everyone to its danger. There is some sort of connection from the radianite it extracts to what you can do—experimentations that has been done to you before the first light to tranform you into a radianite magnet and localize them for kingdom. 

Is a bad memory to reminiscent, painful to the core.

But if you want to get out, if you want to find Gekko, you have to become the monster you've swore to never be.

When you open your eyes, you can see your reflection in one of the cargo boxes in front of you. Your eyes are designed like waves of a radius, ring after ring moving outwards and magnetizing—demonic.

The white of the sclera and the red of the rings, Viper once mentioned how evil you look like this, which made you self conscious as to how the others might perceive you. The shades you so dearly hold onto you was taken when you killed your counterpart once. 

It belonged to her, the you from another world, and the little thought that you were no different after all made you upset and sad.

It's scary, seeing yourself like this after so long of denying your nature, is terrifying not knowing what's going to happen now.

Once upon a time, you thought it matched your vibe, but those times are long gone after the many mistakes you've made while using it.

There is no time to dwindle in the past.

Every vitals from every person within the spike radius shows in front of your eyes; where are they hiding, what are they holding, and between them, Gekko lays on the floor, unmoving.

The feeling of bubbling anger chokes you, and you cannot help the hellish cry before swinging to a Sage next to the spike and head shooting her.

You can feel the life of her becoming one with the energy of the radianite when she finally dies, going back to where it belonged once.

There is another person hiding behind the yellow box, another a little far behind near their spawn and Chamber has not stopped holding snowman even after shooting Sage who was almost right next to her. You pay him no mind, perhaps he hasn't heard you yet—you've gotta act quick.

Running to yellow, you quickly swing with the phantom and shoot Yoru in the head, but he bursts into a bright light, blinding you for a moment before you see the actual one shooting you with a bulldog.

Many bullets go past you, but as soon as it makes contact with you, your body swallows them. Yoru makes such a disgusted face seeing your body contort to accommodate the new hosts before dropping dead.

Gekko's body is right behind him, wounds littering his skin and your coat covered in amounts of blood it freezes your heart for a moment.

You know he is alive thanks to the vitals of radianite inside his body, but you fear you might lose him if you were to stick here. 

Reloading your gun, you throw his whole body on your shoulder. You've gotta take advantage while in this mode, strength won't be lasting for long with how close the spike is to exploiting.

Gekko grunts in pain when you start running, you mentally apologize to him but won't slow down.

Is not until you reach snowman that you finally hear the spike detonate.

Weakness takes hold of you and, without the energy from before and the bullets that Yoru shot you, new wounds start opening up, making you tumble down onto the snow with Gekko by your side.

The boy wakes startled, gasping for air and choking onto his own blood while looking around him. When he spots you shaking next to him, he crawls next to your side to cradle your head, unaware of the many wounds hurting him.

Turning to your side, you finally make eye contact with Gekko, happy to see him awake and somewhat okay despite his injuried. Before you can ask him yourself if he's okay, he lets off a scream, backing off until you are no longer touching. 

The terrified expression on his face should be enough to offend anyone, but dizzy and tired with the whole play you've done, you cannot figure out why he is making that expression.

Until you blink. 

You are not wearing the shades.

It must have fallen off when you ran away from the detonation and didn't notice because of the rush of adrenaline. He is staring right into you, an expression you are not able to discern through the wisps of blizzard and ice cooling you down. 

“Tsk, tsk. You've gotten away, then.”

Your hair stands on its ends, turning slowly until you see Chamber hovering over your form with his weapon in hand. Gekko gasps, choking in his own blood until his throat is sore and hurting, but closing the distance until he has you within reach.

Chamber looks down at you, his operator aiming right at your head while you try to hide Gekko’s body behind you. The poor boy grunts in pain, eyes wide in fear and body trembling for the loss of blood; he can’t even utter a word after what has happened.

Is this how you both die?

There is one shot, a second one follows after that and Chamber clicks on his comms.

“The subject was found dead.” Is what he says, to your horror. There are two holes next to your leg where he's shot, clearly missing the target. “I’ve dealt with his partner as well, I’ll be going back as soon as the spike radius goes down.”

There is a conversation going on between him and the Viper that escaped before the spike detonated. The chance of jumping him while lowering his guard is high, but would prove it to be fatal if his reflexes are sharp with the shotgun he has strapped on his hip.

Giving a brief glance at Gekko, you are safe to assume he will be okay for the time being, but not for long if Chamber decides to act on his words. 

Moving slowly, you try to reach for your knife. Maybe if you’re quick enough, you can slice his neck and leave with his weapon.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” He warns. There is not an ounce of pity in eyes, which confuses you as to what he wants to do with you both.

“If you’re going to kill us, why prolong this? I knew you were sick to the head, but not to this point.”

Walking slowly around you, he regards you with quietness and a pensive expression. The closer he gets, the more you cover Gekko with your body to create some sort of shield against the other. 

You know you wouldn’t be able to do anything if he were to manhandle you or hurt your partner; the amount of blood pooling around you was alarming enough to not do anything drastic.

“I’m taking a look.” Is his answer. With the barrel of the gun under your chin, he raises your head with gentleness. “You’ve never given me the chance to see you in action, I’m taking the time admiring those beautiful eyes you have there. Enchanting, aren’t they, kid?”

Gekko frowns at his words, with the last of his strength he scowls at Chamber and holds your arm with a weak grip.

“Territorial as well, how amusing.”

He straps the operator on his back, extending a hand to you. “Stand up. Time is running out for you and they won’t take long before they ask why I’m taking so long.”

Accepting the offering hand, you let go of Gekko to support your weight on Chamber. The moment you’re on your two feet, Chamber feels the sharp sting on his neck of your knife threatening to cut the skin. He tries to reach for his shotgun, but the pressure of the knife gets the better of him and he stops.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You warn. He laughs at that. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t slice your throat and leave you to die.”

“Just kill him!” Gekko chides in, frightened. “He’s the bad guy, anyway!”

“Now, now, that’s not the way to treat your comrades, is it?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spat, hand trembling with anger seeping out of you. 

“You better get running, the spike radius has gone down by now. I have to report back that your bodies were sadly disintegrated by the explosion so there is no proof of you leaving.” Pointing at the pile of snow covered in crimson, he continues, “The blizzard has not gone down yet, it will be no time until your trail is covered if you leave by now.”

“Why should I let you go alive?”

Smiling, he coyly asks back, “Say, who do you think gave you the information you have now? Quite promising, isn’t it?”

Dropping your arm, you let him go easily. Chamber doesn't strap his gun off nor threatens you when he makes distance, giving you the time to compose yourself and think for a moment what will be the course of the situation.

Gekko hiss loudly, gasping for air when the current gets colder. Not even giving a look at Chamber, you fall to your knees to get your partner before he hits the floor. 

You need to leave.

With your busted leg and the last of your strength, you try to carry Gekko on your back. Chamber approaches then, to help you on your feet with the boy secured on you.

“I'm sorry…” Gekko whispers in your ear, coughing up some blood and sniffing back some tears. You shush him softly, holding his legs tightly.

“Is alright, Gekko, I'm going to take you back home.”

He hums, nuzzling your neck. His cheeks are freezing, “With you?” he asks, words slurring.

“Yeah, Gekko, with me.”

Nodding to Chamber, you start walking away.

“Give my regards to my counterpart, I bet he is doing fantastiqué!” 

You don’t turn back, ignoring his words and moving forwards where you left the jett. Gekko has long passed out, having his full body weight on you slows the trail to safety, but you won’t be leaving him behind just because of a little setback.

Your only hope is he is going to be okay by the end of this.

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

Reporting back everything that happened feels like a far off dream you wouldn't believe your tale if you were to not be there. 

From the files, to the samples Gekko did get and held onto them so he could fulfill his mission; you think you deserve a little rest.

Your conversation with omega Chamber still nags your brain, leaving many questions unanswered and many things inconclusive. There is no one you can confide this information to; you decide to keep it out of the report.

Gekko seems to be recovering well—Sage did an amazing job calming you down when you arrived at the protocol. Worried sick and begging her to please heal him as a priority, she did not fight you and complied with the request. 

The boy has said nothing from the moment he woke up and has avoided talking with anyone but you. Being sedated and under many medications to his full recovery, he only has asked for you to accompany him while bedridden.

Gekko is cute under the effects of sedatives.

He asks for your hand to hold his, to please talk to him to avoid the silence, to kiss him on the forehead and whatnot; you are amused by his straightforward attitude, and appreciate the direct requests with pure intentions—you don't fulfill his requests, much to his dismay, but do talk to him softly to help him sleep better.

One would think that after such a mission and adventure you both went, the relationship would change eventually. 

Under sedatives it looked like, all cuddly and emotional—but after he was discharged and time passed by, it was the opposite.

Gekko is acting weird.

Weirder than you think he could get.

Confidence is something that oozes off him constantly, finding him caught off guard is not right nor an event that happens often; so you wonder, why does everytime you cross paths with him it seems like he gets scarred for life.

He gets all flustered, stammering over his words and fumbling hands all over the place trying to excuse himself, avoiding your gaze like it was the plague itself, and then escaping from wherever room you are situated.

There is no moment where you can go and stop him because he always finds a way out. Is bothersome and annoying that his childish behavior gets the better of him instead of confronting you about whatever has happened or is bothering him.

“Say now, what have you done to our new residential kid?” Cypher asks, tinkering with his camera. “He seems…skittish around you, haha.”

Grunting, you kick him under the table until one of your hits gets him. “Gekko is acting so fucking weird. I’m not in the mood to entertain you with my dramas, you devious man.”

He chuckles, caressing his offended appendage after your attack, “Devious, you say? I’m stating the obvious, the eyes don’t deceive from what I’ve observed, dear.”

“Oh, yeah?” Crossing your arms, you dare him to keep talking. “Go on, then, speak.”

Leaving his tools on the table, he leans in one of his arms, his whole posture seems to change from the relaxed stance towards a more formal one. “Everything comes with a price, my dear. Nothing is free in this world.”

“Your annoying self is.”

Cypher hums, fascinated, “Is it now? Go on, you know what I want to know. Tell me, and I’ll offer the knowledge of what’s going on with Gekko.”

Drumming your fingers against the table, you consider his offer for a moment. 

The weight of the information he is offering is not worth what you know. What you’re asking for is a more personal matter. What Cypher is asking for could potentially endanger the protocol and its integrants if mistakenly shared with the wrong people. And under an oath, it is impossible for you to disclose it to him this easily. Brimstone would have your head on a stick if he were to know.

The keyword here in play is know.

Cypher won’t tell a soul, there is no unless, you know he won’t tell a soul so there is nothing to lose here.

Maybe a little bit of dignity because you’re this distraught over a boy, something you thought were beyond and above, but that is a matter for you to figure out later.

“We found part of the coordinates of the omega agents, most are scattered around their world, without the need to survive nor coexist within the same space like we do because the first light happened but the catastrophe was completely different. They are seen as heroes, not villains.” You begin, Cypher leans in, interested. “Brimstone seems to believe they are using radianite to support their own world and create matter from the power it gives them since they can’t afford to. Their world is dying at a fast pace, so the attacks with spikes might occur sooner than we think.”

“How so?”

You shake your head. “I’m not sure, Killjoy is investigating that aspect as we speak right now. I don’t think they are going to share that information with me nor any of us except Viper and, perhaps, Sage. And until we get assigned another mission, we have to pretend everything is under control.”

“Anyhow, we’ve got another problem.” You sigh, “There is one amongst us who is giving the omega counterparts our information, and vice versa. Viper seems to believe it could be Chamber—so do I, but we have no proof to support the supposition. They’ve yet to discuss how to tread in to obtain more information.”

Keeping the conversation you had with omega Chamber as a secret might be the wrong move, but if you can work on the shadows and try to get in contact with him once again, maybe you will get a lead as to how to read their moves before they act.

Risky, but willing to test it out.

“Anything else?”

Thrumming against the surface, you consider whether to share this tidbit of information to him or save it for yourself. Because, how do you tell the man who has lost everything and everyone, that his counterpart has been able to get his wife and kid back, unlike him? 

Cypher has been your friend for many years, you cherish him enough to not want to hurt him in any way; for his sake, this will also die with you.

“Nothing more, is just a summary of what I was able to get.”

Cypher hums, contemplating your words and the information given before nodding, satisfied with what he’s learnt.

“Gekko seems to have developed quite the feelings for you, dear.” He announces after a moment. Blinking, completely caught off guard, you scowl at him.

“I’ve given you all the information I've gathered so you could laugh in my face, fucker?” Cypher watches your hands close into fists, holding back the need to punch him in the face. “What else, are you going to tell me he is in love or something?”

“But he is!” He defends himself, both of his arms shown in surrender. “Is it not my fault the boy is completely enamored with you now, you can ask him yourself.”

“You are an idiot.”

He laughs, “Maybe, but in matters of love, dear, one is not deceived so easily. Gekko is in love, if not a little obsessed with you now. Say, you don't know how he looks at you when you're distracted.”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “He's scared of me, I think.”

“Says who?” Going back to his camera, he keeps going, “If only you were to see how much he hates our close relationship, or how heated his gaze is whenever I approach you. Ah! Young love, murderous and territorial.”

“Someone said something like that before…”

“See? Eyes do not deceive what we perceive.” Cypher chuckles, putting his tools back into its bag. “He won't make a move, and it is up to you whether you want to pursue something with this kid or simply start bedding someone else until he gets the idea, hm?”

“You are disgusting.”

“But I'm not wrong. Better break his heart now than later.”

If Cypher isn’t dead by the end of your little chat, it is only because of the years you’ve known each other or else the protocol would be one less man on their lines. 

Something he’s said is true though, you can ask Gekko directly the fuck is going on with him to solve the problem. Bedding someone else is not an option, disgusted by the many men inside this place, Gekko and Phoenix are the only ones you might consider handsome and eye candy in your opinion.

You have the lingering suspicion that what happened at Ice box had something to do with his shift and new perspective of you. Which you find unfair, since all you did was try to save your asses and he was only awake partly through the end.

Why would your eyes be of enough importance for Gekko to run away from you? Something wasn’t adding up here. Nothing about what Cypher said of Gekko's newfound love for you made sense with the way he was acting. It could almost pass up as if he was afraid of you, right?

No matter. You are going to find out one way or another.

Gekko finds that you can be terrifying when you really want to, finding you hanging and waiting in the darkest corner of the base to ambush him or worse, kill him. Is a ridiculous thought, in truth, he doesn’t think you would be capable of such a thing.

But right now, after what’s transpired on Ice box and witnessing how fierce, methodical, hot, you were, he is sure you can snap him like a toothpick and he won’t complain. Which is why he is so concerned! That is the main reason why he’s so scared right now, because if you asked him to bend over, Gekko would do it without hesitation! 

Too much, that’s way too much. His own thoughts are embarrassing, and he doesn’t know what he’s capable of when you’re in the vicinity. He needs to keep his libido in check or else he’s going to burst if you were to direct a word at him.

But of course, life never wants to give him a moment to breathe in peace.

You are able to corner him once his practice is done in one of the empty hallways of the base. 

Patience has been a key in the whole process of waiting for Gekko to be left alone. The boy seems to be surrounded by people all the time, which infuriates you because you wanted nothing more than to squeeze out the information from the source from the moment your conversation ended with Cypher.

Gekko looks like a second away from passing out with his red face and how hard he is shaking from the close distance. You thought if you were to put your arms and cage him with no way to run, it would be easy to talk to him, but he isn’t even looking at you!

There is no moment to waste, “Gekko, have I done something to you? Something to offend you?”

“N-no.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me? We’ve literally gone through a life threatening situation together and now you won’t just direct a word at me?” 

He whines low, eyelids lowering and refusing to meet you in the eyes—or the shades, to save yourself some embarrassment— and something about his voice, the way he is acting so vulnerable and weak, ignites the same fire inside you like it did the first time; and to your horror, you are able to discern it wasn’t anger what you were feeling that day, but something entirely different.

Great, now are two who are flustered enough that the conversation won’t be able to go on.

Gekko gulps loudly, eyes darting everywhere except your face and fidgeting slightly. 

On a sudden rush of adrenaline and braveness, you take your shades off, closing it and hanging it on your shirt. Once the other gets a hang of what you’re trying to do, his eyes widen in panic. But by then it was too late.

Your fingers close on his chin, making him raise his whole face to level with yours and finally, his hazel eyes make contact with yours.

Is a gamble, but you are ready to accept whatever happens here.

There is a whole shiver that runs down his spine when he tries to speak, stuttering over his words but his eyes never leave yours. Too many things, so much blabbering of his trying to fill in the silence to keep his hammering heart at bay, you’re getting tired of it.

Unspoken things sometimes should stay that way, unspoken.

Your lips crash against his on a bruising kiss, stealing his breath in one single contact and swallowing his whines when he tries to protest. Gekko is quick to reciprocate and deepen the kiss, letting his tongue invade your mouth eagerly in an attempt to savor every crevice and keep the contact to last long, for as long as you want, anything you give him he is going to devour with fervor. 

One of his hands finds purchase behind your neck, obligating you to push him against the wall while the other snakes his way under your shirt, feeling every inch of skin available until his fingertips toy with the hem of your bra. 

His mouth moves in tandem with yours, desperate and wanting. You cannot escape from the iron grip behind your neck nor the other hand trying to figure out how to take the clothing off. 

Gekko wants you, wants you, no kidding. With the way he is grinding against you, and how he keeps making these noises when your tongues connect in his mouth, to the low grunts he slips when you regain dominance. This boy is desperate to bed you, and you cannot deny you don’t share the same sentiment.

You groan loudly when his hand gives up and tucks under the bra to grab your right breast, toying with the mound and fingers stimulating the nipple. Gekko smiles against your lips when he hears the reaction, sucking on your lower lip and claiming your mouth once again.

Your hand finds purchase on his hip, guiding his erratic movements to a slow one, making the friction harder to pursue but more aware of the pleasure flooding his system.

“More, please.” he whispers, kissing your cheek and leading his mouth down your neck to suck on the skin. “Give me more.”

Submissive.

Holding his cheeks you redirect his lips to yours, giving him what he wants. Rising your leg and applying pressure, he groans loudly for you to stick your tongue down his throat. His cock feels hard rock against your thigh, twitching with the need to be touched directly by your hand alone.

Gekko doesn't know what comes over him nor how he finds the courage to be touching you without shame. From kissing you, to feeling your breasts fit perfectly in his hand and having you ride his thigh unconsciously, is all too overwhelming and hot and it turns him on so much he wants to be devoured by you.

Own me, he wants to say, own me, mark me, make me yours only, please.

His finger racks down your chest with the many sinful thoughts running his head, leaving a red trail of his mark on your body. Gekko’s hand lowers until he grabs a handful of your ass now and tries to bite your lips in an attempt to seduce you. But somehow gets to draw blood because of his eagerness to feel you too. You stop for a moment, whining in pain and catching your breath from the make out session.

Taking distance, Gekko grunts in protest, eyes begging you to keep going. But when he notices the slight blood, he panics wildly. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” His hands hold your head with tenderness, and he watches your lip bleed slightly and get swollen with how hard he was chasing after the kiss. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Huffing in amusement, you grab him by the neck and push him against the wall once again, his hands fall to his sides. He seems caught off guard, a surprised expression painting his features while he figures what you’re trying to do. 

Leaning in, you whisper in his ear, “You’re such a brat, you know that?” 

Gekko sighs at your words, melting under your touch, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I am…”

Wanting to test the waters, you tighten your grip on his neck, Gekko moans at that, bucking his hips.

“Who gave you permission to talk back, hm?”

You feel him gulp, having enough braveness to let his hand fall on your waist and caress you softly. Your eyes soften looking deeply into his eyes, finally understanding that his feelings are real.

The tenderness in which he looks at you fills your heart with this unknown feeling. Overwhelming, blooming, that is suffocating. In a good way, though, is pleasing.

“Are you okay with this, Gekko?” you ask. Gekko blushes and nods. Leaning your forehead against his, you smile gently.

“I-If you are, yes, anything.” Your stare is heavy, scorching, but he thinks that has nothing to do with the fact your eyes hold so much power and weight; but because he’s made you this flustered with his kisses.

That alone is enough to rile him up even more.

The blood has dried by this point and you are more than eager to keep going, but the fact anyone could find you both like this, and Gekko would be unable to hide the hard on he is sporting right now, obligates you to keep your feet grounded.

“Want to continue this behind doors?” you ask him, your hand touching his lower lip with care. Gekko nods excitedly, kissing your thumb. 

“Yes, please.” 

Oh, you cannot wait to wreck and ruin this man for anybody else.

Bold of you to assume he would want anyone but you on his bed by the end of tonight.

[gracev0609]

Morning Light

A blurb within the I Was Born to Love You Universe...

A gracev0609/ @losfacedevil collaboration.

There's so much more we want to share, periodically we will be releasing short scenes just like this one.

The sun had just started to break, sending pink rays through the gauzy sheers in your bedroom. Your eyes fluttered open, a rosy hue filled the room, and you were aware of your partner, Y/N, sleeping on your chest. Nuzzling your face in her hair you inhaled the scent of your lover, feeling a soft warmth spread in your chest, the feeling of love and contentment. You pressed soft kisses on her head and you felt her stir, lazily she pressed a kiss to your skin before falling asleep yet again. You didn't mind, it was too early for her to be awake yet anyway. Her body still sore and slightly swollen from birthing your daughter, she deserves her rest. Your gaze moves from your love to your Sunshine. 

It took you one night from her arrival to move her crib from her nursery to your bedroom, you were going to be up with her anyway, and it made you feel better that you could keep an eye on her.

For the time being your daughter was still sleeping, if you looked hard enough you could see the rise and fall of her tiny chest. You thought about how perfect she was, how the two of you created something so beautiful and magical. You were so hopelessly in love, she was your everything. Before now you had never experienced a love so deep, it hurt if you thought about it too hard.

Y/N stirred in your arms again, placing another soft kiss to your chest, and you ran your fingers over the soft skin of her back. She shivered and pressed herself closer to your body. She mumbled a soft,” I love you,Josh.” 

“I love you baby. You can sleep some more, I'm going to get up and get her bottle ready. She'll be awake any moment now.”

She slid off of your body and you pulled the comforter further up and over her body.

Muffled into her pillow you heard her say,” Your such a good daddy Josh.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and a soft smile appears as you quietly slip out of bed, heading to your closet to put on sweats.

Looking for a clean zip up hoodie you made a mental note to order more, they were perfect for your early morning routine with Halina. You fed her, burped her,changed her, and then snuggled her against the skin of your chest. Pulling the zipper up, so most of her body was covered in the fabric as she dozed off with a full belly. 

As you padded your way to the kitchen a smile graced your lips, out of all of your various morning rituals you've had over the years, this was your favorite. You had gone through numerous waves of life, hurrying out the door to grab a coffee on the way to classes, waking up in the afternoon with hangovers, rising early to smoke and meditate, to now enjoying the sunrise with your daughter.

You grabbed a fresh bottle and a container of breast milk out of the fridge and began preparing it. Once warmed to perfection you made your way back to your bedroom, bottle in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Setting the drinks down on your nightstand you peered into the crib to find your Sunshine awake and wiggling.

“Hi my Sunshine. Good morning. Daddy got you breakfast, are you hungry?”

You whispered as you picked her up and cradled her. You sat back down on your side of the bed, scooting yourself backwards until your back rest against the mountain of pillows.

Getting her situated in your arms you whispered,” See your Mama knew that they would come in handy for something. She's so smart.”

Bringing the bottle to your newborn's face, you smiled when she easily latched onto the nipple. A sense of pride filled you when you helped your daughter feed, it had only been a week since she was born and you thought she was doing amazing already. 

Soon enough she was slowing down, quickly getting full.

After burping her you said,“Alright love, let's get you changed and into a new outfit. I'm thinking of your yellow onesie with the smiley suns.”

You changed your daughter with care, making sure she was clean and dry before wrapping her up in her onesie.

You grabbed your now lukewarm coffee and took a large gulp before getting back into bed.

You reclined back into the pillows and unzipped your sweatshirt, tucking Halina's little legs in and holding her close to your body. Closing your eyes you took a few deep breaths, commiting the feeling of her tiny warm body against your chest to your memory. You knew that all too fast she would be growing up, getting bigger and bigger until one day she won't fit into your sweatshirt anymore.

Your fingers found purchase in the soft downy baby hair on her head. Just a few strands, you could barely call it hair. Speaking softly you asked as you rubbed her head,” What does my baby want to do today huh? Maybe take some naps, snuggle with mommy? What if we ask Uncle Sam if he wants to meet you today? We'll have to ask Mama when she wakes up. She needs her rest so she can take the best care of you.”

Eventually your daughter fell asleep to the vibrations of your voice with a tummy full of milk, and you sighed feeling content yet again. Within the next half hour or so you knew your love would wake up, and you knew you would put your daughter down in her crib and help take care of your partner. But for now you enjoyed the near silence of your bedroom, now illuminated in soft sunshine, the only sound being the breaths of the two people you loved most in this world.

[lu-is-not-ok]

While we're psychoanalyzing the EGOs, what are your opinions on Dimensional Shredder? Deffo something on freedom there, but I'm having trouble putting it to words myself.

Alright, another shared E.G.O. Cracks knuckles.

You know the drill, under cut we go.

So let's talk about Wayward Passenger as an abnormality first. It's a representation of the horrible things W Corp puts people through on their WARP trains given form. In a way, that makes it similar to abnormalities like Mountain of Smiling Bodies or CENSORED (if you subscribe to the smoke war monster theory).

The dungeon event in which we meet Wayward Passenger is especially telling in what themes it wants to carry. The narration mentions that the corporation responsible for disappearance will simply pretend that this person never existed. The reveal that the Passenger was actually a W Corp employee further adds to this.

(Also, random tangent, but am I the only one that got reminded of Bongcheon-Dong Ghost by this abno's event? Something about having to point a terrifying monster in a direction away from you and hope it doesn't come back just brought back memories. At least the Passenger has enough manners to not jumpscare you.)

When it comes to the abnormality itself, Wayward Passenger carries themes of corporate exploitation and negligence, specifically in the way W Corp might find its employees expendable and doesn't care about inflicting suffering upon its clients as long as they profit from it.

There are also some themes of abandonment and being lost, but also tenacity in spite of it. Despite not being able to escape, Wayward Passanger still searches for a way out and never stops moving forward.

So. With all that being said. How does it all tie back to Hong Lu and Yi Sang, as they are the ones with Dimension Shredder?

Thanks to Canto IV we now know that Yi Sang absolutely fits under the exploited by corporate greed umbrella. It's a major theme of his whole chapter in fact! The themes of being lost are also reflected in Yi Sang's aimlessness after the League collapsed. He was completely lost and effectively abandoned by everyone except Gubo, only to be further exploited by even more corporate greed.

Hell, you could even say his character arc in his Canto represents that tenacity in spite of being lost I mentioned. Though his goal might not be all that clear, he still wants to keep going and keep moving forward, no matter what.

When it comes to Hong Lu, we don't have nearly as much information... But we can speculate! I think in this case the "corporate exploitation" is less literally corporate, but still applicable. I'm talking about Hong Lu's family, of course. Though we don't know much, we do get quite a few hints about his family exploiting him for their own gain, especially now that we're getting a Hong Lu ID that is quite literally based on the idea of paralleling that part of him with Actual Corporate Exploitation!

With how cagey Hong Lu is about the deeper parts of his past, and how hard it is to tell when he's being genuine, it's honestly hard to pinpoint any of the other themes onto him.

However, we could work a little bit backwards here and see how Wayward Passenger might apply to Hong Lu's recurring themes of freedom.

In that way, we could be onto something here. Wayward Passenger is no longer under W Corp's protection, if it ever was. It's lost and abandoned by the thing that was supposed to be protecting it... But on the other hand, it is free now. W Corp can't reach it anymore. It can go wherever it wants and nothing will stop it.

If you want to translate that to how that might apply to Hong Lu, then you could interpret that as a sign that Hong Lu can only attain "true" freedom by severing ties with the thing exploiting him, aka his family... At the cost of losing the comfort and protection they offered him, as little as it may have been.

You could say that idea is reflected in Tingtang Hong Lu. Yes, he is probably the most free when it comes to authority bearing down on him compared to all his other IDs. ...But he's also a gambler living in the Backstreets leading a gang so incompetent he has to threaten them with death to keep them in line. He may be free, but his life is far from comfortable.

...I think it's funny that I already wrote that much and I haven't even touched the actual E.G.Os themselves, whoops! Let's go do that.

First thing to note about Dimension Shredder is that its damage type is Pride, especially since Yi Sang's version doesn't even *require* Pride resources. In fact, Dimension Shredder is the only non-base E.G.O that deals Pride damage.

To go a little bit deeper into that, all of the base E.G.O that deal Pride damage seem to imply taking an action while ignoring the consequences that might follow them. Rodion's What Is Cast is the most obvious example here, representing her murder of the pawnbroker without considering how the Middle would react to one of their family being killed. Likewise, Outis, Meursault, and Faust seem to carry similar ideas. Outis reminding herself of the Odyssey's purpose, as if trying to cope with the unforseen consequences of her actions. Meursault acting out despite noting how doing so only tightens the chains of those judging him. Faust opening herself to knowledge and possibilities regardless of what it may do.

In a way, that is what Pride is at its core. Performing actions purely because of what benefit they bring to oneself, without considering the drawbacks and consequences.

There's a couple of ways we could interpret that with Dimension Shredder.

For one, we could zoom back out to what Wayward Passenger represents. Dimension Shredder being a Pride E.G.O could be signifying the Pride inherent in corporate exploitation. By its very nature, it's an action done purely for the corporation's benefit, without considering the consequences on other people.

The other is a bit more directly applicable to Yi Sang and Hong Lu themselves. It could represent how they, and the abnormality included, continue moving forward regardless of what may stand in their way. Regardless what the consequences may be for doing so.

During the attack animations for both Dimension Shredder Awakenings, we see Yi Sang and Hong Lu enter a dimensional rift they make, with both of them notably hesitating before doing so. Judging by Hong Lu's expression when he exits the rift, it's not exactly a pleasant experience. And yet, they both do it anyway. The benefit of continuing to move outweighs the damage it may inflict on them, so they ignore the consequences. I think it kinda points to my second interpretation above.

When it comes to Sin Resources, both Yi Sang and Hong Lu require Gluttony, but while Hong Lu requires Pride, Yi Sang requires Sloth. Let's dissect it one at a time.

Gluttony in Limbus Company has two meanings, in my opinion. On one hand, there's the Greed-adjacent aspect, where it represents the want for more and more. This neverending need for growth, for consumption, for progress. On the other hand, when it's seen in a more sympathetic light, it can represent the actions one commits for the sake of one's own Survival.

When it comes to Dimension Shredder, I think it's a little bit of both for both Hong Lu and Yi Sang. They both need Gluttony to survive in an environment where they're actively being exploited, but at the same time they need Gluttony to keep moving further and further forward, to keep making progress endlessly.

For the other Resources that each of them uses, I think it specifically represents what part of them is what allows them to be easily exploited by those above them.

Sloth for Yi Sang represents his apathy and passiveness. He gets exploited because he doesn't care enough about himself to fight back against it. Why bother? It doesn't matter, everything and everyone else was exploited, so why stand up to being exploited yourself? While this is something that Yi Sang starts to come out of by the end of Canto IV, I doubt it's a habit that will be easy for him to break just like that.

The fact that Pride is a resource here for Hong Lu paints his passiveness when being exploited under a different light. He doesn't buckle because he's apathetic like Yi Sang, it's because he believes that the benefits of letting himself be exploited outweigh the drawbacks enough to ignore them. If we apply this to his family exploiting him, it paints a pretty vivid picture. Sure, he is being used and hurt by his family, but just accepting that it happens means he still gets to enjoy the comfort and "love" they give him. Because what happens if he stands up to them? He likely gets punished. He loses that comfort he relies on. So he'd rather just bear the pain and pretend everything is okay, because the alternative is far worse.

Now, let's examine the dialogue lines, because I think they are very interesting with all of that analysis behind us.

For starters, I think for both Dimension Shredder users, their Awakening lines are a reflection of their coping mechanism in the face of being exploited being pushed to its absolute limits.

Yi Sang's Awakening line is a reflection of how he tries to throw himself into research and scholarly pursuits as a form of escapism from his reality. Whether it's his activities with the League, or his dependency on the Mirror, we see in Canto IV that he turns to acting the part of a researcher when faced with corporate exploitation.

Likewise, while using Dimension Shredder he makes notes of his surroundings like a researcher traversing the space. Noting the enchanting colors and how he can't memorize the path he's on. However, his tone of voice is a lot more... manic? It's emotional, seemingly entranced by what he's seeing. I think it signifies how, when pushed to his limits, Yi Sang would completely throw himself into his research, to a perhaps almost obsessive degree.

Hong Lu's Awakening line on the other hand reflects how he tries to keep a happy tone regardless of the circumstances. His defense mechanism is hiding what he's truly feeling behind a mask of smiles and jokes.

Tingtang and Kurokumo Hong Lu are probably the best examples of this. While having a constant jovial tone, Tingtang Hong Lu is an utter piece of shit only using kindness as a thin veil to hide his actual intentions. Kurokumo Hong Lu on the other hand uses a somewhat polite tone despite the fact he clearly does not respect anyone. It's even more obvious with the latter when you examine his post-uptie illustration more closely. While he wears a smile on his face, the veins shown on the hand clutching his sword say that he's not as calm as he seems.

While using Dimension Shredder, Hong Lu tries to keep up his smiling facade... Except this time, he fails. At his very limit, he's too worn down and tired of the abuse to pretend he's fine. The words do come out, but he can't make them sound the way he wants to anymore. The mask finally cracks under the pressure.

Matching with how the Awakening lines share a specific theme, the Corrosion lines do as well. Dimension Shredder Corroded dialogue lines all seem to express some form of realization that they are finally free.

Yi Sang's Corrosion line describes how the alley he's going down does in fact have an exit. It's an open one. Not only is it a reference to Poem No. 1 from Crow's Eye View, but the way Yi Sang speaks it is very interesting here. His tone is fully confident, and even seems to lack the usual tired breathiness that Yi Sang usually has.

Good thing I'm writing this after Canto IV has come out, because... All of that is reflected in Yi Sang's character arc. He does realize that the alley is open. He does realize he can keep moving forward. And, most importantly, he does gain the confidence to not let himself be stopped.

With all of that context, let's look at Hong Lu's Corrosion line. His dialogue line expresses how nobody (or nothing) is forcing him to "be located there", causing him to fall into a fit of gasping laughter. There is something. Incredibly disturbing about this line to me. It's this dichotomy between Hong Lu hesitantly realizing that he's no longer stuck, that nobody is ordering him around anymore, and his downright histerical sounding delivery.

Since we don't have Hong Lu's Canto just yet, I can't do the same comparison as I did with Yi Sang... But I could try to predict what Hong Lu's Canto could end on if we assume this line is foreshadowing it the same way Yi Sang's was.

I think Canto 8 will show us Hong Lu finally break. There will be no more mask to hide behind, just a flood of emotions that had been held back for all of his life. Most importantly though, it won't be pretty. If there's any Sinner who will be in need of emotional catharsis through a mental breakdown boss battle, Hong Lu seems like the perfect candidate for that. Either that or Hong Lu just straight up fucking murders someone on screen. Ideally both.

There's probably more I can analyze based on the visual designs of the E.G.O... But honestly this already got way fucking longer than the Roseate Desire analysis so I'll just leave you with the mental image of me chanting Hong Lu Commit Fratricide.

[labellefleur-sauvage]

Tempests and Urges

Slowly, Lucien turned his head and his gaze found hers. Everything quieted. The house’s inhabitants were gathered around Lucien, talking about what he could expect, but Elain focused only on the male in front of her. She tried to convey her apology and sorrow and want with her eyes, frozen with indecision and unable to say what she wanted.

Lucien stared back at her, and while she could so clearly see his own sadness and longing reflected in his brilliant russet eye, he gave her a small, slow bow and turned away. Elain’s stomach dropped. He was going to leave her, and Elain would be stuck in this house like a neglected piece of furniture, without the one being who had a hope of truly understanding and listening to her. She took a half step down the stairs at the same time Lucien turned to Rhys and nodded his head…

“Wait!”

...

"Take me with you."

Chapter II of my gift for @stickyelectrons for the @acotargiftexchange! Thank you for your patience (the holidays were busy!) but I'm excited to share this next chapter with you! Wishing everyone a happy new year!

Read on AO3

XXX

II.

When Lucien rose that morning, never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined how the day would turn out: interrupted by Elain Archeron when he was seconds away from being sent to the Continent, and the same woman insisting on joining him on his quest to find the lost mortal queen. Secretly, when Elain announced her intentions and Nesta questioned if she had been placed under a spell, Lucien had the same thought as the eldest Archeron. But as Elain made her case to her sisters, her eyes had filled with the eerily familiar fight and stubbornness he’d seen countless times in Feyre’s eyes. Perhaps that was just an Archeron trait, he thought. 

Another apparent Archeron trait: sheer willpower. Lucien thought that this particular characteristic may have skipped over Elain, but as they came to at the base of a tremendous mountain range and Rhys vanished with a nod and a wisp of smoke, Elain simply took a look around at their surroundings then looked to Lucien with a determined look on her face. “So, which way?”

Lucien took out his map and showed Elain their approximate location. Montesere occupied the northwestern corner of the Continent, bordered by the sea on its northern and western shores, with rolling hills that grew to rocky mountains along its eastern edges. In an ideal world, they would be able to walk in a southeasterly direction to Koschei’s lake from their current location, without worrying about the Continent’s marauding thieves and criminals. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t be making this journey at all, Lucien thought, so any wishes for an easier route seemed a bit pointless. 

“How far are we from the western ports?” Elain asked, studying the map dotted with notes and diagrams. 

“About three days. There are some forests we can camp in each night.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

That was two days ago, and the pair hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since. Not that Lucien hadn’t tried to make conversation. He asked Elain about her hobbies–”What else do you enjoy growing in your garden?” or “Do you enjoy dancing?” even “Any other interests?”—and all he received were one word answers or an unimpressed ‘hmph’ that even Lucien, master flirt and wordsmith that he was, didn’t know how to expand upon to further their conversations. Elain never asked him anything other than confirmation that they were on track to the port, so Lucien took the hint. 

Lucien thought he and Elain would finally discuss what tied them together. Clearly, Elain insisted on joining him for reasons other than being alone with him for an extended period of time, working together towards a common cause and getting to know each other.

Mates. Cauldron, even months after the bond snapped into place, Lucien was still winded by the knowledge that he had a mate. No, that perhaps didn’t surprise him; who his mate was, and wasn’t, was what he still couldn’t wrap his head around. 

He had thought it before and he thought it now: Jesminda was the exact opposite of Elain. Jesminda, full of life and laughter, fearless, confident and secure in herself and what she stood for. She always had a smile for Lucien, and matched his fire with her own unique warmth. 

Elain held no warmth or happiness for Lucien. Not that she needed any, he thought. She owed him nothing, even as his inner beast wanted to grab her shoulders, make her look at him, make her listen to him as he begged and pleaded his case for why he was a worthy male for her. 

Guilt over Jesminda and his newfound happiness at discovering his mate still warred within him. Much of Lucien’s time and thoughts since discovering the mating bond had been devoted to reconciling his feelings towards the female he had once loved so fiercely. 

He had moved on from Jesminda, or, as moved on as one could be after watching the female he thought was his mate murdered before his own eyes. He hadn’t been…unhappy, for some time, per se, but had been merely existing for the past several hundred years. Some decades were better than others, but Lucien had long ago lost the wonder and excitement that rising each day once brought him. Lucien had accepted Jesminda’s death and the inevitability that he would never know such love and happiness again.

But then Hybern happened. The Cauldron happened.

And now here, right in front of him, was the most breathtaking female he had ever seen. His heart called out to hers, even as his head cautioned him to slow down, to stop these dangerous and near traitorous thoughts. A small part of him still loved Jesminda, and most likely always would; was it wrong of him to one day move on, to want to feel the love and desire that he’d once had, but with someone else?

Did he even deserve this love? He had done so much wrong in his life, and for the Mother to still bless him with the most beautiful female he’d ever seen… 

“Will you stop sighing back there? Whatever it is you’re thinking about, you’re being more dramatic than Nesta when Feyre wouldn’t give her money for a new pair of shoes.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. They had formed an unspoken walking pattern: one ten feet in front of the other, never talking except for directions, and always looking ahead. At first it bothered him, but as Lucien began walking behind Elain, getting a generous view of her bottom and legs in the tight Illyrian leathers everyone in the Night Court insisted on wearing, he decided to keep his mouth shut. 

Not now, though. “I’m being dramatic? You’re the one who started a public family fight after you had barely spoken anything for weeks because you wanted to accompany me in finding this mortal queen. I’d love to know why exactly you’re here, by the way, because it clearly wasn’t to get to know me.” Lucien paused. “Why did Nesta need money from Feyre?”

Elain turned to face him, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. “It’s really none of your business–”

“It seems you’ve forgotten I already know quite a bit about your family business, thanks to you.”

“But before, when we were humans, Feyre, er, hunted and supplied our family with most of our money,” Elain rushed out, looking back ahead. Lucien could have sworn she started walking faster as well. 

“Feyre said you all wouldn’t last a month after she came to the Spring Court, but I didn’t think she was being serious.” Lucien stuffed his hands in his pockets as best he could with his heavy pack on his back and raised a condescending eyebrow, despite the fact that Elain wasn’t looking at him. “So you willingly let Feyre hunt and starve herself to provide everything for your family?” 

Elain stopped and turned to face him, her face red, legs wide and clenched fists by her side. The stance of someone getting ready for a fight. “Right, because as the son of a High Lord, you know everything about doing any sort of hard work to survive?”

Lucien sneered. If Elain knew what being the son of Beron Vanserra truly entailed, she’d wipe that leer off her pink lips. Lucien could tell her of the times he’d been struck or hit for any perceived slight towards his father, or the time he’d been plied with liquor until he passed out and his father’s cronies winnowed his unconscious body to a desolate forest on the other side of Autumn Court with nothing on him except his clothes and a note, telling him to find his way back to the Forest House in time for dinner, all because Lucien had made a few too many jokes with a visiting nobleman. 

Lucien could easily have told Elain all this and more, and how each and every instance of cruelty and malice prepared Lucien for a hard life of doing anything to survive. But she wouldn’t be able to comprehend or truly understand what he’d gone through, how truly monstrous the fae were. Or perhaps worse, those big brown eyes of hers would fill with pity. 

He’d received enough pitying looks to last him a lifetime. Instead, Lucien took a step towards her. “I at least know how to fish, so I guess you could say I do. More than you, at least.”

“Wonderful,” Elain spat. “If anything should happen to us, we can call upon your supposedly superb ability to catch a fish to save us.”

“You forget I’m also a skilled warrior.” Another step closer to his mate. “In fact, I’m very comfortable with all manner of swords in different lengths,” he purred, raising a single eyebrow suggestively and smirking. 

Most females needed very little convincing to lay down and raise their skirts whenever Lucien used that tone of voice and moved his lips like that. The female in front of him, however, wasn’t like that, Lucien realized a second later.

Elain laughed mockingly. “Well, Feyre gave me a knife the size of my pinky–I’m assuming that’s the length you’re the most familiar with?”

Lucien frowned. “I know Feyre has an attitude, but I incorrectly assumed you were better than your younger sister in that regard.”

“I do not have an attitude!”

“Feyre also single-handedly saved all of Prythian while she was Under the Mountain, and is working tirelessly to save us all again, so I suppose the attitude is warranted,” Lucien said loudly, ignoring Elain.

“And you almost destroyed all of Prythian, and my life, when you allied with Hybern and turned me into…this, so I think my attitude is justified as well!” 

Lucien bit his tongue. He’d apologized for that, and deeply regretted not being more assertive with Tamlin when things with Hybern progressed, even when Lucien’s conscious screamed at him day after day that what they were doing was wrong, that nothing, not even Feyre, was worth betraying everyone and sullying themselves by allying with Hybern. The guaranteed abuse from Tamlin would have been preferable to what transpired. 

“As I said, Lady, I apologize,” Lucien gritted. “It was never my intention to cause you or anyone harm.”

Elain scoffed. “Is that the best apology you can make? I thought there would be more groveling from the male who took everything from me.”

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?”

This time it was Elain who took a step towards him. She planted her hands on her hips. “Would you even know what to do if you went on your knees before me?”

Cauldron help him. Maybe the Mother knew exactly what she was doing when she decided the two of them should be mates. The fire dancing in her eyes called out to his own warmth, and the blood pulsing through his body called out to her. He wondered if Elain could hear how fast his heart was beating at that moment, in sheer excitement and want. 

It had been some time since he’d wanted anyone this desperately.

Lucien took the final step towards Elain. He glanced down at her flushed face, his gaze lingering on her lips when her tongue peeked out to wet them. She was breathing fast, and her eyes looked slightly glazed. “I will gladly get on my knees–”

Elain gasped and her body went stiff. “The crow will strike with bloody wings,” she mumbled, staring at something over his shoulder. “Its children will turn the sky black as night.”

“Oh hell,” Lucien muttered as Elain swayed on the spot. He eyed her nervously as her hazy eyes continued staring off into the distance. This was obviously a vision, and like her previous ones, frustratingly vague and cryptic. “Elain?” he called softly after a few moments. 

Nothing. It was like she had fallen asleep standing up. Lucien snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Elain?” Still no response. He gave her a few more moments and looked around. There was nothing of interest behind him that she could be staring at. He sighed, unsure what to do. Would she simply…come to, on her own? Did she need to be forcefully brought back to the present?

Clearly, standing stock still in the middle of nowhere wasn’t conducive to breaking her out of her trance, so more immediate action needed to be taken. Tentatively, Lucien reached out and wrapped his hands gently around her upper arms and gave her just the smallest shake. “Elain?”

Cauldron, what was going on inside her mind that couldn’t be broken? “I hope you remember more about your vision than I do, because I wasn’t paying attention to the first part,” he grumbled. 

Enough of this–they had to keep moving, and if he had to be the one to move both of them, so be it. Lucien bent down below Elain to wrap his hands around her knees right as she gasped.

“What are you doing down there?! I wasn’t serious about you getting on your knees! Get away!”

“Ah, stop it!” Lucien threw up his arms to protect his face from Elain’s swinging hands. “You had a vision and were just standing there like a statue, I was going to carry you so we could keep moving! Stop trying to hit me!”

“I lose myself for a few seconds and you try to make a move on me! I thought you’d be more of a gentleman!” Elain stepped away from Lucien and smoothed her hands over her unruly hair and clothes, shooting him a suspicious glare. 

“Who told you I was a gentleman?”

Elain blushed, and Lucien decided he very much enjoyed how the color elevated her pretty face. “I just assumed, being the son of a High Lord, that you would have manners and courtesy becoming of your station.”

Lucien barked a laugh. “Fae nobility doesn’t operate under the same ideals of goodness as humans, Elain. Me being the son of a High Lord means nothing to me, and I am by no means a gentleman, as you will soon come to find out,” he promised, grinning at her with all his teeth exposed.

Elain inhaled sharply. “And I think,” Lucien continued, stepping back into her personal space, “that you don’t really want a gentleman, do you?”

From this close up, Lucien could smell her sweet honey and jasmine scent, along with an altogether new and entirely different scent. Faint, so faint, but the burgeoning scent of her excitement danced across his tongue. He nearly groaned. 

Lucien knew just enough about Elain’s former betrothed to get the measure of him: the son of a general from a safe, respectable, predictable family that probably considered organizing their vast weapons collection as the highlight of their year. Looking at Elain now, her breath quick and scent excited, Lucien knew she’d be permanently bored and miserable should she have married that mortal. No, Elain perhaps didn’t have the same fire as her sisters, but she was intense in her own ways and needed someone to challenge her all the same. She needed excitement. She needed an adventure.

It could certainly just be the mating bond riding them, making them feel this way, but he didn’t think it was just that. This close to her, he could have sworn he saw a flicker of anticipation and surprise in the way her eyes searched his face. Trust me, Lucien pleaded with his eyes. He reached out to their bond, the string connecting them, and slowly moved along it. Give me a chance…

She turned her nose up at him. “You’re wrong–I would very much appreciate a gentleman, someone kind and who doesn’t make untoward advances on me, specially right now.” Without another word, Elain turned around and began marching away, her boots stomping so hard into the ground small puffs of dirt arose with each step. 

He counted to ten in his head, feeling cold and frustrated in the aftermath of her rebuttal. “You’re going the wrong way!” Lucien called after her retreating form. 

Elain turned back and gave Lucien a glare filled with so much heat it could melt the icicles off the palace in the Winter Court. She stuck her middle finger up at him as she passed.

Another Archeron family trait. Lucien couldn’t help but chuckle. 

As much as he would like to follow Elain from a distance–annoyance did wonderful things to her bottom–they needed to discuss what just happened. Lucien jogged to catch up to Elain and matched her pace. “So, what was your vision about?”

Elain gave him a look from the corner of her eyes but relented with a frustrated sigh. “It was…blurry, even by what I normally experience,” she admitted. “Normally, I have an idea of what the vision is about–I’ve seen Vassa transform into a bird more times than I can count by now, and saw Hybern’s ravens in the Library. But this time, it was like trying to watch a play through a thick fog.”

“Why was this vision different?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice with thick with frustration. “It also may explain why I was unresponsive for several minutes. I tried to…follow the vision, get closer to what was happening in the hopes that I could see it better.”

Lucien paused. “That seems dangerous. I know very little about Seers, but I know the mind can be a very dangerous place to be stuck whenever powerful magic is around, even for the most proficient of fae.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? The only real skill I bring to this small operation are my visions, and that’s only if they’re actually useful to us,” she muttered irritably. 

Lucien didn’t agree–their earlier witty argument was already the highlight of his month, and they’d only been together for two days. He changed tactics. “Perhaps this vision is going to happen so far in the future that its details aren’t set in stone yet. Maybe it can still change, depending on what happens in the present, and that’s why you couldn’t see anything clearly.”

Elain sighed. “Perhaps. But why show it to me now, for me to worry over?”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“I just can’t not worry about it now,” Elain scoffed. 

“Then worry about it with me. I’m not here to fight with you, Elain,” Lucien said gently. “Regardless of how you feel about us, we need to work together, at least until we find Vassa. Can you do that?”

She bit her lip. “Of course, you’re right. We’re a team–” Lucien couldn’t help his smile, his heart soaring– “just until we find Vassa,” Elain ended. 

“Right,” Lucien muttered, his heart sinking back into the pit of his stomach. “Just until we find Vassa.”

But Lucien knew, as they continued walking in silence the rest of the day, that he wanted to try to be more with Elain than just temporary teammates. He’d experienced her wit and fire first hand, knew she was flawed like him and on some level desired him, and suspected, under her biting remarks, that she was kind and generous and good. The fact that she was utterly beautiful didn’t even factor in to his initial reasons of why he wanted to spend more time by her side.

Lucien now had two very pressing missions: find the last mortal queen who had been transformed into a firebird, and learn all he could about Elain Archeron.

“Did you care for any birds growing up?” Lucien asked conversationally later, after they had found a small copse of trees to shelter under during the night. Dinner had yielded an awkward conversation about the weather, along with their dried meats, bread and fruit. They were each laying on their respective bedrolls, staring at the night sky through the branches of the trees. 

Elain furrowed her brows and frowned. “What?”

“Well, this is the third time you’ve had a vision concerning birds; an odd coincidence, I wasn’t sure if you kept any birds as pets in your youth.”

“None at all.”

“Ah.” Lucien lightly drummed his fingers on the ground beneath him. “Do you like birds?”

“I’ve never thought about birds in any capacity until very recently,” Elain said blankly.

“Something we have in common. I, too, don’t care for birds, and after tonight, I never want to think about the flying pests ever again.”

To his delight, Elain gave a short laugh. “Finally, one thing we can agree on. Good night, Lucien.”

Lucien had charmed plenty of females before to know that getting them to laugh was one of the hardest obstacles to overcome in wooing. The fact that they had gone from arguing, to a tentative trust, to laughing, all in the space of one day was a very good sign, Lucien thought with a grin.

One step down, he thought happily as he drifted off to sleep, and only a million more to go.

[cyber1987]

FINALLY ITS HERE!! My New attempt at fan fiction :D My new series named

"Birds can still learn from the bats"

Enjoy this prologue and please bear in mind that i haven't written in a while and English isn't my first language

Cw: none in this chapter

In ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57946378/chapters/147510817

Thank you @skele-bunny for your help in the making of this!

Prologue: Calm of a normal life

Long ago up in heaven there was an angel whose love shined brighter than the stars above. Her kindness for the poor lost souls was known from far and wide even the little demons in hell longed for an ounce of pure love. And so she shared it with them.

Yet she still had time to love something else over the many others she took under her wings, a small angel whom she cared for deeply, her own son. Soon enough the child would take more of her, it was only natural! But you see her love wasn't something one could forget easily, Its absence was noticeable.

And many indeed noticed. Envy is a poisonous thing truly and the ghoulish creatures embraced its sinful teachings, after all why should one angel receive so much?

They were quick to spread that seed of envy in heaven, dark whispers to drive others to do their bidding until one fateful night someone fell to the temptation, he stole what was so dear to her, he took her child and subsequently fell from the heavens dragging the poor little one down with him.

Her sorrow was felt from the brightest corner of heaven to the darkest pits in hell. Her anguish was the only thing that made the demons run with their tails between their legs.

Yet it was too late...to this day her little one is nowhere to be found, her own broken heart filled up with unbridled rage that cannot be quelled. What the demons and that fallen angel took was far too precious one can only wonder what she'll do when her heart can't take the pain anymore.

Hell will tremble before her if it means her son gets to come home.

♢-🔥-♢

Dewdrop was a ghoul of many talents, charismatic and a little shit by profession, but he by satan isn't a patient ghoul. Everyone knows this, his flame can spark to life in an instant and it’ll be everyone's problem and yet that seems like a reasonable risk to the two terrors that are playing with his tail and hair.

Both Phantom and Aurora still acted like kits and lord knows they have the energy of one, but he's still tolerating the claws digging into his tail of the playful bites to his hair “You two are going to give me grays before i turn 40.” the ghoul grumbled while pushing Aurora away from him.

“Aw but we love playing with you!” Phantom chirped from behind him before rubbing his cheek against Dewdrop’s back, a loud purr rumbled from the younger ghoul “yes but i like my tail without any bite marks and my hair to still be intact before noon”

Dew huffed, smoke coming out from his nostrils. “Aw don't be like that Dewy, we promise we won't be rough on ya.” Aurora chirped while laying across the older’s lap, her puffy cat-like tail swishing around in contentment . “Yeah yeah you always say that you little devil” Dew replied before shoving both ghouls off him making Aurora screech and Phantom whine at the sudden lack of warmth.

“I'm done being your personal jungle gym for the day can't you go bother Aether or something?” A small whine in protest “Come on shoo i have better shit to do.” Dew heard Aurora huff before leaving the den, probably off to bother Mountain or another poor soul but the baby bat remained, looking at him rather intensely.

“What is it? Do I look funny?” Dewdrop looked at the other taking a good look at the ghoul for a bit, Phantom shared the typical ashy gray skin of any ghoul but his was spotted by pale lilac splotches all over his body, some even went up to his hairline making his fluffy dark hair to have streaks of white all over it.

But most importantly his wings, they resembled those of a bat, black inside with white specks that resembled stars. The only odd thing was the small patch of feathers at the base of them. Phantom said it was his air ghoul genes and Dew wasn't really one to judge elemental fuckery.

His eyes though were definitely something, one was purple and it shimmered like the starry night sky and the other was a pale silver and it shined like pale moonlight. “I think you’re lonely.” The young ghoul replied “You feel lonely.”

Dew scoffed while rolling his eyes “I told you to not use your powers on others, you're still getting the hang of them.” Phantom looked offended, his wings flapping and his tail lashing unhappily “I'm getting the hang of ‘em! I swear, Aether said I'm making good progress!”

Dew still wasn't convinced “Accidents involving quintessence magic are more common than we would like, i'm just warning you, if it goes wrong it will backfire on you.”

Dew could feel his tail lashing, he was worried Phantom was still new on topside, a magical injury can be lethal on new summons, their bodies still recovering and getting used to topside “Just be careful okay?” Dew sighed walking away from the other ghoul “Go off and don't bother me” and with that he left, his mind settled into one ghoul.

The walk there was silent, no siblings out as many huddled off into their rooms to avoid the colder temperatures in the halls, winter can be such a blessing at times. His step perked up when he saw the familiar door of the infirmary’s office, his tail wagging a little.

He didn't even have to knock before it opened, letting the familiar scent of sage flood out towards him “Hey Aether..” The fire ghoul purred while the larger quint smiled at the sight of him “Hey firefly, what brings you out here today?” Aether moved to him inside.

“I'm just looking for some peace, the two kits got their paws on me. Fucking mites they are” He flopped onto the couch, his body instantly relaxing against the cushions. “I had to shove them off me Aeth, they need something better to release that energy” The fire ghoul groaned while his mate walked around the office doing Satan knows what.

“Have you thought of maybe actually playing and roughhousing with them, love?” He grunted while

Looking at Aether whom is checking some files “Expecting them to be quiet as a water ghoul is kinda foolish of you Dewdrop”

“How dare you, why does it have to be me anyway.” His tail thumped against the armrest “Why can't Swiss or Cirrus deal with them when they're feeling extra kit-ish” Aether only chuckled while shaking his head clearly amused “Because they like you firefly. You were there when they were torn out of the pit alongside the whole pack, and you were the first ghoul whom they smelled.”

Aether left the files in his desk before sitting next to Dew, letting the other immediately snuggle against him “They're still young and adapting, let them have some sense of security with you. I'm sure they'll open up to the others in no time” He paused looking down at the other ghoul with tender eyes “And leave you in peace.”

Dew wasn't expecting the sudden disappointment at the idea but he ignored it “I hope so. For now though you are stuck with me.” He purred while snuggling against Aether who chuckled at the others advances, Dew wondered if this is how the new summons felt when bothering him.

“I told Phantom he should be more careful with his magic.” Aether hummed signaling him to continue “He wasn't happy. He said that you told him he was making good progress, I want to know your opinion.” Dew looked up to his mate who looked deep in thought “He is alongside Aurora but they still have much to learn.” His tail thumped against the cushion.

“Why did you tell him that?” Dew sighed looking up to the ceiling “He used them on me. He said I'm 'lonely’ and I mean I guess I wanted to come hangout with you.”The fire ghoul huffed “Still I told him to knock it off, it's still dangerous especially to the caster or the recipient, if magic backfires on him or someone else…i don't want to imagine how bad it could be.”

Aether gave him a small nod in agreement “Im sure if that ever happens we will be there to help him, but even so you should give the kid some credit, him and Aurora are progressing well and im sure they will be great magic users, just give it time”

Dew only frowned, looking unsure “I hope you are right Aeth.”

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 33 (1/2)

Song's Edge

The Banuk were all heading for a pyre on the edge of the camp, looking out toward the fire and smoke pouring from a distant mountain. I met an Oseram trader called Burgrend, who was willing to explain the situation where other Banuk were sombre and aloof. Outlanders stick together I suppose. He's a trader, like Ohtur, but I suppose he's still determined to make some shards out of his doomed enterprise.

He told me about the Banuk's expedition to Thunder's Drum—the mountain now spitting fire. A Werak (a sort of roaming hunting party, but bonded by tribal law) led by its Cheiftan Aratak and Shaman Ourea took their best hunters into the mountain to fight off a 'Daemon', the being responsible for strengthening the machines in the area. Not demon, then. Either way, a word for some bodiless evil they don't understand, just like Hades. The Daemon fought back, and most of the expedition was lost.

Their bodies couldn't be recovered, so the Shamans of Song's Edge built metal avatars for the fallen and posted them up on the cliff's edge, calling in a flock of Glinthawks to take away the scrap. Along with the souls of the dead, I guess.

According to Burgrend, Ourea has disappeared, gone off to some mountain retreat to seek guidance from shamanic spirits. The expedition was her idea, and from the rousing, if bleak speech Aratak gave at the funeral pyre, they mean to try again.

I also asked Burgrend about Sylens. He said he'd heard the name before, always whispered, as if he were some phantom of ill-fortune that the Banuk would rather forget. Something happened between him and the Conclave of Shamans in Ban-Ur. Given his disregard for what he called the tribe's 'mysticisms', it was probably some form of sacrilege. Not that that will deter me from trusting him. Where lives and hidden truths are concerned, sacrilege is fair game.

I spoke to Aratak after the ritual was done. He was predictably stand-offish toward me, an outlander interfering in the tribe's affairs. He couldn't tell me any more about the Daemon, only more of the same: new, deadlier machines. He told me to stay away from Ourea, whose arts were not for the eyes of outlanders.

He says he prefers deeds to words. Good thing I'm better with deeds anyway.

Burgrend told me of Naltuk, Ourea's apprentice, who was scouting north along the river's path. He'll know where she is. Whether he'll tell me or not is another question.

Rested in the settlement for a while. I went to buy myself some warmer clothes for the trek north, only to discover that my healthy stash of shards is worthless here. The Banuk merchants trade exclusively in something called 'Bluegleam'. No wonder Ohtur and Burgrend have had problems opening up commerce.

A Shaman was giving a performance, telling the origin myth of the Banuk, casting fire and salts and scraping machine sounds from strange instruments. They say a woman named Banukai was chased into these lands by the 'Ravenous Tribe', and the wild machines saved her and imbued her with the spirit of the blue light, but the process tore her apart from the inside. The machines patched her up with cables and metal, making her part machine herself, until she died in the snow and her people gathered to the machines' mournful song.

There's partial truth in the Nora's myth of All-Mother and the Metal Devil, even the Faithless ones could be some warped idea of the Old Ones and their war machines. That makes me wonder if there's some truth in this tale as well. Maybe a person, changed by machines, their codes running through her head, making her...part of a network, as Sylens would call it. Is that the shared machine song that the Banuk speak of?

I soon met Laulai, who I heard lamenting the loss of a place called Deep Din. She told me of it—an Old World ruin and musical instrument, capable of carrying resonant sound through its pipes below the basin. She said the place had been flooded after a sudden deluge caused the river to overflow. No rain, but the water must have come from somewhere. I'm doubtful that the place was intended to be an instrument. If the building is beneath a river it could have served as irrigation of some kind. I should take a look; might be some useful data or parts down there. I'd like to hear Laulai play the pipes, too. The place seems to mean everything to her, across generations of her family.

Next I climbed the scaffolding against a flat cliff side, shielding the village from the worst of the elements. Paintings stamped the rock face in yellows, reds and blues. At the top, working on her latest piece, I met Sekuli.

She told me about Banuk artistry. The paintings are calls to the machine spirits, sort of like prayers. Sekuli grew tired of tracing over the same old marks in Ban-Ur, wanted to create something of her own—a call to the tribe, a new story for a shifting, dangerous age. Something that the snows would wash away someday when its time was past, not something to be retraced for the sake of tradition. She was seeking new pigments to set her pieces apart. I agreed to help. I'll keep a lookout for deposits clinging to the salt pools of the Cut.

There was one such place just north of the village, Banuk gathered at its edges to scrape the pigments free and grind them into dye. A Shaman there called me over to him, remarking on my override module. He recognised the 'blue light' within it. I suppose he's not too far off—the device allows me to alter the...harmony of the machine song, as the Shamans say. He told me of a ruin to the far north holding the bodies of metal birds, each with a rail to strengthen my spear. Whatever he's planning, he didn't want to give any details. I've got no reason to believe he's set me a trap or anything—seems that most Shamans are secretive so as to protect the myth of their 'unique' powers. I can see where Sylens got it from.

If he can improve my spear, I'm willing to salvage the part. Might even be worth the trip.

Mountains looming ahead. It's only getting colder. The wildlife in this region is strange—I guess its blocked from the southern lands by the tall ridge I climbed. White goats, badgers, squirrels, owls—all creatures my Focus could identify without having to learn the names from elsewhere. I suppose they had the same names back in ancient times.

I came across a Carja encampment along the trail. There was even a Sun Priest with them, though none of the outlanders seemed eager to speak to me. Why are they here? Maybe to express apologies and grant reparations to the Banuk, as Irid did for the Nora? If so, I don't rate their chances highly. From what I've learnt of the Banuk so far, they'll do worse than throw fruit.

I came across Naltuk by following the river north, just as Burgrend said. He was watching a huge mechanical tower, shaped almost like a flower spewing violent pollen into the air that clung to the machines, its waves of light rippling outward. The machines patrolled the area, protecting the tower like a Cauldron. They were stronger, their armour scored dark, as if coated in something. This is worse than the Scarabs' corruption. I need to get to the bottom of it before it spreads.

Naltuk wouldn't tell me where to find Ourea. Typical. If words wouldn't do it, deeds it was. I crept past the machines to survey the tower. Sure enough, I could override it. Same language, same source; I joined it to my Focus network. I'm getting the hang of these strange new terms. Once overridden, the tower let out a pulse of blue shock, much like a Tallneck. I took out the Longleg and its league of Scrappers, first tying down the larger machine and settings off its power cells, then picking off the Scrappers from above, turning them brittle with my frost sling.

Naltuk was far more forthcoming after that, directing me northwards to the Shaman's path, some sort of rite of passage for aspirant Shamans of the tribe. Ourea was at the very peak, beyond the trial path, inside some sort of ruin on the mountain. Since it's a rite of passage, there were certain rules and rituals surrounding the ordeal, Naltuk said. Rules I would have to adhere to. There must be some other way up the mountain, but it wouldn't do to get on the Banuk's bad side, particularly Ourea's. Seems she's the only one who can give me answers. So, that's how I ended up running the trial of an prospective Shaman.

I got myself a mount and rode on, meeting the path's keeper at the gates of the climb. I was given the garb of a Shaman and the paint of an aspirant.

The clothes were scant in the cold and the paint was thick over my lips, kept getting it on my teeth. The things I do for truth. I took the mountain path on foot and entered a frozen cavern blazing with blue.

Lanterns and chimes marked the way through as the cavern twisted off into many ice-slick dead ends and spiral passages.

A couple of Stalkers patrolled further on, infected by the Daemon. I doubt they were an intended part of the trial, or this Shaman's path would be a death sentence for most who attempted it. I took them out by tearing off their canons, tying them down, barraging each with frost and finishing them with spear and bow. Then I broke out into the afternoon light.

Lots of climbing and running under streams of water so cold it burned. It's a beautiful area though. Lots of long, glacial lakes and waterfalls of half slush, half glass shards.

Starting to struggle in the cold. As I slipped on a ledge, the falling stones attracted a machine—something new, huge, and teeming with the Daemon's purple rot. It, and the tower bolstering its strength, stood between me and the next pass of the climb. The snow was falling thick. I knew I wouldn't last long out here.

I managed to override the tower before the machine saw me, but the shock pulse didn't damage it much. I slew hardpoints as fast as I could nock them, first targeting the frost unit on its belly, then piercing it as much as I could while it was brittle—though the frost didn't bother it much. My usual strategy wouldn't help me here. I took out the sacks on its shoulders next, dodging its swiping claws and shards of ice slung at me like spears. As soon as it was down, the danger wasn't over, as the sweat froze on my skin and each breath rasped out dragging hot barbs in my throat. I pressed on.

Thankfully, the end was soon in sight, and I harvested a shard of Bluegleam from the frozen Stormbird at the trail's end. I suppose I could've salvaged as much as I could carry, enough to buy warm furs, but again, best to respect the tribe's laws until I have what I need.

My climb wasn't quite over—a few more risky jumps between rusted metal platforms before I made it to the door to Ourea's secret mountain retreat.

Some warmth to be found inside, but not much of it. Time to press on...and hope Ourea has a fire burning.

[calisources]

GAME OF THRONES: HISTORY AND LORE -MAGIC. all sentences are taken from a mini-web series of hbo's game of thrones with different characters narrating different aspects of the world. this specific sentence memes is made from various videos related to magical aspects of the world (r'hallor religion not included) change pronouns, names and locations as seen fit.this is a long post.

Wargs and the Sight.

When my turn came,  I would ask Old Nan to tell us of magic and monsters.

Long ago, the world was new,  the children of the forest sang the song of the earth and the earth listened.

Magic was strong in those days and the children could commune with all the beasts of the forest.

The greatest of them could even leave their bodies to hunt, swim and fly in the skins of animals.

Then the first men came with fire  and swords, they burned the way woods and cut down the children 

After peace came, the two races shared the land and the children's gods for thousands of years.

Nobody knows how or why but the magic of the children began to emerge in men.

maybe one child in a thousand would be born a warg, fewer still would be born with the sight.

With it the children could know of events far away and even though still to come, some say the sight was the children's most powerful and terrible secret.

It helped turn the tide during the long night.

Magic has since fled our world.

How can you tell if the man is wearing the beast or the Beast is wearing the man.

I don't like scary stories anymore, because I'm in one.

The Night's Watch and the White Walkers.

I am the sword in the darkness, I am The Watcher on the walls, I am the shield that guards the realms of men.

I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch for this night and all the nights to come.

Legend tells of a winter that lasted a generation and of a vast and terrible darkness that fell across the land.

It came to be known as the long night in the midst of this darkness.

The White Walkers emerged from the far north with their armies of the Dead. They waged war against the living, laying waste to villages and old fasts leaving terror and destruction in their wake.

After years of brutal conflict and unbearable loss an alliance of the first men and the children of the forest managed to drive the walkers and their minions back into the frigid northern wastelands from whence they came.

To prevent another invasion, the first men erected the wall a massive fortification 700 feet in height stretching from the frostfang mountains

It was a structure unlike any ever built indeed, some Montaigne acknowledged having been completed with the aid of Giants or using the powerful magic of the ancient children of the forest.

Men were required to guard and maintain it and thus the Night's Watch was born a sworn Brotherhood tasked with defending the realms of men against the dark forces.

The White Walkers have yet to return.

Dragons.

Fire made flesh. such as the nature of dragons.

Fire consumes leaving nothing at its end, nought but ash.thus the fate of the Targaryen and their dragons thousands of years ago.

valerian stumbled on the first dragon eggs in the mountains of the 14 fires 

cannot imagine shepherds could hatch dragon eggs and bind such creatures to their will but whatever aid they must have had is lost to history.

 what is left of Valyria is a smoking wasteland ash in time.

 Aegon Targaryen and his sisters brought their three dragons who had escaped the doom to Westeros perhaps thinking to regain his people's lost glory 

He proved that armies were no match for dragons

 His first act to order, his dragon balerion the black dread to melt the soles of his beaten goes into his new Iron Throne

their skulls used to line the throne room of the red keep in order of birth.

The oldest, Balerion, could swallow an ox.

The Targaryen never stopped trying to revive their dragons.

Aerion Brightflame drank a draught of wildfire and burned to death.

 The young Daenerys Targaryen has hatched three dragons far to the east.

 If she were to be so foolish as to march on Westeros she will not find as her ancestor Aegon did seven disparate kingdoms frightened by strange beasts.

We have known of dragons now. We have seen them die.

[quillpokebiology]

Things that happened while I was researching pokemon in the wild

I have so many traumatic stories, and I'm going to share a few here, so people can't say professors are weak :)

-I was taking notes of a tinkaton who was fixing her hammer, and she saw me. She then proceeded to come at full speed with her giant ass STEEL hammer. Managed to escape by threatening her with a cinderace

-I was watching a flareon and leafeon battle, but the leafeon got really hurt and started smoking. If you know anything about weed, you know where this is going. I got really high and stared at a puddle for 15 minutes because I thought I saw kyogre in it

-Almost died because a greavard decided it wanted to rub against me

-I accidently ended up in a g-max den in Galar without my pokeballs (I was camping next to one and I tripped into it) and had to face a g-max Gengar. Almost died because the little bitch used his fucking death call to lure me in its mouth. Got out because my orbeetle came and saved my dumbass

-Apparently leaving a 12 year old child going through the emotional distraught of losing the pokemon league onto a godamn ice mountain with no connection to the outside world for a week in the crown tundra was a good idea. I was cold as shit, I was hungry, and I was tired. Me and all of my pokemkn had to cuddle Flash (cinderace) to keep warm

-I .had. to. fucking collect. Squawkabilly shit. For research purposes (that stuff smells AWFUL)

-I once had to write a 3,000-word essay on pikachu fur for my research tasks

-A group of grafaiai gained up on me at night. Do you know how scary it is to be hiding from 13 grafaiai at 3am like it's a fucking horror movie?

-The one time I went to Kanto, a butterfree used sleep powder on me. Idk exactly bow long I was out. All I know is that when I woke up, I was holding hands with hypno and walking it to a cave. First time I've ever physically attacked a pokemon, and the fastest I've ran (I'm never going back to Kanto).

-A major rule of being a pokemon professor: try your hardest not to interact wild pokemon. Unless you're catching them or battling them, stay out of sight!

That rule was completely broken when a bunch of newborn gible saw me and started being really curious and playing with me. Tried my best to gently push them off, but that made them sad, and they started crying. And of COURSE this alerts their garchomp mother, who is FURIOUS and has it out for my ass. I didn't wanna battle it because she had babies to care for, so I just ran. I fucking ran. From a pokemon. That flies faster. Then a jet airplane.

Here's some advice: if a garchomp is after you, and you have no pokemon, punch it as fucking hard as you can in the snout. A lot of nerves are there, and it will stun them and freeze them for about one minute, and that's when you run. This also works for sharpeado.

But yeah that's how I escaped. Not that strong so idk what miracle came over me. But I jumped off a small cliff and hid in a tiny cave until I was sure it was gone.

Those are all the stories I'm sharing for today. These were really fun to tell, so tell me if you wanna hear more!

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wednesday ♥

a HUGE thank you to @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! i appreciate it so dearly, and i hope everyone's having a good wednesday. <3

i'm tagging @aphocryphas @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @totally-not-deacon and @thana-topsy !! and of course, anyone who wants to do this and i didn't directly tag, please feel free to say i tagged you! no pressure as always, can't wait to see what you're all working on!

this week, i have two bits to share. one's from Cycle of the Serpent, chapter 18, and the other is a one-shot i'm slowly piecing together about athenath's mother, Lorasephona, and how she met their family friends. i like working on backstory stuff, and i hope you'll all appreciate it, as well!

Cycle of the Serpent - Chapter 18

Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns, and here, he became keenly reminded of that life. After all, it was one he'd sunk back into before he'd crossed into Skyrim.

Briefly, he allowed his memories to play out before his eyes as he walked cautiously through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a physick, some did. Saving a few lives would do that to a man's reputation.

As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up, quite the opposite. But for now, just for now, a larger purpose presented itself in the wingspan of a beast and the path up a mountain.

Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the Bosmer's mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across academic papers and his work lauded far and wide, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose.

He didn't think his life would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

Guards patrolled long into the night, bearing small torches whose flames starved for more oil. One passed him as he approached the temple of Kynareth, turning his metal face to Emeros. He only stopped momentarily to take a look at the Mer, then muttered an apology upon realizing this was one of the Thanes, and marched off into the dark. Emeros wondered what had passed through his mind.

He figured he didn't want to know.

With trepidation carrying his steps, he approached the Gildergreen. The tree startled him in its stark contrast to the land; where the city lived, breathed, and buzzed, this tree was cold, a husk, discarded shell. He scanned the upper branches, peering into the dark, the torches of passing guards giving him enough illumination to glimpse the wooden carcass before him, the warping in the branches, the angles and jutting shards of the once-living center of Whiterun. He found himself on a bench, allowing the night air to take hold of him. He tugged at his cowl like a shield against the withering breeze, a reflection of the week's past events crawling up from the streams of his consciousness. A week, that's all it had been? Disbelief rattled against him, but he shouldered it anyways.

He'd heard whispers of the Civil War. He had only heeded them as rumors, something that would surely not affect him. If he made it to Windhelm, to the White Phial, he would be so engrossed in work and conversations with Nurelion that the war wouldn't brandish a single thought to his neck. He'd been crossing the border, right before dawn, the thick of night's last breath still coating layers of pink against the horizon. He could remember a struggle, words exchanged, something murky in his memory, people in blue and silver mixed frantically with red and brown armor.

Then, he'd woken up in a cart with two other elves, and quite a few Nords.

The shock of the bindings set his nerves alight and he struggled against the tight-bound leather, but Wyndrelis - apathy coating his features, defeat, even - explained that it was no use, that he had already tried. Together, an idea formed, and they attempted to pry the bindings off one another. An Imperial soldier leading another cart observed them carefully, and they realized with dread pitting their stomachs that this was no use.

Then, Athenath, the wide-eyed Altmer awoke. Last to be tossed on the carts. Last to struggle. His fearful gaze grasped each face for a sign of help, from himself to Wyndrelis to Ralof to Lokir. All of these men were certain that they were going to die. Emeros swallowed the fear. He would go to the axe with dignity. Aldmeri pride, perhaps, stemming from his father.

Of course, they wouldn't make it that far. And with their former captor now a possible ally, they'd promised to warn of the dragon, and made their careful way to Whiterun.

Emeros rested his chin in his hands, watching the dim puff of torchlight and smoke, light passing over the houses, Nord architecture steadfast and hardy, stubborn and proud, much like the people inhabiting each home. He thought back on his companions. Wyndrelis, a mage with strange eyes and a calm demeanor. Athenath, a bard with a bright, silvery laugh and a bitter temper.

And of himself? There wasn't much to tell.

One-shot (unnamed atm)

The night threatened to clasp its hard fingers around her. As she was about to give up any chance of finding another living soul in these woods, a torch landed from a tree above her, plotting down into grasses below. She closed her eyes, the image of her surroundings in flames springing to her mind, but when she opened them, she saw nothing but the torch and it's decisively controlled flickering.

"What brings you here, elf?" Came a voice, roughened against and deep inside the throat of the speaker. Lorasephona slashed her gaze through the trunks of the trees, but catching nothing, she turned her eyes upwards.

Concealed in the darkness, an Alfiq, black as night, golden eyes narrowed down at her curiously. The Khajiit swished her tail lazily from the branch she rested, comfortable, it seems. Perhaps she'd been waiting for someone, Lorasephona thought as she backed slowly from the torch. She knew better than to try to defend herself from bandits, it did more good to outrun them, and Lorasephona was a very good runner.

"I don't-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I don't know, I'm quite-" she didn't know why she was admitting her situation, but the Alfiq raised her chin, inquisitive in her posture. "I'm lost, dreadfully, and-"

The Alfiq woman put up a paw, silencing the elf. "Mhm," she hummed, rising to her feet, slinking down to a fork in the branches where they thickened against the body of the tree, hunching down, tail swishing down against the bark. "Ka'taaji thinks, perhaps, you are more lost than you dreamed."

Lorasephona knit her brow. "Was that a threat?"

Swish.

"Only if you make it so."

Swish.

Lorasephona frowned, brow knitting. The Khajiit sighed, and with a controlled motion of her paw, the torch levitated. It found it's way to Lorasephona's hand, nervously outstretched, fingers clasping the handle.

"This one has no ill will for you, but… Wary, perhaps. These are unkind lands, and far from home, one must be prepared for whatever comes their way."

The elf nodded slowly, strings of her blond hair curling around her cheeks. The pallor of her face seemed to alarm the small Alfiq momentarily, golden eyes widening. She wiggled for a moment, cautious of the jump, before leaping down into the grass with an elegance and grace that betrayed her possible upbringing, images of wide, sprawling woods and golden-adorned mages of Elseweyr padding around Lorasephona's thoughts.

"Are you ill, elf?" Ka'taaji asked, tilting her head. Lorasephona paused, knitting her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"If the elf girl is ill, Ka'taaji will take her to Dra'khurra. Simple."

She weighed the options for a moment, but lying felt worse in these circumstances. Biting back the urge to say yes, on the off-chance that these people had food and a spare bed, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through a stray curl at her cheek.

"No, I'm just… I'm not ill."

Ka'taaji waited, but with Lorasephona's refusal to elaborate, she gave a small shrug. After a moment, she turned, the grass prickling under her paws. "Follow this one, you must be hungry. And take care of that torch, Ka'taaji is using much of her magicka to keep it lit."

So it was magic. Lorasephona, confusion matting her expression, decided not to question the Alfiq, and followed.

[108garys]

Medicine

So for the first of the randomized smg crossover ships(If you don't count smoke as the retroactive first) I've written something involving Ellis van Huytan/Jefferson Bragg(there's a little Ellis/Bradshaw in there too)

I suppose it sort of sets the tone that not all these name spinner results are gonna be cute and fluffy and given that this is set in blackwoods sanatorium I'd say it's as far from that as it can be

Also there were parts that I took some in-game stuff from hoa and mashed it in there so I hope that works(I once again finished this off on little sleep because apparently that's when my brain figures stuff out so there's probably mistakes I didn't catch that I'll fix up when I'm more awake)

@kassiekolchek22 @delurkr @ivycross @lonnitamongus @devilinlittlehope @eddie-brii @oblivious-troll @ctrvpani @blubary @myscprin @tatjana-fantasy @ultrabananapudding

(Iraq 1948)

The sun shone so brightly that it momentarily blinded him, the painful rays alien after so long in the dark. Ellis couldn't believe he'd been underground for over a year! As his eyes adjusted he was met with the lovely sight of lady Bradshaw; she was understandably disheveled after the close scrape they'd just survived escaping the temple but as always she had a confidence that made her beautiful regardless of her physical condition.

"We did it Agnes!" he drew her into a hug, "I can't wait to share these secrets with the world!" She looks up at him with her pale blue eyes smiling sweetly before grabbing his face and pulling him down for a kiss. She was a little old for him, Ellis knew that but still… He felt there was something between them. He bent down, lost in the moment as her lips pressed against his. As they parted she moved to whisper in his ear and his whole body turned to ice…

"I don't care about the world, Ellis." he felt a sudden sharp pain in his neck, stepping back, heart beating frantically. "A-Agnes…?" she grinned ear to ear. Literally. Her face warping, twisting into something inhuman. He stumbled back as she grew taller than him, wings blocking out the sun. The ground cracks and crumbles beneath his feet. His screams are cut off as he goes tumbling back to hell…

He lands with a wet thud, surrounded by blood he tries to sit up but something grabs him. Panic sets in as the rest of the expedition crawls out of the blood calling him a traitor, their corpses ripping and biting his flesh. He begs them to stop as his intestines are torn from him, for forgiveness as he's pulled limb from limb and for an end as his heart is ripped from his chest-

--

(Canada 1952)

Ellis wakes in his room with a start, clutching his chest bolt upright. drenched in sweat, he looks around as he begins to calm… His room is the same as its always been, small, two beds, two tables, bars on the window and a door that only locks from the outside. He gets out of bed stretching as right on time Abe drops in with his breakfast.

"Hey hey champ, dreams bothering you again?" the orderly sets the tray down and looks up at him, Ellis has at least a foot of height on him… Maybe more? He sits down, to eat. He was vaguely aware that better food existed but he had no recollection of ever tasting something not brought to him on one of the sanatorium's trays. Abe takes a seat next to him looking expectantly for an answer…

"I was somewhere sunny…" Ellis looks out the window at the snow covered mountains. "We could all use a little bit of that," Abe adjusts his glasses as Ellis tries to remember… "There was a woman…" he really did try, "She was beautiful and she-"

"Woah, hold your horses," Abe put his hands out, a joking look on his face, "You remember our talk about private dreams?" Ellis took another bite of his sandwich, thinking about it… "That it's between me and Mr Bragg." he nodded happy that he remembered, Abe laughed lightly smacking his shoulder… "Well what about bat dreams? You we're screaming bloody murder." He smiled like he was discussing the weather.

"The woman turned into a bat… I think?"

Ellis reluctantly took his medicine after he finished his breakfast, Abe wouldn't leave him be until he did. "Bragg will want to hear all about it I'm sure," Ellis couldn't help smiling hearing that. Mr Bragg is so kind to him… He didn't know where he would be if the man hadn't taken him in, his memories of before were… Fuzzy. Abe left him alone and he lay down again, he always felt so exhausted after his morning medicine… The ceiling was floating away from him, his eyes felt heavy. He turned to look at the other bed… Didn't he have a roommate?

He rolled over- wait? …Wasn't he already facing the other bed? He rubbed his face as he sat up. he jumped at the sight of Mr Bragg sitting on his bed… When did he come in!? Ellis's head hurt trying to make sense of it. The old man looked at him, gentle blue eyes staring through him behind his round glasses… Something tugged at the back of his mind that told him he was in danger… But that didn't make sense, Mr Bragg had been nothing but good to him…

"How are you feeling today, Ellis?" He smiled, clipboard in hand. "Good." Ellis responded, he wanted Mr Bragg to see he was getting better… "I'm happy to hear that," Ellis fidgeted with his hands in his lap, looking back as Mr Bragg continued. "You were troubled by night terrors again?"

"A woman turned into a giant bat and then I was drowning in blood…" he felt uncomfortable trying to remember. "The dead tore at me like wild animals and… I feel like I knew them but I can't remember what they looked like or who they were…" He had forgotten a lot but not being able to identify the vengeful dead was the most disconcerting. He couldn't even tell if they were real people or something his mind made up to torment him.

"Your time as a soldier still weighs heavily on you." The older man said sympathetically as his pen scratched away at his clipboard. That's one of the few things Ellis knew for certain about his past, he'd fought in the war and his experiences had infected his brain like a disease, his illness locked away his memories. He looked down at his hands, it took him a moment to recall why his knuckles were bruised. "Is Joe mad at me?" He asked after his roommate, he couldn't really follow the order of events but he knew it started with a bat flying past the window and ended with both in the infirmary. "I'll have to ask when he's awake." Mr Bragg brushes off the severity of the man's condition moving things along. Ellis awkwardly asks the question that's been in burning in the back of his mind since he woke up. "Why bats?" he knew the man didn't have an answer, he'd asked before and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember anything significant from before that had involved bats. He looked at Mr Bragg desperately hoping for a different answer this time.

"I don't know but I'm sure we can unlock those answers together." he responds optimistically, getting up and leading Ellis out of the room. Ellis walked behind the older man through a hallway with bright lights that flicker just enough to give him a headache, that strange feeling tugged at the back of his mind again as they made their way through the sanatorium, he pushed back on the sense of unease, getting better was bound to come with a level of discomfort…

Despite his best efforts he was on edge as he sat down in the chair. A nurse strapped him in, gently reassuring him that it's for his own good. He flexed his fingers, looking at his bruised hands before turning to look as Mr Bragg touched his shoulder, his hand slid down Ellis's arm as he walked around him. Holding his hand as he took a seat in front of him, he looked into Ellis's eyes reassuringly. "I'm with you every step of the way."

Ellis's body tensed as a clicking sounded from the equipment the nurse was setting up, his grip on the old man's hand tightened as he felt a familiar sharp sensation. A black substance moved steadily through his blood stream. His vision becoming hazy, Mr Bragg remained in focus as the dim room melted away, his words not making any sense as he too faded away…

"…Monitor the subject's heart rate carefully, Victoria, we can't afford anymore mistakes…"

-- (???)

[The bones of this temple are drenched in blood]

Ellis fights for breath as his pulse races, the dead hold him down as he struggles to free himself!

Blood fills his lungs as he's submerged in the darkness…

[We have set foot on an uncharted shore and roused something ancient and wicked]

He walks numbly through the halls, a light flickers above his hands drip red onto the tiled floor…

[A blasphemy that comes in indescribable shapes and forms]

He hears a familiar voice, a man speaks to him as he writes, harsh lights obscure his features

"…some have reported odd visual effects…we have attempted to secure additional samples of the black saliva present on the maw of the creature… I and others who smelt the substance have experienced heart palpitations and a heightened sense of fear…analysis of blood sample shows high density of adrenaline… Does the organism feed on fear?"

[For eons we've lived as children in this world]

An unholy shriek tore through the air-

He tried to be quiet, to be hidden. "are you feeling alright?" The man crouched down to look at him, his eyes filled with concern, didn't he understand they had to be quiet!?

…Why couldn't he just-

[Unaware of the horrors that slumber beneath our feet]

…Forgive me… I have sabotaged my colleagues… Lady Bradshaw was right to bring me here… There are secrets here that could allow humanity to reach across the stars. Perhaps even achieve immortality itself… Please…. do not think badly of me for what I have done. I only serve the future…

[Now we have blindly thrown open the gates to madness]

"I don't care about the world, Ellis."

-- (Canada 1950s?)

Ellis caught his breath as he came back to himself, his heart rate slowing down. He felt like he didn't fit himself, just a centimetre out of frame… His mind was blank as he looked around the brightly lit room for any sense of familiarity, feeling relief at the sight of an old man in round glasses. His mind put together that he's in the infirmary, Mr Bragg was monitoring his condition, scratching away at his clipboard. He was so kind to Ellis, he cared about him and wanted him to get better and Ellis was grateful…