#thinking of toning the saturation on ash down but like that would go against the purpose of the whole thing he SHOULD be eye straining

[chimsartblog]

Aro kab and ashswag concept

[inkykeiji]

i’ll keep you in mind, from time to time

cactus anon said: had a little dream about daddy tomura, but it's when his princess gets sick... like very sick. seemingly out of nowhere. we know he's always cautious about your health and well being, so this is odd to say the least. you could have got it simply from getting the mail or sitting out on the balcony. well you see, daddy has a very strict rule when he's working - you mustn't disturb him when he's in a vital meeting. and you feel so ill that you know you can't just wait until he's done (whenever that will be - it's hard to tell sometimes). you feel like you have no choice but to ask for help 🥺 and there's not many people daddy would allow in his home to come see you when he's not present. except for... dabi...

genre: angst

notes: is this set in the bmb universe????? tbh, yeah, probably. i wrote this with bmb tomura and bmb dabi in mind (my mind just goes straight to bmb tomura the moment i see daddy tomura ehehe). do you need to read the monster that is bmb before reading this? absolutely not, since it’s technically a prequel of sorts! | title credit: moose blood’s first album ehehehe

warnings: sad boi dabi, very sick reader, it’s implied that tomura has cut her off from everyone she knows, pining, daddy kink, mention of drugs

words: 2.9k

Nestled under Tomura’s fluffy comforter and curled in on yourself in his mammoth bed, your silk babydoll sticks to your damp, sweaty skin, teeth clattering together so violently it’s almost painful, even though your flesh is scalding to the touch. It’s a surprise that Daddy can’t hear it, that incessant clackclackclack echoing down the vacant halls, a surprise he didn’t come running immediately—like he always does—at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers as you burrowed deeper into his mattress.

He must be really, really busy today.

And you know better than to interrupt him when he’s really, really busy.

But—But it all hurts so much, head pounding with such vigour you can barely see straight, muscles aching and weak, a loud whine escaping your lips as you roll over, groping around in the blankets for your phone. It’s too bright when you finally locate it, eyes squinting and a hiss catching in your throat as you bring the screen too close to your face, quickly scrolling through your contacts in a desperate attempt to find someone—anyone—to come to your rescue.

You know you should wait. Really, you should. Your Daddy is jealous, and protective, and possessive, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he’s going to be upset when he finds out that you called someone else to take care of you.

But—But it could be hours until Daddy’s done with his work—sometimes he spends the entire night in that stupid wood-paneled office, and you can’t risk it. It’s terrifying, this nightmarish illness that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with its sudden onslaught of concerning symptoms worsening by the second, and you’re beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong, the thought sending icy spikes of anxiety shooting through your veins.

No, you can’t risk it—you can’t wait.

A thumb hovers over your mother’s name in hesitance, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider. Her place isn’t necessarily close, but she’s the relative that’d be able to reach you the fastest—even so, it’d take her at least two hours to get here, and that’s assuming there’s no traffic on the roads. But she isn’t exactly fond of your boyfriend, and the last thing you want to deal with while feeling like you’re dying is a fight between the two of them. You know how nasty they can get.

So you keep scrolling, fingers halting for a second time as your best friend’s name flies past your eyes.

It’s been months since you last spoke—Tomura being the topic of your last conversation, of your last fight. You’re spending too much time with him, they had claimed, eyes cloaked in a glossy sheen of tears as they frenetically searched your face, almost begging you to understand. It’s unhealthy! It’s unnatural! They had said with a vicious shake of their head. He has you in a fucking chokehold, can’t you see that?

Eyelids squeeze shut tightly against the familiar burn of tears, their last few words echoing through your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and reverberating, louder and louder and louder—

No. You can’t do this right now, your head throbbing in retaliation, a painful lump nestling into the column of your throat. It’s too much, too much, and you don’t want to think anymore, can feel that neediness rooting deep at the core of your body, a longing to just be taken care of and nurtured, frantically scrolling back up as urgent eyes search the names blurring by on the screen. A gasp falls from your lips as his name whirs by, fingers scrambling to scroll back down and find it again.

Dabi.

Daddy trusts Dabi, doesn’t he? Daddy likes Dabi, right? They’re friends, aren’t they? Out of all of the people you just scrolled through, Dabi is evidently the best choice, the most correct choice, is he not?

Your thumb trembles a little as it levitates over his name—you don’t know him well, have only spoken a mere handful of words to him in the six months you’ve been dating Tomura, but...but he appears to be your only hope.

His voice is rough when he answers, abruptly cutting through the dull second ring, evident surprise bleeding into it when you whimper out your name, mumbled against the receiver. He regains his composure a moment later, tone hardening as he asks you why the fuck you thought it’d be a good idea to call him, of all people.

Tears blur your vision, sniffling a little as you explain the situation, frail voice breaking as you tell him about how you’re terrified you’re dying, and Daddy’s too busy, and last time—last time you interrupted him you got in real big trouble, and he’s your only hope, you need him, and please, Dabi?

And God, he’s chuckling into your ear, low and hoarse and inspiring a flock of butterflies to soar through your stomach, a sensation you swear is from whatever sickness has infected your body. You’re so lucky you’re fucking cute.

He hangs up directly after that, doesn’t spare you a second to respond, arriving at in penthouse in ten minutes flat, and you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier to see his tattooed face.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he sees you, curled up beneath the fluffy comforter, strands of hair shining with sweat and sticking to your skin. Pace quickening, he places his knuckles against your forehead, your sore eyes slipping shut at the cool relief his skin provides. A sharp hiss slips through his clenched teeth and he yanks his hand back, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat as you try to follow his touch.

A head of inky tousled hair shakes back and forth as he hastily leaves Tomura’s bedroom. Glass and ceramic clink together, the sound echoing down the hall, as Dabi roots around in the kitchen, swearing softly to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

A cup of water is in his hands when he returns a few moments later, aspirin clutched in his other fist, still muttering under his breath about the thermometer not being where it’s supposed to be, and why the hell doesn’t Shigaraki have any cold and flu meds like, at all?

Perching on the edge of Tomura’s bed, he acts as if it’s such an inconvenience to him, as if he’s so annoyed that you’re sick and needy, but he really doesn’t hide it well enough. Because you see through his thinly veiled act even in your inebriated state—see the concern in his sapphire eyes as his eyebrows push together just a little, a tiny crease forming between them, see the way the corners of his lips keep pulling downwards with every single one of your pathetic little noises. A heavy sigh leaves his chest a moment later, body shuffling towards you, cobalt eyes still saturated with worry.

A large hand pets your sweaty hair, soft and gentle as the other tilts a glass of full water towards your lips, Dabi’s deep voice startlingly soft as he orders you to drink, princess.

And he doesn’t mean for the nickname to slip out, tells himself he only used it because he’s so accustomed to hearing Tomura use it—accustomed to hearing Tomura overuse it—panic’s sharp claws gripping his heart the moment it leaves his lips. But you seem too sick, too delirious, to notice or care, obediently swallowing the pills just like he told you to.

Good girl.

The praise just slips out too, those two simple words falling from his lips unconsciously, involuntarily, uncontrollably, and he chooses to focus on the fact that you drank the entire glass instead of the cute noise you make in response to his commendation, a trembling hand placing the empty cup on the oak bedside table.

The mattress dips as he prepares to get up, to move away, to put some much needed, necessary distance between the two of you, but a small, clammy hand catches his forearm, his entire body freezing in shock, stiff and still like a marble statue.

Sapphire eyes snap to the tiny hand gripping his arm, hyper-aware of the heat radiating off the sticky palm and seeping into his skin, and then dart to your face, wide and frenetic. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? he wants to snap, words turning to ash on his tongue. Because, Christ, you look like you’re about to fucking cry, staring at him through your lashes with those terrified eyes, begging him softly, shyly, not to leave.

“I’m not leaving,” he says with a roll of his eyes, yanking his arm free from your weak grasp, a soft whine escaping your lips as you grope the air for him again. “I’m 90 percent sure you have a dangerously high fever—there’s no way I’m going to leave you on your own until your asshole of a boyfriend is done doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. I’m just gonna move to that chair over there—”

“No!” you gasp, coughing on the word in your haste to reach for him again. “Please, stay, here,” you look down at the bed pointedly, gazing drifting back to his a moment later. “H-Here, with me,”

Dabi isn’t stupid. He knows Tomura will be seeing red the moment those scarlet eyes meet ice blue when he re-enters his bedroom from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls. But when your boss’s plaything, his most prized possession, calls you in tears blubbering about how she’s sure she’s about to fucking die, well—coming by to take care of her is the lesser of two evils, don’t you think? Really, Tomura should be thanking him.

But Tomura returning from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls to meet ice blue in his bed, next to said prized possession? Well, that’s a different story entirely.

He’s frozen as he mulls over it, your blunt nails digging soft, tiny crescents into his flesh, little marks that will fade only a few moments after you let go.

“I can’t do that,” he says softly, almost regretfully, and his tone of voice surprises him, startles him, scares him. Clearing his throat, he steels himself, pulling free from you again. “It isn’t right,”

“Please, Dabi,”

He’s sure you don’t miss the sharp, sudden intake of air sucked through his mouth when those two words leave your lips. He’s positive of it, because then you do it again.

“Please, Dabi,”

Your voice is softer this time, and the look he gives you is nearly heartbreaking, the perfect picture of a man being torn apart from the inside out, tortured and beautiful all at once.

“I—”

“Just until I fall asleep?” You try to bargain, bottom lip pushing out into an involuntary pout. Crystal eyes hold yours for a second longer before he sighs, chest heaving with the force of it.

He isn’t happy about it, about his apparent inability to say no to you, grumbling about it the entire time—you’re such a little fucking brat, y’know that? and only until you fall asleep, understand?—as he settles back against Tomura’s stupidly massive headboard, body going rigid and words hitching in his throat the moment you latch onto one of his thighs, nuzzling your face into his hip.

And really, he should tell you to get the fuck off of him. He should push you away, scold you for such behaviour, remind you that it’s wrong. He should. He wants to.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

The realization has his heart pounding against his rib cage, breath stilling in his lungs and then accelerating, escaping his nostrils in short, quick huffs, lithe fingers curling in the cotton sheets underneath him. Don’t be a fucking coward, his inner voice growls at him, berating himself for such disgusting weakness. It doesn’t matter if she’s fucking sick, that isn’t an excuse!

Because that’s why he can’t find his voice, right? That’s why his fingers are twitching with the need to comb through your hair and caress you jaw, right? That’s why your cheek, burning hot through his black jeans as it snuggles into his upper thigh, sends a whole slew of unfamiliarity—excitement and terror and all sorts of things he doesn’t know how to explain, can’t begin to explain—rushing through his body, right?

Yes, that’s why. Of course that’s fucking why.

The thoughts cycle through his mind like a mantra, as if repeating them enough times, branding them into the tissues of his very brain itself, will make them true.

That’s why he allows you to sleep on him. That’s why his stomach flutters at the way your tiny fingers curl in the denim of his jeans as they readjust, pulling him closer. That’s why it feels like a zap of electricity buzzes through his veins as you murmur his name in your sleep, whimpering a little as your leg hitches over his calf.

That’s why. He’s sure of it.

His head snaps up the moment the double doors fly open, and he’s never been more relieved to see his boss’s face in his life.

Those crimson eyes scan the room twice—the first time quick, frantic and furious, the second slow, cold and calculating—before they finally connect with cobalt, gaze blazing.

“Care to explain to me what the fuck is going on here?”

“Oh thank God,” Dabi breathes, words slipping from his lips subconsciously, body shooting off of the bed as if the mattress had pierced him, his movements jolting you awake. “She called me,” he snaps before Tomura can speak again, bewildered ruby eyes darting between the two of you. “She’s sick as a fucking dog, boss,” the words are spit between clenched teeth, all those nasty feelings, the feelings delayed by you, no doubt—anger, hate, jealousy, melancholy—finally surfacing, bubbling and boiling in the center of his chest. “She was too scared to interrupt your work, so she called me,”

And Dabi can see it, the vicious jealousy that flashes in Tomura’s eyes, can see the way it makes his jaw clench, makes his molars grind together, makes his breath slice through the air with each sharp exhale through flared nostrils.

“Daddy,” you whine, tears collecting in your eyes, glimmering in the golden sunlight as it sinks beneath the horizon. “D-Daddy, it hurts, it hurts so much,”

All of the derision etched so deeply, so firmly into Tomura’s face melts away in an instant as you make grabby hands for him, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and leaving gleaming trails of salt water in their wake, little half-sobs of that stupid pet name hitching in your throat.

“Now that you are no longer preoccupied,” Dabi draws Tomura’s attention back towards himself, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring his boss to retaliate. “I’ll be leaving. I trust that you can take care of her now, yeah?”

The words are practically snarled out, almost patronizing in tone, but he doesn’t wait for a response, tucking his head down as a shoulder knocks against his boss while stomping out of the room, heavy boots echoing throughout the quiet penthouse. Eyes squeeze shut tightly as he tries to ignore Tomura’s gentle coos, tries to ignore your cute, pathetic little wails and whimpers of Daddy, Daddy!, tries to ignore the sudden inexplicable ache that sears through his chest, settling deep at the core of his body and throbbing.

He can still smell you on his fucking skin, dainty notes of tiger orchid and toffee clinging to him. He promises himself he’ll hop in the shower and scrub any remnants of you off his flesh the moment he steps foot in his own apartment. He vows to himself that he’ll will this stupid, irksome feeling away—that he’ll rid himself of this irritating worry and unfamiliar concern the moment he gets home.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to get you out of his head, soft needy whines of his name and perfect pouty lips invading his mind like a virus, infecting all of his thoughts, worming their way through his brain like some sort of invasive parasite.

The whole excursion lasted a mere two hours, even though Dabi was sure he spent the entire day with you in that bed, leaving nearly his entire evening free, just like he wanted.

That is what he wanted, isn’t it?

Of course it is. Of course.

So why does he spend the entire night wondering if you’re okay, if Tomura is taking good care of you, if he called his personal doctor to come check and diagnose you? Why does he waste hours typing out a short text message to send to you, only to erase it and type it out again, over and over and over, chewing his bottom lip raw in the process? Why does he dream of you that night, of soft smiles and glittering eyes, cute giggles and tiny palms burning his skin, gentle whispers and Please, Dabi?

Why?

And he should be shoving these feelings away, should be burying them deep within himself, should be numbing them with soft white powder and pretty white pills, should be forgetting them.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

[chemicalvelocity]

Happy Friday! I need therapy

So I wrote a fic for Fingers in my mouth Friday! Hope Y'all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No warnings apply

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Word Count: 3545

Read Below the Cut:

Dean's not a creep. He's not, he swears. It's just that he's... noticing things now that he's not on high alert for monsters anymore.

He remembers the first evidence of Castiel he'd ever seen, an angry burn scar of a handprint. He thought it was a demon's for christ's sake. He hadn't paid mind at the time to the fact that it took up his entire deltoid.

Now, however, he was absently tracing its outline after a shower, staring more through the mirror than at it while recalling the events of breakfast. Jack had playfully started the comparing hand sizes game that seems to entertain kids so much.

Dean hadn't even put any thought into it until it turned into everyone else doing it to humor him; which culminated in Dean foolishly slapping his palm to Cas's and then realizing just how much smaller his hand was.

Naturally, he'd joked it off and found his way out of the conversation, acting like it wasn't a bruise to his ego. He had thousand-yard stared his way through a shower, and now, here he was.

He carefully fitted his hand over the scar tissue on his shoulder, and yep, there it was, a literal physical reminder of Cas's massive hands. He got over himself as quickly as he could and threw on his clothes before going to the garage to wash Baby.

*

That turned out to be a bad idea, as many of Dean's ideas do. Cas was sat in a lawn chair with the tunnel doors cracked, rolling a joint. Dean had pointedly ignored him, turning to rinse the car until Cas spoke up.

"Would you like some?" He asked, looking over at Dean with a twist of his slender fingers as his tongue darted out to wet the rolling paper's adhesive. Dean swallowed.

"Y'know that shit's bad for you, right?" Dean grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He opened a drawer to pull out sponges and brushes, tossing them into nearby buckets and setting them  down near Baby's rear fender

"I think you know that's not true." Castiel hummed, placing the fresh joint between his lips, bringing the flame of his zippo to the end, and inhaling deeply.

"Whatever, Stoney baloney... Don't you usually smoke out on the roof, anyway?" Dean asked, filling up the first bucket with hot water and suds, the second with only cold water.

"It's raining," Cas replied, voice husky from the strain of holding in a hit. "Frankly, the Bunker is well ventilated enough that I could smoke in the library... where we still keep ashtrays on the table, but I figured I'd come in here to keep it away from Jack." He mused, blowing his lungful of smoke out the door.

"Right... Gotta say Cas, I'm sure second-hand smoke doesn't affect 20-year-old Nephilim toddlers." Dean chuckled, saturating the sponge in the first bucket and slung the soap across the Impala's roof, leaning up to scrub away the dust and bugs that come from hauling her back and forth across the Midwest.

"No, but I don't want to influence him, he's very impressionable, you know." Cas flicked the collecting ash into a labelless beer bottle that sat discarded in his chair's cupholder.

"I wonder where he could've gotten that from. Claire came to visit for one weekend and all of a sudden you're Bob Marley!" Dean teased, and Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am not a musician, nor a Rastafarian, Dean. Claire simply pointed out that I think too much, and that cannabis is known to help." He drew in a deep hit and outstretched his arm to Dean, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke twirled lazily into the air around him.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before coming over to pluck the smoke from Cas's possession. Cas watched him appraisingly as he took a drag, then another, and Dean almost choked when Cas's lips parted for the stream of smoke to travel neatly into his nostrils.

Okay, so Claire taught him how to french inhale. Dean idly wondered if he knew what ghosting was, before passing it back and returning to his task, pretending like his lungs didn't burn from the comparative lack of practice.

*

Dean hit the wall hard, his breath punched out of him with a grunt. He scrambled to his knees and whipped his head around to see Sam in a similar position nearby. Cas was still standing though now surrounded by three, very pissed-off demons, one of which had Dean's angel blade. Dean attempted to gather himself and help out, but his vision went sideways and he steadied himself against a table, opting to call out the angel's name, stupidly.

Cas had slashed the leg of the demon to his right and grappled the one to his left. As the first one went down, his palm met its forehead and smote it out of its meatsuit. The middle one charged him, but he spun the demon in his grip, shielding himself by launching his captive forward onto the blade, then seizing the neck of the remainder, holding him in place firmly. He turned to the bewildered hunters casually.

"Did you need him for anything else?" Dean bit down on his tongue in a failed attempt to reintroduce moisture to his mouth.

"N-No, Cas I think we're good, knock yourself out..." he rasped as Castiel tightened his grip on the demon's throat, and light burned out from under its skin. Sam and Dean had picked themselves up off the floor by now and made their way to the middle of the room.

"Good work, buddy," Dean panted as Cas piled up the bodies at his feet, and wiped blood away on his jeans. "Guess you hardly need us."

"Of course I do, You made an excellent distraction." Cas smiled and while Dean was sure it was a genuine statement, definitely felt the hit to his pride. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Sam snorted at something and walked out. Dean didn't know what, but he didn't want to hit him any less for it.

*

"Hey, Cas, I have a bit of a concussion from the hunt the other night. Can you work a little magic?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, setting his laptop aside. Dean raised his eyebrows from his seat, taking a sip of beer. He wouldn't have asked Cas to expend any healing energy on himself, but Cas didn't protest. Instead, he hardly looked up from his book and snapped his fingers. Sam visibly relaxed. Dean did not.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I'm gonna go grab some grub, probably just pick up a pizza and some beers or something." Sam held his hand out for the impala keys. Dean tossed them to him with half a mind.

When Sam was gone, he was still staring at Cas in confusion.

"Can I help you with something too, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow over his book. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Nope, no, I'm okay, just a few scrapes. Can't have you wasting your mojo on that... I was just wondering why you didn't, uh, y'know," He tapped two fingers to his forehead and Cas's eyes turned up in a half-smile.

"I don't need to do that to heal."

"Oh... okay." He'd already asked a weird question, probably best not to pry into why Cas always touched him to heal.  He tipped back the rest of his beer and fumbled around for an excuse of some sort to break the silence, but Cas stood first.

"I'm going to go find Jack. Let me know when Sam's back with dinner." He passed Dean with a  warm squeeze to his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then realized just how long it's been since he's been laid. Too fucking long, apparently.

*

Yeah, no. Way too long. Dean's half-convinced Cas is fucking with him, too. His suspicion stemmed from Cas's sudden love of eating every meal with them and requesting things like wings or fries.

"Morning sunshine, Sam and Jack already left to go check out a case. I made pan...cakes..." Dean's sentence fell flat when his eyes met Cas entering in a half-buttoned-up shirt. His long fingers slipped buttons into place as he yawned his greeting and trudged his way to the coffee maker.

Dean was a little concerned that he noticed Cas's hands before he noticed the toned and tanned chest underneath the shirt. He ran a hand down his face and moved to pour more coffee. Cas passed over the pot and turned to the stack of pancakes, tossing two onto a plate and proceeding to destroy them with fruit and whipped cream.

"When was the last time we cleaned our firearms?" Cas asked, swirling his finger through the toppings of his breakfast before popping it in his mouth. Dean set his mug down, a little too hard. Cas gave him a look.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dean tried not to sound petulant, but he can't catch a single break.  Cas bit his lower lip, and then cleared his throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Was his response, innocent and hid behind a sip of coffee. Dean pursed his lips.

"You- you don't?" Dean was momentarily taken aback. Was he so unbelievably tense that he'd imagined the whole problem?-

"No, Dean, you've been staring at my hands all week, I have no idea what you're talking about." he deadpanned.

Dean's face burned. He didn't think he was being obvious about it or anything. Cas was observant, though.

"At first I thought you were just insecure about your hand size, but surely you'd have gotten over that in a day. Then I did some research and decided to... Encourage you." He continued casually as if Dean wasn't praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

"I uh, appreciate that, Cas... Um, what conclusions exactly did you draw?" Dean squeaked out because frankly he still wasn't sure what was going on here.

"You may have a sexual preference for hands, which makes sense, given your previous statements regarding slapping." Cas hummed into his coffee and, yeah okay Dean needed to end this conversation before he melted from shame.

"Okay, right, got it, I'll stop staring." He managed, grabbing his mug and turning to leave before Cas grabbed his arm. He glanced down at the sudden warmth around his wrist, then up to meet Cas's cobalt gaze.

"I never told you to stop," Cas said calmly, loosening his grip to slip his fingers into Dean's hand and pull him closer. "Dean, I researched it." His expression was earnest, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Listen, man, It's not like, a thing... It's just, well, you have nice hands, and you kinda marked me... with your very large hand." Dean still wanted to disappear, but Cas didn't seem too bothered.

"I wanted to tell you, I touch you when I heal because I like the excuse to," Cas murmured, raising his other hand to cup Dean's jaw. Dean's breath hitched. "I enjoy the warmth. Everything else is always so cold." Cas whispered, running his thumb lightly across Dean's bottom lip. Dean couldn't stop the noise he made as it caught on his nail.

Cas's pupils grew wide, and he curiously pushed his thumb deeper. Dean closed his lips over it and sucked gently, noting the faint taste of the strawberries Cas had put on his pancakes. Dean pulled back before he embarrassed himself any further.

"Uh," Dean's brain replied dumbly. "Can I kiss you?" His dick helped with that one.

"I just put my thumb in your mouth and you feel the need to ask-" Cas's snark was cut short by Dean pressing him up against the counter and slotting their lips together. Cas gripped the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him back like a man dying of thirst. This is why Dean's thought process is filled with question marks when Cas puts a hand firmly on his chest and pulls back to speak.

"I don't think the kitchen is the best place for this." He rumbled into their shared space. Dean perked back up when he realized the proposition.

"Did you wanna finish your breakfast first? I can't guarantee we'll be back in here any time soon." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the angel.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Dean," Cas smiled. "I'd love to. While I do I think you probably want to go get ready." Cas wiped the look off Dean's face when he reeled him back in for another kiss.

"O-oh, yeah, okay. Meet you in my room in ten." And then he was speedwalking out of the kitchen.

*

Dean turned off the shower after a very thorough cleaning and wrapped his towel around his waist, hurrying back down the hallway to his room. Cas was sitting on the bed patiently.

"Hello, Dean." He smiled, reaching up to tug off his tie. Dean's throat went dry again.

"Hi," Dean was clutching his towel like a lifeline. Cas observed him fondly as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Did you want me to put something on? Or..."

Cas just chuckled and beckoned him closer. Dean stood between his legs and his heart dropped out of his ass when Cas took his hands and pulled gently, signaling for Dean to kneel. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and looked up at Cas, expectant, and not at all freaking out on the inside. Cas leaned in to kiss him again. That, he could work with.

"I want you to put your hands on my knees, and you can't move them unless I say so, is that alright?" Castiel spoke when they parted.

Oh.

Apparently, hand kink isn't the only thing Cas researched. Dean felt the command go straight to his dick. He nodded hastily, but Cas said nothing, only waited, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Cas." He breathed, and Cas grinned and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into Dean's desk chair.

"Good. Get comfortable." Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on top of Cas's thighs. Cas placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles in the muscle before he slid them upwards to massage the back of Dean's neck. When Dean was staring up at him with hooded eyes and humming his appreciation, Castiel's patience grew thin.

Cas held the back of Dean's neck steady, tracing the fingers of his right hand down Dean's temple and across his lips. This time, Dean didn't have any reservations about darting his tongue out to meet them. Cas inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his index and middle fingers into Dean's mouth.

Dean sighed and let himself go, he lapped at Cas's fingers like he was starving. He held Cas's heated gaze and felt his dick wake back up, twitching underneath his towel.

"So good, you're such a good boy for me, Dean." Cas praised. Dean thought he might pass out. The feeling of Cas inside him, even if it was just his fingers sliding along his tongue was heady. He looked down and took notice of the increasing tightness of Cas's pants. Cas slid his fingers out and leaned back on his elbows. Dean panted, his fingers gripping Cas's thighs with the effort of keeping still.

"Would you like something else, Dean?" Cas smirked down at him. "All you have to do is ask." Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed his pride.

"I want," He let out a shuddering breath as Cas ran a hand through his hair. "I want to suck you off."

"You can move your hands now." Cas hummed and leaned his head back. Dean practically sprung forward, ignoring the ache in his calves as he latched his mouth onto one of the angel's nipples. His hands made quick work of Cas's belt and fly, tugging firmly at his pockets to get them off. When Cas's flushed erection came free, Dean leaned forward to mouth at the head and cup his balls.

Cas wove a hand into Dean's hair and pulled. Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth, drawing a deep groan from Cas in response. Dean drank in the sound and relaxed his jaw to swallow him down further, bobbing his head rapidly.

"Dean." Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean's head snapped up to attention.

"Yeah?"  He asked, breath heaving as he leaned up to his eye level.

"May I-"

"Anything, Angel, seriously." He pressed his lips to the heated flesh under Cas's jaw, sucking hard and nipping gently.

"I want to fuck you." Cas gasped, leaning into Dean's mouth. Dean nodded and climbed to his feet to get the lube from his nightstand. Cas sat up and wrenched Dean's towel away. His eyes roved Dean's body appreciatively before pulling him down on the bed. "Lie down on your front, please." He purred, and Dean was on his elbows in an instant, handing back the lubrication.

Cas caressed the contours of Dean's back reverently, before gingerly parting Dean's cheeks and licking a broad stripe across his hole. Dean felt his whole body twitch.

"Fuck, C-Cas..." Dean whined out, completely sideswiped by Cas's impromptu rimjob. He helplessly thrust his hips back against Cas's grip. Castiel reeled back a single hand and gave Dean's ass a hard smack. Dean dropped his face into his pillow with a keen from the back of his throat.

"Sit still, Dean. Let me take care of you." He growled, mouthing kisses from the base of Dean's spine to the cleft of his ass again. He laved his tongue in tantalizing circles, fucking it in and out nimbly and drawing a chorus of breathy sounds from the hunter.

"Please, Sweetheart... I need you... Need you inside me, c'mon." Dean whimpered, writhing under the sensation of Cas's hot breath and slick tongue. Cas finally gave in and sat up, reclaiming the bottle of lube to squeeze a sizeable portion directly onto Dean's entrance. Dean shivered from the sudden cold, only to cry out again when Cas's strong index finger slid in with very little resistance.

Cas continued to pepper Dean's shaking shoulders with wet kisses as he thrust his finger in, curling it hard against Dean's prostate and savoring the faint sound of Dean nearly wailing into his pillow. He slid in a second finger and scissored them back and forth to make way for a third. At this point, Dean had lifted his head and turned towards Cas with pleading eyes. Cas leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

"You're doing so well, Dean... Are you ready?" Cas mumbled into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Christ... Yes, Cas, please." Dean managed to get his knees under himself and Cas slicked himself up, working the head of his cock into Dean's fluttering hole. He clutched at Dean's hips and slowly rocked himself in deeper. "Fuck!" Dean yelped, trying to meet Cas's thrusts to no avail.

"Relax, my love." Cas moaned, rolling his hips into Dean, captivated by the catch of skin around him. "Do you want to move?" He asked, and released his iron hold on Dean's waist with a chuckle when Dean nodded eagerly. Dean thrust back against Cas with abandon. A surprised gasp was drawn from both of them as Cas sped up his thrusts to match. Dean was going to come if Cas didn't slow down, so he gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

"Cas, wait. Can I flip?" He panted, and Cas's onslaught came to a stop.

"Of course, Dean." He pulled out carefully and leaned away for Dean to position himself on his back. Castiel admired the flush that spread down Dean's neck and covered most of his chest. He leaned forward to suck dark hickeys into Dean's collarbone to contrast. Dean reached down to guide Cas back inside, sighing amorously when he was seated again.

Cas rocked in and out once more with renewed enthusiasm. He snapped his hips forward, causing Dean to arch up off the bed with a shout. Stars burst behind his eyelids as Cas lifted Dean's legs to wrap around his waist and repeated contact his prostate shot sparks through his bloodstream.

"Ah-fuck, Cas, Baby... I'm gonna come. Are you almost there?" Dean gasped and reached up to pull Cas down for a vehement kiss when he grunted his confirmation. Dean felt the heat of his release coil deep in his gut and rocked up into Cas with a fervor, moaning heavily into Cas's mouth with each collision of their hips.

Then the tension in Dean's core snapped, and he was coming without so much as a moment's attention to his dick, clinging to Cas's shoulders with a fucked out whine. Cas kept going and Dean's synapses felt like they were being deep-fried as Castiel's stuttering hips drove him in deeply one, two then a final time as he emptied himself into Dean with a low groan. He then pulled out slowly and rolled off a now depleted Dean to spoon him.

"I think I'm in love with you." Dean wheezed, and Castiel grinned into his hair.

"I'm glad I could help you come to that epiphany. I love you too, Dean."

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and… the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert, porn with plot, longfic

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst, manipulation, panic attack, graphic violence/murder, attempted kidnapping

Word count: 5,633

Author’s note: Oh man, I am SO excited for this chapter, you guys ALSAKDFNDJFDJSNF it's a doozy and I really hope you like it!!

WARNING this one is graphic and violent, heads up! Graphic depiction of a corpse, violence, blood, attempted kidnapping, panic attacks.

Please read the warning above and do not interact with this story if you are a minor! Comments and reblogs always appreciated ❤️

Musical Inspiration: Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge

- Part Eleven -

You felt dizzy. It was happening again. Everything felt like it was spinning as guilt and anxiety started to flood your brain, drowning you, making you gasp for air.

Your lungs couldn’t seem to pull it in fast enough. Short, quick breaths burned your throat as you desperately grabbed for something, anything to steady yourself. Your fists closed around the lapel of Joker’s vest where he sat beneath you, still inside of you.

His painted face came into focus as you blinked your eyes and panic struck you like lightning, jolting you to scramble to move off of his lap. But he was too quick. His hands firmly gripped your waist and the room tipped backwards as he wrestled both of you to the floor. Strands of his faded green hair hung in a curtain over your face where he held it in place, inches below his own. Puffs of your heavy breath washed over his face, his expression indecipherable as always, only an inkling of anger visible in his brow. He kept you still on your back where he knelt on top of you and flickered his gaze over your face. The cold rush of adrenaline in your veins began to subside and you could feel pressure between your legs. He’d managed to stay inside of you, giving you no room to push him out. Your heart fluttered and eyes shut as you forcefully tried to wriggle your way out from underneath him, but it was as if you weighed nothing in comparison to the strength of his grip. Despite the futility of it, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to fight him, a fire burning in your chest, until he suddenly spoke.

“Look at me,” he growled, his gravelly voice rumbling in his throat, and your eyes flew open.

He stared down at you with an intensity that froze you to your core. You stared back with wide eyes and your mouth dropped open but remained incapable of making any sound. His eyes looked as though they’d grown darker, peering past your skin, your bones, to gaze at the very thoughts that relentlessly tore your mind to pieces.

“The dominos, my dear, they’re gonna fall. It’s al-ready started. One by one, they’re gonna fall and they’re not gonna stop.”

Your chest felt so tight. His words stirred up the flames that had ignited so quickly, burning you, pushing you to fight. What were you fighting? His hands held the sides of your face tightly as you stared into the blackness of his eyes that remained fixed on yours. It was the only thing keeping you grounded as you felt yourself nearing the edge of an endless blackhole within your mind, its pull growing stronger. How much more of this could you take before you let go?

Joker slowly nodded his head, sensing the changes happening behind your eyes. Of course, he knew what was happening. That icy drip you felt down your back, that sudden shock driving you to action without any direction, that twinge of remorse. It told you to run, to fight, to hide from this feeling that was growing in your chest, squeezing your insides, pushing you closer to that edge. But he held you there, forcing you to face it.

His voice dropped lower as he continued, “Don’t forget our little deal. You gave your control over to me. Dontcha remember, doll?”

You tried to breathe. You tried to calm the anxiety threatening to suffocate you as your body began to tremble on the floor. He wasn’t going to let you run. The flood of chemical signals saturating your body, tormenting your mind, told you to run. But is that what you wanted? It’s what your body was telling you but, is that what you wanted?

He’d rendered you unable to answer that question. Your heart pounded relentlessly as that thought sank down to your stomach. He knew this would happen. He gave you something he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. How did he know? You never even knew it yourself. He saw something in your eyes you didn’t know was there. He used it too. He lead you straight into a trap you couldn’t have guessed would go this far, unable to see past his alluring figure, looming over you, reaching out to touch you, give you more of you’d come to crave so badly. And you’d let yourself fall for it again.

You couldn’t recognize all of the emotions you were feeling, all twisted together, but one stood out, creeping up from behind you and prickling your skin. Anger. Your breath quickened, puffing his hair out of our face before you struggled against his grip once again and his hands left your face to grab your wrists as you tried to push him off. It was like you were pushing against a brick wall. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists, his hold sure to leave marks on your skin, and a smacking of his lips brought your attention back to his face to see his gaze had remained unbroken. It wasn’t fair, the way he made you feel. So conflicted and guilty, but so alive. You couldn’t stay away from him, he made sure of that. Tears began to burn behind your eyes, but you couldn’t let yourself cry in front of him again.

“I… I hate you.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, the sound of them distant, as if it wasn’t you speaking them. They were just venom, spat desperately in his face in an attempt to fool the predator that his prey was stronger than she actually was.

The straight line of his mouth curved into a haughty smirk before he replied, “Mmm, I guaran-tee that you don’t.”

But he can’t be fooled.

You took quick breaths in and out as you scowled at him until the heat bubbling up inside of you reached your mouth and you shouted, “Just leave me alone!”

“We both know you don’t want that.”

His quip only infuriated you further. Your fists tightened and the pressure in your forehead made tears come to your eyes as your chest shook with staggered breath. You couldn’t think, reduced to a knotted bundle of frustration, wound up so tight it hurt. All you could do was scream. You cursed at him, shouted, yelled, it burned in the back of your throat and echoed in your head, releasing the anger that squeezed it out of you until his hand clapped over your mouth and your eyes tore open.

“Careful now, sweetheart. You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

A sharp breath in through your nose carried the scent of greasepaint that always stained his fingers and the room suddenly felt eerily calm. The tv was still on, the sound of a commercial for Gotham Savings and Loan drifting past your ears, just audible over the sound of your breath mixing with his. It was as if the fire in your chest had been doused with water, leaving only smoldering embers where flames had just been burning up your insides. You let your breath out slowly and your muscles released, too fatigued to hold on. You could see the tension in his jaw disappear when he felt you relax beneath him, keeping your eyes fixed on his, the crushing darkness you’d seen within them just a shadow.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret,” he said in an unexpectedly relaxed tone, raising his eyebrows. “You aren’t as helpless as you think you are.”

Your brow furrowed as you continued to stare up at his face, your thoughts not yet cleared from beneath a layer of ash.

His tongue flicked out over his lip and now that he was sure he had your full attention, he continued, “Ev-ery-thing is balanced, a steadfast but delicate system. All it takes is one little push to bring it all crashing down.”

He blinked at you and slowly moved his hand from your mouth as you blinked back. Why did he always have to speak like this? Always so cryptic and steeped in maddening ambiguity. Against your better judgement, you voiced your frustration to his face.

“I never know what you’re talking about.”

You flinched when he suddenly burst into a loud fit of laughter, its pitch ringing in your ears and sending a shiver down your sides. He swallowed it back in muffled giggles before managing to speak, “Is that so?” Then his breath slowed, his voice steadily dropped as his grin faded and he looked you in the eyes and said, “I think you do, doll. You do but you just don’t wanna listen.”

The twinge in your stomach pushed you to try to argue, opening your mouth before you even knew what to say. But he was quicker, he was always quicker. He leaned in even closer, his fingers wrapping around your wrists as he spoke.

“Doesn’t it get old playing the victim? Hm? You know we’re far past that by now, sweetheart.”

Like a switch had been flipped, you froze beneath him once again. He knew too well how to get what he wanted from you. Arousal, obedience, fear. He was always right. You could tell yourself that you didn’t know something like this would happen, but that doesn’t make it true. You’d already come to this conclusion so many times, but it just so hard to accept it. Your mouth closed and you fell silent as your eyes caught sight of the bite mark you’d left on his neck. You knew. You knew and you chose to ignore it. You knew and you liked it.

Joker kept his eyes on yours, obvious that he knew he’d gotten through to you, and slowly nodded. Then let go of your wrists before he suddenly stood up, pulling out of you and taking the breath from your lungs along with him. All at once, his heat and pressure were taken away in an unexpected shock to your system, leaving his cum slowly dripping down between your legs where you laid naked on the floor. It had to have been on purpose. This cold, empty, vulnerability. You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t. Just more evidence of the power he held over you, the heat you could never seem to get enough of. You’d been frustrated by it. It bothered you at first, but that was changing, twisting into something else. No matter what he did to you, all you wanted was to submit to him. No one had ever left you feeling this empty, this hungry to do it all again.

After tucking himself into his pants, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes then kept two from the pack in his lips. Then he held the flame of a lighter from another pocket to their tips until they glowed in the dim light from the television that was cast over his body where he stood over you. Kneeling down, he took a deep inhale from both cigarettes before plucking one from his lips and placing it between yours as smoke curled into the air from the corners of his mouth.

“You did well, doll. I’ll see ya when the next domino falls, hm?”

The front door shut as you stared up at the ceiling, holding the cigarette between your fingers after taking a deep drag, trying to suffocate the butterflies that had returned to your stomach.

_______________

What are the stages of grief again? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Is it normal to feel them all at once?

The past few days had done little to clear your mind. But exhaustion had carried you to the point of passivity. You’d become numb. You supposed it was a defense mechanism, a subconscious effort to save your sanity. Even when you finally heard word of what Joker had been up to since you’d seen him, you had trouble having any sort of feelings about it.

After spending days in your apartment, usually in a state somewhere between asleep and awake, you decided it was best to open the shop. It was sort of like playing pretend. Like you weren’t wrapped around the gloved finger of Gotham’s newest and most notorious criminal who’d been giving you the best sex of your life in exchange for selling your soul to him. Just a regular small business owner trying to stay afloat. Your regular customers had certainly taken notice of your frequent absence lately, as proven by the not so friendly messages left on your answering machine. So, you did your best to keep up the charade under the guise of a “death in the family”.

A stack of newspapers was waiting for you on the doorstep and at the top of the pile, a headline pertaining to a certain clown.

“CITY BRACES FOR JOKER’S NEXT MOVE. COMMISSIONER LOEB FUNERAL PROCEEDINGS TO CONTINUE AS PLANNED.”

You took the one from the top, then unlocked the door and hung up your coat, pausing before dropping the paper on the desk. A little feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t renew your newspaper subscription this year. Your eyes shifted to the door as those pervasive goosebumps rose up on the back of your neck. You knew exactly who left it here. Ignoring it, you swallowed against the sudden dryness in your throat and moved on to turn on the shop lights as you tried to reason with yourself. Don’t read it, you’ll find out what he has planned soon enough. He’s using you for his games.

But reasoning has never been your strong suit. After all, you should keep up with what’s going on, right? You rushed back to the desk and dropped into your chair before swiftly unfolding the paper, your palms already damp with sweat.

The article had little details to offer until it stated that a threat was made on the mayor’s life in the form of a fake obituary. The thought that Joker had a certain flare for the dramatic made you shift in your chair as your heart fluttered and you finished reading. For the amount of crime that went on in this city, Gotham was never good at responding to it. Not in any way that made sense, at least. They were going ahead with the commissioner’s funeral and the mayor was still scheduled to give his speech. It seemed like they were asking for it by now. Why would they just put the mayor out in front like he was bait?

Then your stomach sank even further. Maybe it was a trap. Gotham PD couldn’t be that stupid, they must be planning to catch him when he goes after the mayor. The next domino. Your heart started pumping faster as an inexplicable need to warn him flashed in your mind. No, that’s stupid. You don’t want to protect him. He’s a sociopathic murderer.

Here you were again. Caught in your own web, tangled between what you knew you should want and what you really wanted. You already knew what you wanted and so did he. You remembered when you saw him only days ago, the feeling that carried all the way down to your toes, the look in his eyes, the way he touched you. The sounds he made when he fucked you.

A furious rush of tingles ran down your back and your mind raced. He must know it’s a trap. He’s smarter than them. He wouldn’t let himself get killed that easily, right? Your hands gripped the desk as you tried to calm yourself, accepting the reality that you couldn’t hold back these feelings. You couldn’t hold them back or you’d loose your mind faster than you already were. He told you he’d see you again, you just had to wait. He hasn’t lied to you so far.

Once the buzz in your body settled and your breath slowed, you stood from the desk to get something to slake the thirst tightening in your throat. Maybe it’ll help clear your head too. You opened the fridge in the workshop where you kept complimentary drinks for costumers then scanned its contents before stopping yourself from grabbing the champagne and reaching for a bottle of water instead. The cold water soothed all the way down to your stomach and you closed your eyes, the relief even better than you’d hoped for. Then a sound coming from the front room made your eyelids fly open. It sounded like the door closing.

You were already on edge, maybe it was your imagination. But you couldn’t ignore the anxiety that trickled down your back. Did you lock the door behind you when you came in? Your heart raced and that feeling in your stomach was back with a vengeance. Silently setting the water bottle down, you took careful steps toward the door.

The silence was deafening as you slowly passed through the doorway into the front room, your gaze unblinking and brow heavy. You should’ve called out and ask who was there, but your voice was nowhere to be found when you opened your mouth. Then you thought maybe it was Joker, here to collect his next favor, and your heart fluttered. When you passed the desk, your mind busy with possibilities, you turned to see a man in an oversized suit jacket standing in the fitting area.

Your voice finally showed up and the man whirled around when your startled scream rang out into the room. In the split second that your brain had shifted to fight or flight, you’d backed up against the wall and sucked in a breath as your sensibility returned, your cheeks flushing hot.

“Sir, the shop is closed!” you blurted out in embarrassment as you tried to catch your breath.

Your back was still flat against the wall when he flashed you an unnerving smile and answered as he turned to face you, “My apologies, miss. Pardon my intrusion but I am here on behalf of someone who wish to speak to you.”

His accent. You could almost smell the stale cigars.

The heat drained from your face and before you could second guess yourself, you made a break for the front door. Your panicked muscles carried you as far as ten feet from the door before a pair of arms wound around your middle and pulled you backwards as you kicked and shouted. You managed to jab your elbow straight into the man’s stomach, eliciting a pained grunt, but he still wouldn’t let go, dragging you toward the exit out to the alleyway as you screamed obscenities at him, your heels skidding on the floor.

He grunted again then said with increasing irritation in his voice, “You only make this harder on yourself, eh? Now be a good little girl and shut up!”

A swell of burning rage rose up in your chest when his words left his mouth and with more force than you thought you were capable of, you jerked your body forward and pulled the man off of his feet to tip him over onto the floor. He took you down with him. But the fall broke his grasp, and you were able to wriggle free before scrambling to your feet. The front door was still your best hope. Maybe someone in this godforsaken city would hear you scream and do something.

You took a leap toward the door once again before your chin slammed against the floor boards after he snatched your ankle and brought you crashing back down onto the floor. A frustrated shout scratched in your throat as you twisted onto your back. His hand caught your fist when you swung it toward his face, the satisfaction from the crack of your knuckles against his jaw never fulfilled. Everything was happening so fast but also so slowly as you struggled against his grip where he was bent over top of you on the floor, his cologne burning your nose. The air hurt your lungs and blood roared in your ears, your thoughts muddled by the raw anger that took over your body. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t let this happen.

His hand twisted in your hair and pulled hard, the sting in your scalp making you hiss through gritted teeth. Then you saw it in the corner of your eye, your pair of heavy upholstery scissors had been knocked onto the floor, just within your reach.

A flash of red blinded you as your fist tightened around the handle just before you felt the resistance of the blades sinking into his flesh. Everything else seemed to stop and your muscles squeezed to push them in further, your mind gone blank. His hand left your hair to grab at his throat, sputtering and choking as you released your grip on the scissor’s handle. His eyes grew wider as his lungs tried desperately to pull a breath in, but it was too late.

Blood saturated his shirt collar, flowing further away from his brain, his mouth gaping open. It gurgled and bubbled, gasping for air that could no longer pass through, only thick blood filling his airway as his consciousness rapidly faded to black. Your body went numb and rolled out from beneath him before he hit the floor, his frantic movements gone still.

Soon you were on your feet, staring at the body face down on the floor, your scissors shoved into his throat. You blinked before a wave of panic suddenly pushed you against the wall, plunging you into a cold sweat, unable to look away from the pool of bright red seeping into the rug. You couldn’t stop yourself from panting and trembling, your head growing lighter until you felt the walls closing in. The only thing that kept you from passing out was an eruption of nausea, the second surge of a physiologic response to the realization of what you’d done as you slid down the wall into a heap on the floor.

You retched against your sobs that burst forth, the only sound in the unnervingly silent room as you let it all out, too overwhelmed to know what else to do. There was strange solace in the blur that your tears brought to your vision, distorting the scene in front of you, like it wasn’t there. But it was. Your mind began reeling, attempting to process, to rationalize. You killed him. He was dead. Now it was so quiet.

It wasn’t clear how long you’d spent like that, trapped beneath the weight of shock. But gradually the torrent of emotion that had stunned you quelled, and your breath slowed, nearly all of your capacity for feeling exhausted. In the absence of feeling, you regained your ability to think. He was dead but he attacked you. It was self-defense. It was self-defense.

Then your eyes flew open and your stomach sank before you managed to stand up, your legs buckling underneath you as you rushed to the door to turn the lock. What do you do now? You spun around, your back to the door, and scanned the room in some attempt to come up with a plan. Now there was a body on the floor and blood all over your shop. It should have surprised you how quickly your attitude shifted from devastated by what you had done to upset by the situation it put you in. But you knew exactly who had something to do with that.

You aren’t as helpless as you think you are.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. This was because of him. He was the whole reason this man was here, the only reason that Chechen sent him here to get you. What was going to happen now that he wasn’t going to return with you? You didn’t have much time, did you? A feeling of dread settled into your stomach. This was all because of him but he was the only one who could help you.

Bile rose up toward your mouth, but you stifled it as you stepped around the body in search of Joker’s phone, the air feeling heavier as you rounded the desk. This still didn’t feel real. It was there in front of you, but it didn’t feel real.

The screen lit up and you scrolled through the list on “unknown” and “private” numbers. Your heart beat faster as anxiety bubbled just below the surface, threatening to pull you under again until you stopped on one of them and hit the call button with your thumb. Holding the phone to your ear, your hands buzzed while it rang, each tone loosening your tenuous grasp on rationality. The ringing stopped and then, nothing. A squeeze in your chest pushed you to try again. No answer. Your breath quickened and your hands started to shake but you couldn’t give up. You chose another number and hit call, then another. One last try.

Your whole body tingled now as it rang. One ring, two rings. On the sixth ring, you were ready to submit to the heightening unease crawling up your back until you suddenly heard his voice.

“Little busy right now, doll.”

It felt like your heart stopped then restarted and you couldn’t get sound to come from your mouth for a moment before you managed to almost whisper, “I need help.”

There was silence, permeated by the sound of your breathing as you trembled so hard you almost dropped the phone.

“And where might help find you?” he asked in an unusual tone.

Your voice was hoarse but a bit stronger when you answered, “My shop.”

He was silent again and you could hear something in the background, but the thumping of your own heart in your ears made it difficult to recognize what it was.

“Wait there.”

Then the call was ended.

The phone slid down away from your ear as you let your arm fall to your side and lowered yourself into the desk chair. He didn’t even ask what happened or what you needed help with. But there was something about his tone of voice. It brought you a strange sense of relief, knowing he was coming. It sank into you, warm and calming, easing your nerves all twisted up inside you. It was crazy, wrong, backwards, but that didn’t make it any less true. You didn’t have the energy to think about it anymore, acceptance was just by default now.

Your stomach twinged when you remembered what was on the other side of the desk and you felt a sudden need to be as far away from it as possible, standing from the chair so fast your head felt light. There was an inexplicable, contradictory urge to look that you fought to resist as you rushed to the back room, keeping your eyes averted. You had to try to stay calm and wait.

The next hour was pure torture. You sat clutching the burner phone tightly and stared at the bottle of water you’d left there not long ago, but by now it felt like days. Surely you needed it, but the thought of swallowing anything made your throat tighten. Every time the way it felt when the blades in your hand sank into flesh crossed your mind, it was like there was a short circuit and it was gone as soon as you blinked. You would have never guessed that you’d be capable of doing something like this. Did Joker know? He seemed to know more about you than you did. Were you like him? Does he go numb when it happens like you did?

You were shaken out of your trance when the sound of the side door opening made you flinch before you got up to rush toward the front room. Your breath hitched when, for the second time today, instead of seeing Joker, you saw someone else. But he looked familiar.

“The fuck happened here?” Joker’s goon with the bald head and leather jacket asked.

Your tense muscles relaxed a little, and you watched a few other men you didn’t recognize enter the room, their faces showing an equal amount of surprise before the door shut.

“Where is he?”

“Boss is busy.”

You blinked at the hulking man and tried to focus on staying calm as your ever-persistent level of anxiety threatened to rise up again. He wasn’t here but you supposed he trusted these men since he sent them in his place, for whatever that was worth. “Ok,” you answered softly.

The man looked down at the body then back to you before he raised his eyebrows and said, “A’right, so we gotta move a body then?”

He seemed so casual about it, staring at you and waiting for a response until you slowly nodded. They moved surprisingly quickly, taking the mirror and tables off of the rug before rolling the body into it. Most of the blood went with it but there was still some on the hardwood. They asked you if you had any bleach. It was surreal, watching them rid the room of any sign that something so violent had happened. They carried out the rolled up rug to toss it into the back of the white van they’d driven then used bleach and scraps of terry cloth that you never knew why you’d kept to clean up the rest of the blood before throwing it all away in a garbage bag, thrown in the van with the body.

It seemed strange how easily they could make it all go away. Physically, anyway. The reality of it was finally starting to sink in. You weren’t sure how long the images would replay in your mind, the moment you saw his eyes grow distant, the blood welling up in his mouth.

You stared blankly ahead through the windshield from where you sat in the van’s passenger seat, your chest rising and falling steadily with your breath. They hadn’t bothered to blindfold you this time. It wasn’t clear why. Maybe they saw the vacant look on your face and knew you wouldn’t remember any of the drive anyway. It was still daylight, but only just. The whisps of clouds on the horizon fluoresced in bright shades of pink and orange. Gotham usually isn’t treated to such beautiful sunsets.

It wasn’t long before your surroundings morphed into the now familiar sight of urban decay. Broken windows, gated doors, peeling paint. You watched it all pass by until the van made a turn toward the docks. You’d never been to this place before. The shrill sound of gulls met your ears when you followed the group of men out of the van, parked behind what looked like an old shipyard warehouse. None of them said a word or even looked back at you as they carried the body and bag of bloodied rags toward a rusted door, but a flutter in your stomach compelled you to stay close.

Voices echoed off of the ceiling that rose up two stories, lined with crisscrossed metal scaffolding and flickering lights, above a large central room that was littered with broken crates and scrap metal. Graffiti covered much of the weather beaten brick walls and a staircase leading to an upper level. You’d actually always wanted to see what these abandoned buildings looked like on the inside. They’re all over Gotham, corroding monuments to a once thriving city. This place was a hive of activity; groups of men cleaning guns, unloading various boxes and crates, there even appeared to be a riotous poker game underway. You focused on steadying your breath as you took in your surroundings before your gaze landed on where the men had carried the body.

Across the room, they were opening the door to a huge furnace, the bright glow making you squint your eyes. Your mouth slowly dropped open and your throat became dry when you saw them heave the body, rug, and bag of evidence into the white hot flames. And that was it. Like it never even happened.

Your nerves crept up on you and even this open space started to feel like it was closing in. What were you doing here? This was the last place you should have been, surrounded by the sort of men who could easily have stood in place of the one who was now being rendered to cinders. A shiver ran down your back and you quickly turned to run out the door but instead slammed hard into someone’s chest. A surprised gasp nearly made you cough when it dried your throat even more and your hands reflexively flew up to shield yourself as your gaze dropped to the floor.

A powerful jolt tightened every muscle once you blinked, seeing brown shoes and purple pinstripe pants standing there in front of you. You let your eyes travel up his chest, rising and falling steadily, covered only by a thin white tank top, and your heart fluttered before reaching his face when it dropped into your stomach. The white, red, and black that always obscured his features, it wasn’t there. You could see the pink, gnarled scar tissue that distorted the corners of his mouth, bare and uncovered. His skin bore only traces of the distinguishing paint, like it had been hastily wiped off.

His tongue flicked out over his lip and you sucked in a breath when your eyes darted up to meet his. Warmth seeped in beneath your skin, pooling in your belly as electricity ran across the surface of your body.

“Hello, doll.”

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

Taglist: @amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @liz-rdwitch @germansarechill @thesadvampire @tsukiakarinobara @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @apocalypticwafflekitten @astheworlddturns @komatheterrible @jokersqueenofchaos @killingjokee @into-crazy @youmaycallmebrian @jslittlebirdie @vipervixxen

[literary-spirit]

Bonnie Bennett believed she'd finally discovered her good enough ending. Yet, like most things in her life good enough goes left and leaves her with another ending. Or, perhaps a fire beginning...Journey with everyone's favorite Bennett Witch to the Viking Era for much needed lessons in devotion, courtesy the Lothbrok brothers.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

AN: Alright Bennett Fandom this one here is a bit different from what you're used to. Okay this one here is a bit different than I'm used to. Francesca has recently rediscovered Vikings and with it the sons of Ragnar. And don't you know she wouldn't rest until she brought our favorite Bennett Witch into their mess! As if our girl didn't already have her own problems. SMFH! So thanks to my lovely muse, here we are with a whole lot of trifling savagery that I'm just not so sure about. But as always I'll let you be the judge if this WIP lives to see another update. Flame it or acclaim it in comments.

“You know as much as I’ve savored the joy of tormenting you over the years-,” Klaus began.

“No,” Bonnie shook her head. She’d tried to go along with his final request. Really she did, but how could she? When in the end all he’d be was gone. “I’m sorry, bae. We’re not doing this.”

Rebekah’s eyes rolled. She released a drawn out exhale that hadn’t been necessary for her since wood ash and pointed stick tattoos were a thing. “Bonnie, don’t ruin this for him! Permit him whatever comfort he demands. He shoulders a burden you’d never be able to fathom. Can you not allow him to experience but one moment of grace? A moment Hope will undoubtedly cling to after he’s gone.”

“No, Rebekah! I’m not about to listen as the man I love gives us all a corny goodbye and pretend to be okay with it. And why the hell should Hope have a moment to cling to when she could have her father?” She gave her head another firm shake. “No, this is not okay with me,” her voice rose as she drilled visual holes through each of them. Klaus tried to shut her down with an arm around the shoulders but she curved him with a shrug, all while committing ocular homicide on him in the process. “So why the hell is it okay with you, Hybrid?” Her scorn riddled gaze darted from him back to his so called family. “Or any of you?”

“You must’ve been down on Bourbon sipping on that Absinthe again if you believe any of this shit is okay with us,” Marcel waved her off barely sparing her a glance. “We all just know Klaus is gonna do whatever Klaus wants no matter how any of us feels about it. The most dangerous place you can be when his mind’s made up is in his way. So I suggest you step out of it.”

Her neck snapped back as if she’d taken a two piece to the chin. “You think I’m afraid of the big bad wolf? I wasn’t at seventeen and if I thought for a second it would save him, I’d put his ass back in the dirt again. I take care of my own, Marcel. No matter the dangers or consequences,” she jabbed a thumb at her hybrid, “And make no mistake, that Original pain in the ass over there is mine.”

“Cute.” Marcel laughed as he rubbed at the corners of his mouth. “Bonnie, we’re his family. Each of us have known, feared, hated, respected, and loved him long before even your parents’ parents became an idea. Hell, even after everything he’s dragged me through, there’s not a drop of blood I wouldn’t bleed for him.”

“Then stand behind those words and do something, Marcel,” she pleaded, because at this point she wasn’t above begging for the only bright spot remaining in the dim bleakness that had become her life seven years before.

“What would you have us do, Bonnie?” Elijah questioned in a barely engaged tone.

Bonnie turned to consider him. A perpetual moroseness now cloaked the one she’d once believed to be noble. His arrogance hadn’t been quite the same since the restoration of his memories. More and more he’d begun to remind her of Finn. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. Since discovering what Klaus planned to do, she’d toyed with an idea she’d vowed never to indulge. Yet, under the weight of impossible desperation such vows could not stand.

“The eternal witch spell should be evoked,” she said.

“By whom?” Kol questioned. His chocolate browns moved from Freya to Hope. When both appeared to know less than him his disbelieving gawk returned to her. “You?!” Laughter burst from his mouth. “Oh Darling, I’ve witnessed that spell make a supernatural mess of the most talented witches to ever recite a chant. There’s only one destined to master the eternal witch incantation and her sorcery is said to be unmatched.” His knowing gaze drifted to Hope, and then back to her. “There’s no way you’re powerful enough to undertake the task. You’re not even the strongest witch on this block.”

Bonnie flinched. Damn it, if Kol hadn’t DOA’ed her pride. When the hell did he jump on the Bennett hate train? To hear how far his opinion of her plummeted sort of burned.

She nodded. “Okay, if not me why not Davina. You tend to enjoy blowing her horn. If she’s all you claim her to be, get her here. I’ll happily bow down if her being greater than me will save him.” She jerked her head in Klaus’ direction.

“No!” Marcel barked.

“Leave my wife out of this.” Kol zipped across the distance separating them to tower over her. His original face no longer concealed by his human deception.

Klaus rocketed forward to place himself between she and Kol. “Step away from my fiancé, baby brother. For if you harm her then you’ll be joining me in the afterlife. To hell with your bloody dagger and box.”

Ignoring Kol’s and Klaus’ dagger and the box bit, her distressed stare collided with Freya’s. “What about you? Will you help me save your brother?”

“Bonnie, that spell is much too dangerous. Even for me.” The blondes eyes offered her a thousand apologies but not one solution. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it…not now.”

Her desperation bottomed out to despair as her gaze took a hail Mary launch to the supposedly most powerful witch in the room. “Hope?”

The room erupted. You’d think she’d offered the girl a crack pipe. When she was Hope’s age she was taking down well…her dad.

“Bonnie!” Elijah yelled.

“This is madness,” Rebekah growled, taking a step in their direction. “Nik tell her!”

“We’ve already talked about this, Bekah.” Marcel shook his head and tugged Rebekah back to his side. “That doesn’t concern us.” Bonnie heard Marcel mutter.

Klaus spun away from Kol to regard her. He grabbed her face and cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Everything’s going to be alright, Love.” He whispered, before brushing his lips against hers. Liquid pain disturbed the stillness of his crystal blue stare and contradicted the hell out of his reassurance.

“How?” She tugged herself free of his grasp. “How’s everything going to be alright? You’ll be dead and then what? Life goes on? Fuck that! I’m not about to stand here and mourn a defeat I haven’t loss yet!” She whirled away and marched from the gathering. Her decision made.

Once out of sight, she hurried towards their bedroom. Inside, she closed the door and locked it. The barrier wouldn’t hold her hybrid, but the fraction of time it would provide may be all she needed to complete the spell. She fell to her knees next to the mattress. Carefully, she tugged the blanket from underneath the bed. The already prepared altar and ingredients slid out. She stared down at the athamae and exhaled. Second thoughts plagued her mental, but she shook them away. She’d come this far already. The time to bitch up and forget about it had come and gone. Now was the time to do and die, literally.

She picked up the dagger and called forth every ounce of mystical energy which bled through her veins. A swell of Bennett sorcery overwhelmed the room. Pictures rattled on the walls. The balcony doors blew open and the glass shattered. Furniture not nailed down whipped about the room like she’d caught a ride in a tornado. Steeling her nerves, she continued. She called forth her psychic energy, her huntress energy. Any and everything supernatural about her she offered to the Goddess of all in exchange for an eternity of knowledge and the fated eternal mate destined to help her defeat the Hollow.

After relinquishing her all to the Creator she sliced open her palm. Blood gushed from the wound and saturated the ingredients. A searing light illuminated the room. The bargain was struck and accepted. Now the sacrifice. She swallowed and raised the blade. Aiming it at the center of her chest, she closed her eyes.

“Bonnie, no!” Klaus’ voice penetrated the white noise blaring throughout the room. “Love, don’t do this. You won’t survive.”

She opened her eyes. He stood just beyond the enchantment circle, attempting to force his way into the barrier. “Neither will you if I don’t. Besides, if it doesn’t work I’d rather be in the ground anyway than breathe without you, Klaus.”

“Bonnie, please,” he pled as he dropped to his knees. He slammed his fist against the barrier. “Please, don’t do this. We’ll find another way. You have my word, Love!”

A sad smile flirted with her lips. “You’re lying, Klaus. If there was another way then it would already be the plan.” She plunged the blade into the cradle of her breasts. A piercing burn penetrated her chest.

“No!” Klaus’ bellow seared layers from her punctured heart. The storm of mystical energy whipping about ceased.

Her knees buckled. Klaus caught her before the ground could and cuddled her close. She attempted to talk, but a wheeze whistled pass her lips instead.

“No, Love, don’t speak.” He bit into his wrist and placed the bleeding extremity to her mouth. His blood might as well had been battery acid because she’d bet dollars to air it burned the same. Hacking coughs damn near shook her frame apart by the joints. “Why the sodding hell isn’t this working?”

“I-It’s the s-spell,” she managed to utter. “M-my death is the p-price of a-admission.”

Tears trickled from his eyes onto her face. “Why did I have to go and love you, Little Witch?” He demanded, looking beyond confused.

“B-Because its what we b-both needed at the time and no m-matter how this turns out I’ll always be indebted to you for giving me a reason. L-Love you, Hybrid…always and f-forever.” His face faded until nothing but darkness surrounded her.

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

The abyss gave way to blinding lights. Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut. A cacophony of sounds battered her auditory senses. The eardrum rupturing racket nearly distracted her from the violent rocking motion. A violent rocking motion which would no doubt wrought absolute fuckery on her cyclic vomiting syndrome. Right along with the tang of salt-water, unwashed bodies, and rotten fish. The potpourri of funk came close to singeing the lining of her nostrils.

A familiar acrid burn tickled the back of her throat. On cue her belly spun a series of gold medal winning somersaults. Oh this was going to happen. Her lack of sight heightened her senses and made her that much more sensitive to all the upchuck factors swirling about her. Unable to continue to live in the darkest part of her denial and remain vomit free, she opened her eyes. The brightest day she'd ever had to tolerate greeted her light discriminating gaze. She closed her eyes once more. What in the extreme fuck? Was this some kind of hell dimension? Is that why she was only a five minute drive away from the damn sun? Oh Goddess no!

"Cade?!" She growled.

The acrid burn that flirted with the back of her throat developed a sour chunky consistency. Once again she forced her eyes open...and blinked. She was on a vessel that appeared to have hailed straight out of Vikings. Damning the unnecessary brightness and her afterlife in general, she turned and tossed up the entire contents of her stomach over the boats edge. The seafood gumbo from Rousseau's she loved nearly as much as Klaus shot from her mouth and floated one way while the wind and Hades' cruiser sailed her in another.

As gravity took her down exhaustion fucked her over. She rested her cheek on the boat's wooden ledge. Drops of putrid salt water splashed her face. Yet, her fucks to give was at a negative zero low. Not only was she dead, but more than likely so was Klaus. She'd failed him...she'd failed them. Not even eternity would be long enough to make that shit okay.

Bonnie's vision blurred. Her chest throbbed. She clawed at the pounding ache between her breasts. Goddess, it's a wonder her chest didn't have a gaping hole in it after everything her heart had lost. Shaking her latest failure from her thoughts, she turned to slouch back to the boat's floor. She then lifted her gaze to assess her surroundings. Various shades of irises gawked back at her. She froze. Oh damn! Just her luck the water was sacred. She opened her mouth to offer an apology, but snapped it closed. Wait...why the hell did everyone look like extras from the Last Kingdom?

Slowly, her gaze dropped from the filthy hairy men towering over her to what she wore. The burlap sack dress she donned stopped her ever ticking clock. And based on the breeze cooling her cakes, her La Perla's had opted to skip the journey to the other side. Her back teeth clenched. In what kind of after life had she been dropped? Was this some kind of Viking hell? Had she somehow been granted eternity with Klaus in his hereafter?

The shifting of bodies snaked her attention from Kanye's spring wear to the now parting beefy men. A sight which had her questioning her sanity emerged. Bjorn Lothbrok or at any rate the actor who portrayed him in Vikings. Was he dead and stuck on the Otherside also? Wait, was Alexander Ludwig even supernatural?

"You're not one of the slaves who was captured during the raid. One of your hue, I would've remembered." The head Viking in charge edge that resonated in Bjorn's or Alexander's voice snatched her from her contemplations. "How've you come to be upon this ship?" When she opened her mouth to speak the cold sharpened point of a sword pierced the hollow of her throat. "Speak to me of canards or sagas and I shall open your gullet."

She hesitated for a moment. What could she say? The truth would definitely get her neck split wide. "I-I'm not sure. Before...when I closed my eyes, I was somewhere else and now that I've opened them, I'm..." she glanced from the horror frozen faces of the crewmen to the beyond frightened slaves. The poor shackled souls huddled away from her in the ship crevices and corners on either side of her. She swallowed and allowed her gaze to return to Bjorn. "I'm here."

"Oh my god," she heard one of the slaves mutter in a tone that, to her surprise, sounded annoyed?

His scoff sliced the disbelief inspired silence in half. He withdrew the biting tip of his sword from her throat and sheathed it in the scabbard at his side. "Bind her hands to her feet and toss her over."

The ship erupted in a flurry of movement. Two overfed red-haired and even redder faced Viking men moved to grab her. She nearly projectile vomited her heart from her mouth.

"I know what I'm saying sounds apeshit, but I swear on everything I love, Alexander," she said slowly uttering the name and searching his face for a flare of recognition. When nothing sparked in his expression she stammered on, "I-I'm telling the truth. Please, you have to believe me, Bjorn!" A flicker of curiosity narrowed his glare. Bingo! "You can't let them kill me! Please, I don't wanna die again!"

"Halt!" He bellowed, raising a hand to stop the men from advancing, "How've you come to know of my name?"

Shit! She pressed her lips together as her mind flipped through a too short list of plausible explanations that wouldn't get her burned at a stake for witchcraft. "I-I've dreamt of you a-and of this moment." There, that didn't sound too bad. One thing she'd learned from Klaus, watching Vikings, and Google, is ancient Northman actually revered oracles and seers.

"You've dreamt of me?" He knelt before her, arresting her stare with a penetratingly incandescent blue gaze. At a deliberate methodical pace, his eyes crept over her face. Her lungs threatened to collapse under the thorough scrutiny. "Of this moment?" Unable to look anywhere other than in the irises that burned brighter than the now blazing sun, her head bobbed. A smile enticed the corners of his mouth. "Then why fear what you know will follow? Have you not prepared well to meet your fate?"

"Not if my fate resides at the bottom of the ocean," she said with a firm shake of the head, "That's an introduction I'd like to cur—avoid indefinitely."

His head tilted just so as he continued to regard her. "Name yourself."

"Bonnie Bennett," she answered.

A golden brow lifted. "Bonnie Bennett of where?"

"New-M-Mystic Falls...Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

"I have never heard of a land with such a name," he huddled a bit closer to her, "in which direction does your homeland lie?"

Before she could answer, thick gun metal gray clouds rolled across the azure sky and swallowed the glaring sun. A sonic boom exploded somewhere in the distance, while blue streaks of lightening zigzagged its way through the stodgy swirls of gloom. And if the situation wasn't already atom splitting serious, fat drops of rain and hail the size of golf balls began to pelt them.

"This storm is unnatural!" A seaman yelled.

"What in the name of Odin will become of us? None of us shall discover the gates of Valhalla at the bottom of the sea!" A ruddy face old man with a scraggly beard roared at anyone who appeared to be listening.

Another much younger seaman, maybe a little older than herself, turned an anxious stare on Bjorn. "Do you believe the All Father has forsaken us, Ironside?"

Bjorn opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a blonde slave girl who pointed a finger in her direction, "It's her! Her very presence displeases the gods. You should heave her over and pray the sacrifice appeases them."

"You sound dumb as hell! It's no wonder you're in chains," Bonnie snapped, regretting her words as soon as they left her lips. Stupidity had nothing to do with forced captivity. Yet, that bitch had some damn nerve.

"No one will be heaving anyone over," Bjorn said, while standing from his crouch, "Raise the sails and provide the slaves with pails so they may began dumping water from the ship's floor."

A surge of magic thickened the air. The foreign sorcery incited something within her. Something unfamiliar. A bucket was pushed in her face. She took the wooden pail without looking away from the sea. The very stench of alien witchery agitated her own strange mystical energy. The fiery heat of her somehow altered super charged power practically scorched the inner lining of her veins as it raced through her vessels. Who would dare interrupt the supernatural and natural balance on this scale without justification? It was like using a heat seeking missile to take out a mosquito. Un-fucking-called for!

Instead of allowing the now aggressive powers within her the retribution it sought, she settled just to keep the occupants on the ship safe. So, while she dumped water from the boat's floor, she chanted under her breath. Soon, a protective shield formed around them in an elusive form of the previous sunny day. The Vikings and slaves alike erupted in praises to Odin.

"Yep," Bonnie forced a smile. "Praise Odin!"

"Come, Mystical One," Bjorn stood over her, his shadow casting her much needed shade.

Distrust and her impromptu guest starring role on a show which highlighted the fact that Vikings had no problems raping captives, raised her guards. Though realms out of her element, she was far from ignorant.

Her gaze moved over him in an attempt to size him up. "Where?"

"To the prow," He gestured towards the front of the ship before snatching the pail from her hands, and then tossing it aside. "I wish to learn more about you and this numinous land named Mystic Falls." When she took too long to follow he locked his hands behind his back and considered her. "If I wanted to lie with you then all I need do is have you. Do you believe anyone here would be minded to protect you?"

She lifted her chin as she glanced about the ship to see not one person watching them for concern purposes. Every eye she caught on them looked to be pre-historic Shade Room and TMZ reporters. If they had tea kettles back then they'd no doubt be ready to spill the damn things. No, Bjorn spoke the truth. No one on that confoundingly long boat would lift a calloused palm to help her.

"Alright." Exhaling, she stood and leveled him with a glare even a PMS'ing demon would be incapable of exacting. "But fair warning, no one on this ship can protect me better than me. And make no mistake, I'm not above defending my own honor."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "That is a certainty about you of which I'll never be mistaken, Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

[writingpuddle]

Hello congrats on 500 followers! Do you think you would be interested in writing something about the foxes camping? Maybe as a team bonding trip or a reunion? Honestly whatever you feel like I love reading your fics and head cannons! They never fail to cheer me up!

ah anon, you get me. read it on ao3

Moonlight

The smell of campfire smoke saturated the night air. Neil’s soles scuffed against the gravel on the road as he followed the others, the breeze sending a zing of energy through him. The two apple ciders he’d drunk earlier glowed in his stomach like sunshine.

“No, I’m sure it was this way,” Nicky said, his voice too loud and blurry with drink.

“Oh my god, Nicky,” Allison said. “You couldn’t find the bathroom in daylight.”

“The map is confusing!” Nicky protested. “Oh look! The playground!”

Nicky’s shadow darted off the road towards the shadowy structure. The others laughed, stumbling after him. Matt tripped over the wooden frame and nearly hit the ground, but Dan was there to catch him. A second later he gasped softly, dashing towards a tiny wooden horse on a spring. He folded his giant frame down onto the horse and rocked wildly back and forth. Neil had to stifle a laugh at the ridiculous sight.

“This is stupid,” Kevin said peevishly. “You are acting like children.”

Dan and Renee exchanged a glance, then grabbed him by his elbows, dragging him over to a brightly coloured playground merry-go-round. He shouted in protest as Dan trapped him in one of the segments while Renee starting the whole thing spinning around.

“Neeeeeil,” Nicky called. “Teeter totter, now!”

“Don’t use him,” Allison said derisively. “He’s too small to balance.”

“That’s the point! I bet I can launch him clear off the—Neil, where are you going?”

The field sloped away beneath the park, the slightly overgrown grass dampening Neil’s shoes. Leaves fluttered in the breeze. Glimmers of moonlight off the lake peeked between the branches.

“Neil, don’t you dare—”

Neil’s feet had already carried him down the slope a few steps, the allure of the water drawing him away. At the sound of Nicky’s voice, he glanced over his shoulder. Nicky started towards him, and all the buzzing in Neil’s chest lit up at once. He took off at a sprint, laughter frothing in his chest. The grass under his feet was springy and damp and the playground dropped away behind him.

He ducked between the trunks of the trees. The lake loomed in front of him and his feet ripped up the grass as he sprinted towards the beach. The air whistled and he tipped his head up to the sky. His hair blew back from his face, the wind whipping moisture from his eyes.

A body barrelled into him from the side. He went down with a shout, tumbling across the grass and coming to a halt laying on his back. Allison rolled a few feet further, breathless with laughter. “Brat,” she gasped. Her hair had blown free of its braided crown and hung messily over her face.  

Neil snickered, dropping his head back against the grass. The stars overhead twinkled. The Foxes had planned this camping trip impromptu after getting booted from the last round of championships; the only person who had bailed was Aaron claiming “midterms” and “assignments” as his excuse. As if they didn’t all have plenty of those they were ignoring. Neil couldn’t say he was that disappointed at Aaron’s absence. Their relationship had gotten less tense over the past year, but they were a long way from friends.

The sounds of running feet and panting approached. Neil didn’t move, stretching his arms out in the grass. Vaguely, he knew the looseness in his limbs was at least partly alcohol, but right then it didn’t matter.

“Neil—you—rat—bastard—” Nicky gasped, stumbling to a stop and doubling over, planting his hands on his knees.

“Why?” Matt whined, leaning against a tree.

Neil shrugged, the grass beneath him tickling his neck when he moved. “I just felt like running.”

“Bitch,” Dan said, without heat as she caught up. A rather green-looking Kevin came up behind her and sat heavily in the grass.

Allison rolled over, a smug look on her face. “Alright, losers,” she said. “You know what’s next.”

“What now?” Kevin said despondently.

Allison looked at the lake, then looked back at them significantly.

“Ally, babe, I love you, but I am too drunk to read your mind right now,” Dan said.

“We’re going skinny-dipping, morons,” Allison said.

“It’s freezing out!” Nicky protested. Matt nodded earnestly in agreement.

“So you’re gonna have to be quick,” Allison said loftily.

“My gay ass was not meant to—"

“Shh!” Allison waved a finger, shushing them. “Nope! Y’all made me sleep in a tent, this is the price. Shut up, Kevin.”

“I didn’t even say anything that time,” Kevin muttered.

“We could’ve rented trailers, but no, we had to do this authentically—”

“Fine, fine!” Dan said. “Come on Matt, I need your furnace-butt next to me if I’m not gonna freeze to death.”

“But Dan—”

“You heard her,” Dan said, and her expression had gone from resigned to devilish now that she’d switched sides. “We’re getting the authentic camping experience. Up, on your feet, all of you.”

Neil rolled over onto his stomach, contemplating the silvery ripples on the lake. It really did look cold.

A shoe nudged his side. “Up you get, Josten,” Allison said. She’d already peeled her shirt off and stood there in only a lacy bra and her skin-tight jeans. Even Kevin was reluctantly stripping down.

“It’s dark out, and nobody is going to see you,” Allison said. “Shy doesn’t suit you.”

Neil poked her ankle with his finger and she jumped. “Fuck, ice fingers,” she snapped. “Get up and get changed, asshole.”

Neil considered pestering her a little more, but the others were already stripping down, so he pushed himself to his feet and ducked behind a tree.

After about a minute he heard Matt hollering, followed by Allison shouting, “Wait, you idiot, we have to go toget—”

“LEROY JENKINS!” Matt bellowed, and then a tremendous splash broke the night. Dan cackled as Matt came up gasping.

Neil leaned out from his hiding place just in time to see Matt’s bare ass poke out of the water before he dove down under again. Renee and Dan had already waded in to their hips, and Allison jabbed her finger at Kevin to make him move. He scrunched his shoulders as he pushed the water out in front of him before all of their attention was seized by Matt surfacing with a great spout of water.

They shrieked as it sprayed over the lot of them, thoroughly distracted. Neil watched as Renee slid smoothly into the water, her moonlit hair glinting before she slipped beneath the surface. A second later a shivering Nicky yelped and vanished underwater, coming up spluttering while Renee laughed like chiming bells.

A fond smile quirked Neil’s lips. He watched their antics for a minute longer before collecting up all of their discarded clothes and heading back up towards the campsite. He was halfway up the field when he heard an outraged shout behind him, and he broke into a trot, the clothes firmly tucked under his elbow.

They had needed two campsites between the eight of them; the fire still burned in the main one, shielded by Matt’s oversized truck. A single figure sat next to it with a flask in one hand. His blond hair shimmered, golden in the firelight.

Andrew looked up as Neil approached, but didn’t say anything. Neil dropped the pile of clothes next to his camp chair and dropped into the chair next to Andrew with a contented sigh.

Andrew flicked his gaze down to the clothing and back at Neil in a wordless question. Neil linked his pinky finger with Andrew’s. “They went swimming,” he said.

A single smooth eyebrow raised, and Neil couldn’t help smirking. He let his gaze drift back to the fire. Andrew had kept it well-fed in their absence, stoking it up to a lively blaze. His shoes were smudged with ash from where he kept propping them up to warm his feet.

“This was a good idea,” Neil said. “This was fun.”

The fire crackling was the only response he got. “I guess you’re not really into fun, anyway,” Neil jabbed.

Andrew’s hand shifted, turning Neil’s over and brushing away the bits of vegetation clinging to it. Neil was pretty sure he’d be picking grass out of his hair until they got back to Palmetto.

“I,” Andrew started, then stopped, a frown forming between his eyebrows. Neil’s attention sharpened at Andrew’s tone, his lighthearted smile fading. Andrew’s frustration was nearly palpable.

“I don’t know how,” Andrew said finally, tucking his chin and staring into the fire. His hand tightened on Neil’s, calloused and warm from being tucked in his pockets.

Neil’s throat tightened a little. Andrew’s control had always been his armour; he didn’t know how to set it down without being afraid. They’d found places where the walls could give, now, but Neil didn’t think they would ever really come down entirely. He dragged his thumb across Andrew’s knuckles, pulling them up and kissing the back of his hand. Andrew watched him with hooded eyes.

“That’s alright,” he said. “Someone needs to keep the fire going.”

Andrew let out a long breath through his nose, shooting Neil an unimpressed look, but Neil thought his shoulders relaxed a little, too and counted that as a win. He took a deep breath through his nose, tipping his head back to contemplate the thin patch of stars visible between the trees above them. “Alcohol, helps, though,” he said lightly.

Andrew snorted. “Lightweight.”

A flash of pale skin dashed past the entrance to the campsite.

Neil bit back a smile as a muffled curse came from behind the shadows, then Allison’s head poked up above the bed of the truck. Her bare shoulders were tense and scrunched up halfway to her ears, her arms tightly folded over her chest.

“Hey, Ally,” Neil said. “You look cold.”

“You slimy little son of a bitch,” she hissed. “Give me the car keys, now.”

Neil snickered and dug the keys out of Matt’s pants. He tossed them over the truck to her and she vanished around the other side. He heard the passenger door open and some shuffling, but he didn’t look up.

Allison emerged wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt Neil thought he remembered Seth wearing around the dorm. Her hair hung like seaweed in straggly tatters and she squeezed a towel around it, wringing out the worst of the water.

She jabbed a taloned finger at him. “That shows me for trying to be considerate,” she said. “I should’ve known better than to take my eyes off you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Neil said. He nudged the pile of clothes with his toe. “Gonna go rescue the others now?”

She regarded the pile for a long moment, then shrugged and threw herself down in the nearest chair.

“They can walk,” she said, and grabbed a bag of marshmallows.

[heartsofbeskar]

from the ashes

chapter 10

din djarin x fem!oc

WARNINGS: brief mention of sexual activities, graphic descriptions of injury/blood

WORDS: 5.4K

EXCERPT: The corridor, dark just a few feet ahead of them, felt like the mouth of some monster, and with each step Ten took it got closer to swallowing her whole.

Lights followed their movement, creating a bubble of illumination permanently around them. The skirt of her dress trailed gently behind her in the absence of wind, her legs occasionally breaking through the carefully placed slits. Her skin was crawling.

A/N: phew this was a bit of a beast of a chapter both in length (i think my longest chapter for this fic??) and in structure, as i was playing around with timeline inspired by bae @asta-lily (srsly check her out) — hope yall like it!!

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The cold water beat down against her bare skin, goosebumps raising across the surface. Ten sighed, leaning back against the metal wall, running her hands through her hair, pulling it.

She stood directly under the stream of water, tilting back so it washed over her face, shutting her eyes. The ghost of Mando’s fingers lingered on her skin, in her— everywhere. His voice, the words he’d said to her, the noises he’d made, echoed in her head.

I want to see you come, Ten.

Maker, she liked how her name sounded from his mouth.

Pushing forward, she braced her hands on the wall in front of her, watching the droplets race down her arms, over the scars, over her tattoo. Despite the temperature of the water, warmth began to spread from her palms, energy concentrating there.

Ten hold a palm out, facing towards the ceiling. Water dripped from her fingers, but as it began to fall on its expected trajectory, towards the floor, it curved abnormally. Slowly, drop by drop, a pool of water formed in her outstretched palm. She breathed out harshly, willing it to collect together, but she could tell she was losing her grasp on it.

The feel of cold beskar under her fingertips. A rough and modulated voice close by her ear. Heavy limbs on hers, holding her to the floor, hands moving to—

The water moved together fluidly, quickly, forming a perfect sphere, hovering just an inch above her hand. It spun slowly there, the water circulating inside the shape. The refresher light refracted through it, creating patterns on the metal walls.

“Shit.”

When she finally emerged from the refresher, Mando was gone, any evidence of their encounter on the floor of the ship effectively removed. Though Ten was sure that area would burn her feet if she walked over it.

The door to the ship’s sole cabin and sleeping space slid open with a gentle hiss, lights in the small room powering up automatically in response to her movement.

She stilled when she saw the large Mandalorian occupying the cot. He was propped against the wall, halfway to laying down, arms crossed over his chest. His vambraces sat on the floor next to him, but otherwise he hadn’t removed any armour. His chest rose gently and steadily.

He was asleep, she realized with a start.

Slowly, she padded over, feet silent as she came to stand beside the cot. She knelt down, pressing onto the thin mattress with one hand, testing. When he didn’t make any indications of waking, Ten eased the rest of her body onto the mattress as well.

Her muscles cried with relief as she sunk as far as she could into the flimsy material — still, it was better than the hammocks she was used to. Turning her back to Mando, she folded her hands under her head, closing her eyes.

A moment later, she felt a rustling beside her. Looking over, Mando was stirring, uncrossing his arms with a low groan. When he made to swing a leg off of the cot, Ten grabbed his thigh, lightly. The contact sent jolts down her arm.

“I can—” he started to protest, but she cut him off.

“Just shut up and go back to sleep.”

His body sagged back against the wall, arms going back across his chest. Ten turned away from him again. The low tone of his voice cut the silence one more time.

“I’m not going to cuddle you.”

“Good.”

—

There was a short rush of air as the doors to the elevator closed, blue lights embedded in the floor illuminating the space from below.

Ten eyed the human men in front of her warily, their backs facing her, suits crisp and clean, their hairlines perfectly manicured on their necks. They began the smooth descent down, beneath the surface.

“Fiddle with the necklace if you can hear me.”

Mando’s voice was intimately nestled in her ear, the piece of metal small enough to be tucked into the cavity. Casually, she brought her hand up, fingering the matching metallic pendant that hung low, between the exposed valley of her breasts. A fashion statement, to anyone looking.

“Good. You should be there soon. I’ve still got your position on the scanner.”

She wouldn’t admit it, but a relief filtered through her body hearing it.

The elevator slowed, the lights dimming as they approached their stop. With a soft hiss, the doors opened. A long corridor laid beyond.

“Good luck, Ten.”

—

Coruscant rapidly filled the viewport, a myriad of lights and movement spread across the planet. The sight of so many people set Ten’s teeth on edge. It had been years since she’d been here, for good reason.

The man beside her sat deadly still, as he usually did, and only the clenching of his hand where it sat atop his thigh gave away any indication of how he felt.

The tension that had saturated the air of the ship for the majority of the journey seemed to reach its crescendo as Ten brought the ship in to land on the planet, in the same docking station Tosche had used months prior.

Largely they’d avoided each other for the remainder of the flight from Nevarro, no easy feat on a ship that small. A brush of shoulders passing through the cockpit doors, a barely there touch when one of them laid in the shared cot for a rest. It felt like a string being pulled impossibly taut, each of them silently daring the other to speak about what had happened between them.

As it turned out, they were both stubborn as banthas.

It wasn’t until Mando was on the verge of lowering the ramp that Ten snapped the string.

—

The corridor, dark just a few feet ahead of them, felt like the mouth of some monster, and with each step Ten took it got closer to swallowing her whole.

Lights followed their movement, creating a bubble of illumination permanently around them. The skirt of her dress trailed gently behind her in the absence of wind, her legs occasionally breaking through the carefully placed slits. Her skin was crawling.

“As I’m sure you can see, we take the utmost care to provide top security here,” one of the men boasted. Ten pictured how satisfying it would be to break his nose.

Instead, she said, “Did you build this place or find it?”

As the man prattled on about specifics of construction, Ten flexed her forearm, cupping her hand into her sleeve. The sound of the chip hitting the floor was drowned out by his voice.

Moments later, Mando’s voice. “It’s working. I’ve got the readings coming in. Looks like you’re in a tunnel about a hundred feet long connecting to the entrance.”

She couldn’t reply without lifting the necklace to her mouth, very effectively fucking them over, but she noted his words, drawing her own mental map of where she was headed.

“Now, for what you’re really here for,” the man who had been babbling on sent her what was no doubt supposed to be a flirty smirk. Nose definitely wouldn’t be enough, she had to imagine breaking the jaw too. He knelt over slightly, presenting his eye to a small scanner set into the wall at the end of the corridor.

Smoothly, they slid open.

—

Her hand grasped tightly onto his wrist. He turned to look at her, and Ten faltered for a moment under the weight of his gaze. She swallowed, shaking her head.

“I just need to make sure you’re not going to treat me any differently on this job. I can handle myself, Mandalorian.”

He peered down at her, still saying nothing. Maker, she wished he would say something — anything. The air felt like it had to be forced out of her lungs, like he had stolen it from her somehow, without even touching her skin.

Finally, he spoke. “And why would I treat you differently?”

Ten scoffed. “Don’t act dense, I know you’re smarter than that. You’re not the first person I’ve worked with that I’ve gotten … involved with at some point. Don’t make it complicated.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it? Getting involved?” He took a half step closer, broad frame filling her vision. She didn’t miss the teasing edge of his voice. “Any of those people you got involved with make you come like that on the floor of your ship?”

Heat flushed up her body, lighting up all her nerves along the way. Ten beat it down, doing her best to keep her face impassive. She wasn’t sure if it worked. Fucking Mandalorians with their fucking helmets to keep their fucking faces covered.

“You’re going to need to do a lot more than that to stand out,” she shot back, finally dropping his wrist from her hold. She reached around him, all but slamming the key code to lower the ramp. “Just … no protective bullshit, okay?”

—

Despite her somewhat … prickly exterior, Ten had found herself chasing beautiful things in all the spare moments that had allowed for it. Perhaps the seeds for it had been planted all those years ago on Yaim, where the sunlight filtered through the trees like stained glass, where the wildflowers bloomed twice a year with colours that seemed to get brighter with each passing day, where the air itself seemed to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Wherever the origin, Ten found herself exploring the desolate moons and planets of the Outer Rim, always searching, hoping, of finding a peace she couldn’t even describe.

So when the doors opened on one of the most beautiful rooms Ten had ever seen, her breath caught in her throat.

The ceiling was draped in soft fabrics, gathering at the centre, and billowing across the expanse above them. Where they met the walls there was ornate crown moulding, periodically broken up with elaborate white statues of a variety of fearsome appearing creatures, all crouching in some form of attacking stance. Continuing down, the walls were covered with rich patterns embossed in shining gold, standing out starkly against the black walls. The floor stretched ahead of them, gleaming black marble with veins of white spindling in all directions.

“This way, gorgeous,” the taller man said, and Ten had to fight down the most violent of her instincts when he placed his hand just above the small of her back to guide her inside. He seemed to have a small shred of sense, as he stopped just short of actually touching her.

Her heels — ridiculous and too tight and impractical, but more practical footwear would have blown the cover — clicked against the floor as they entered. Eyes turned towards the new entrants and Ten’s skin prickled uncomfortably at the attention. Men dressed in ash grey uniforms scanned their eyes up and down her body, and she knew what they saw, how exposed she was.

It felt like a Bantha was standing on her lungs, expelling all the air. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” came the rough voice in her ear. “I’m here. You aren’t alone in there, I’m here.”

It was a lie of course, he wasn’t there. At least not yet — he was still on the surface, trying to map out another point of access to the underground hub. But she leaned into the lie all the same, air slowly filtering back through her body.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

—

The stench of the lower streets of Coruscant entered Din’s nose even through the protection of the helmet. Dirt and grease and urine from multiple species. He couldn’t fathom how Ten was able to stand it.

She walked beside him now, eyes roving over their surroundings, catching the movements of every figure that shifted around them. He noticed her lightsaber was now attached to her hip, sitting next to her blaster.

His mind wandered again to their … involvement, as she had adorably called it. If he was honest with himself, Din had been riding the high of having her beneath them, at his mercy on his fingers, for the remainder of the ride to Coruscant. And like any addict, he knew — he needed more.

But that was a problem for later, he reasoned.

The bar was tucked into a nearly indistinguishable alleyway, covered partially by someone’s laundry hanging above, and framed by a littering of empty crates someone had discarded over the area. He gestured to Ten with a jerk of his head, walking ahead of her through the narrow space.

A narrow brick alley gave way to a small, dark room. If Din hadn’t already known it was a bar, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to guess. The smells of the street were replaced with the thick scent of smoke inside, and several customers lounged out over the minimal seating, taking long drags on exotic looking pipes.

“The Mandalorian,” came a deep and ragged voice. A human man sat nearby at what served for the bar — a worn expanse of wood that looked too thin, with a poor stock of bottles on a shelf behind it. Din couldn’t see a bartender, but the man had a drink grasped in his hand all the same. He brushed his hair from where it hung in front of his eyes, and Din was surprised it didn’t drip with the amount of grease it seemed to have. “To what do I owe the favour?”

“A favour is exactly what I’m here to cash in on, actually, Sio.” Din stood in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest, letting his figure fill the immediate space. Ten came to stand beside the bar, lightly fingering its grimy surface. “You owe me one, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sio coughed, low and long. He looked significantly more agitated now. “Ah yes … I do recall that, vaguely. But first why don’t you introduce me to your little friend, huh? She looks like she needs someone who can really show her a good time, eh …” The man rose from his stool now, leering in closer to Ten. Din tensed, one hand going to his blaster and the other clenching into a fist. Ten appeared — at least on the surface — to be impassive, but he saw the flash of annoyance in her eyes.

He took another long drag of the pipe. “They don’t make ‘em like you ‘round these parts, that’s for sure…”

And then, like an absolute fucking idiot, Din saw his hand reach out towards Ten’s waist. Faster than he could react, she was bringing her hand up to the back of his head, and slamming him down face first into the wooden surface.

Blood ran from Sio’s nose, and he spit it out as it covered his mouth. “Well, she’s got a bit of bite there.”

Ten wiped her hand off on her pants. “Now you owe us two favours.”

—

She dropped another tracking chip in front of the ornately carved bar. A stark contrast to the tiny room they’d met Sio in, this bar spanned the entirety of one of the room’s walls, with a pristine surface inlaid with carved designs. Behind it there was an impressive stock of liquors from all over the galaxy, served by a contingent of bartending droids. One of them slid smoothly over to where she stood.

“Hello, may I offer you a drink?” Ten pondered it, fingers tracing over one of the bar’s patterns.

“No, thank you,” she politely declined. She turned back to face the room, elbows resting behind her. A man with a pinched face and white hair slowly approached, with a sneer she wanted desperately to slap off.

“You are a vision, my dear.” He held his hand out expectantly, and Ten swallowed thickly before placing hers on top of it. He brought it up to his lips, kissing her skin. She felt bile rise in her throat. “I haven’t seen you here before — allow me to introduce myself. Moff Ardellian.”

Ten forced a smile, hoping any discomfort in it would be written off as nerves. “Sola,” she lied smoothly. “I’m new to this part of the city.”

Moff Ardellian stepped closer to her, and Ten felt her muscles tense in response. She wasn’t sure if he noticed. His eyes roved greedily over her face. “Sola … that’s quite the scar you’ve got there. Such a shame to see such ugliness on such a pretty face.”

You should take that up with Moff Quell, who I’m sure you know intimately well. “I was a dancer for a time. An unfortunate gift from an … unhappy client.”

“You poor girl,” he tutted at her. “Well, I can assure you we don’t treat our beautiful ladies like that here. You’ll be safe whenever you’re in attendance. And … some girls make alternative arrangements to guarantee safety and comfort long term, as well.” When she didn’t make any move to respond to his vile insinuations, the Moff sent her a wink, starting to turn away again. “I’ll leave you to ponder that for the time being. Enjoy your night, Sola.”

Ten took a deep breath as the man walked away, clenching a fist at her side. She motioned to the bar droid again. “I changed my mind. Give me the strongest drink you can make.”

—

“This is stupid.”

Din bit back a laugh he knew would not be appreciated at the pure petulance currently on Ten’s face. And he could hardly blame her; the long and delicate drapes of fabric against her skin looked alien, so unusual to what Din had become used to her. But it would be a lie to say he didn’t appreciate it.

“This is a cover.”

She rolled her eyes, but she knew he was right.

The woman who had been crouched at the hem of the dress rose, retrieving a nearby jar filled with some kind of balm, by the look of it. She dipped her fingers into it, applying a generous amount onto the bare expanse of Ten’s chest, causing her to flinch.

“This is a scar salve,” she said in an accented voice. Din couldn’t make out the region. “It should temporarily remove the smaller scars across your chest, here. Won’t be enough for the face, unfortunately. You know, I know some great dermal regenerists in the city, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” was Ten’s clipped response. The woman cocked a skeptical eyebrow, returning the lid to the container.

“You’re almost all set. I’ll go get the details of the fake chain code.”

Then they were alone. Din eyes went up and down Ten’s body, and he was thankful for the cover of the helmet. The front of the dress dipped low, exposing the valley between her breasts, the skin there now smooth and pristine. Everywhere else, the black fabric clung to her, down her arms, over her hips, flowing gently around her legs. The room was uncomfortably warm.

Din walked closer to her, until he was just standing just behind her. One step closer and her back would be pressed into his armour. Their eyes met in the speckled mirror. He brought his arm around, showing her the long chain he held.

“This will provide an audio and visual feed, directly into my helmet. I’ve already wired it in.” He opened the chain, looping it around her neck, smoothly moving her hair back until it sat flush on her skin. “Should just look like a nice piece of jewelry. And this—” he pushed the hair off one of her ears, holding it back with a light hold as he hooked something small into her ear. “—is an audio receiving piece, so you can hear me. Also wired into the helmet.”

His hand lingered on the back of her neck, and he slowly trailed it down her spine, and outwards, coming to rest on her hip.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he said in a low voice. He squeezed his hand. “We can make another plan.”

Her eyes softened slightly. “You and I both know this is the best plan we could have. It’s fine.”

Din nodded. He didn’t want to remove his hand. “I stand by what I said. I won’t let the Empire — whatever’s left of it — take you.”

Ten covered his hand with her own.

—

Ten made her way slowly around the room, dropping more of the tracking chips, making the least amount of polite conversation she possibly could get away with.

Now, she came to a small bathroom. Down a short hallway away from the main room, it was metallic and practical. She eyed herself in the mirror, unnerved by the made up appearance. She couldn’t help but wonder what the Mandalorian had thought of it.

She brought the communication piece of the necklace to her mouth. “That’s the whole room. I’m alone in the washroom now. Anything?”

“No access from the surface that I can see yet.” Damn. “Looks like that hallway extends further left, possibly some offices. If you can slip away, it’d be good to drop one down there.”

“Slipping away would be my pleasure.” She dropped the necklace back down, letting it settle between her breasts again. Lifting some of the fabric of the skirt, she ran her hands over the knives strapped around her thigh reassuringly. Smoothing the dress down again, she eased the door open, making sure the hallway was empty.

Ten slipped those damn heels off before continuing down the hallway, the opposite direction of the party. As she dropped another chip down, she noted the names etched into the doorways. It seemed like Mando had been right, these were offices.

Continuing at a slow pace, she scanned the names with mild interest, wondering how disruptive it would be to their mission to go into one at random and smash everything she could find.

Near the end of the corridor, where it split into two more, Ten saw a name that made her heart seize in her chest.

Dr. R. Dracko.

Mando’s voice broke into her ear. “There’s an access tunnel a level below you, 300 meters away, that leads right to the surface. I think I found the other end. All goes well, I’ll join you in a moment.”

Ten nodded dumbly, before realizing she couldn’t see him. She rested her hand on the handle of the door — there was no keypad or scanned entry, since they obviously assumed it was safe down here. She pushed it open. Unlocked.

It was unassuming inside, a small desk nestled in the corner, a powered down holo display. The only other furniture in the room was a sleek cabinet against the opposite wall. Curiously, she pulled open a drawer; Maker, there were actually papers inside.

She rifled through them, the familiar but almost forgotten feel of them strange on her hands. There was a wealth of folders, each labelled with a tab in Basic. Almost every one was classified ‘Project Inactive.”

Pulling open more drawers, she dug until, finally — ‘Project Active.” Not even bothering to look at its contents, she extracted the weightly folder from the drawer, heart pounding with adrenaline.

The increased heart rate wasn’t ideal when she turned and a knife was sunk smoothly into her abdomen.

She gasped, and pain seared through her as the knife twisted — it was in the hand of a man now standing in front of her. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes up to his face. It was Dracko, his nostrils flaring, an air of superiority falling onto his face.

“Little bitch,” he spat at her. “I know who you are, probably better than you do. You thought you could just come here and—” He was cut off as Ten raised her hand, energy coursing through her as she slammed him against the wall of the small room. A trickle of blood appeared, moving down his temple.

She groaned loudly, any thoughts to listeners out of her mind, as she sank down the wall behind her. The dress around the knife felt heavy as it became soaked with blood, which left her fingers red when she touched it.

It lit a fire inside of her, and tears came unbidden to her eyes at the burn of it.

Bunching up the skirt of the dress, she ripped a long piece of fabric off the bottom hem, wincing at the strain of her abdominal muscles. Her hands were shaking as she wrapped the knife where it stuck out from her, securing the makeshift stabilizer around her back.

A sheen of sweat covered her skin as more blood oozed out around the wound. She tried to stand, but a white hot flash of agony erupted from her side. Her body slammed back against the wall, and she panted deliriously.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside — the door to the office was still open. She grasped her leg, bloody fingerprints appearing on the skin, as she pulled the knife from the strap around her thigh. Ten knew she was growing much too weak to pull on the Force. This was what she had. She braced a hand against the wall as the footsteps approached just outside the office.

She raised her arm opposite the stab wound, knowing one good throw was all she was likely to get.

A blaster appeared first, the barrel scanning the room, and then — that damned silver helmet. Ten felt a moment of relief flood through her, muscles growing heavy as the adrenaline waned. The knife seemed to get sharper where it was settled in her flesh.

“Shit,” she breathed out. Mando scanned the room, wordlessly taking the pulse of Dracko where he lay in a crumpled heap.

“Fuck, Ten.” He approached her now, hands floating around her side, not touching. She laughed, but it was raspy and uneven.

“I look that good, huh?”

He shot her a look, and though the helmet looked the same as it always did, she got the meaning. No. You look really fucking bad, so shut up.

—

Getting back to the ship was a blur. Ten recognized the vague shape of bodies littering the hallways Mando let her down, the distant ringing of an alarm, the cool air as he brought her up and out of the long access shaft. They were lucky the lower levels of Coruscant didn’t look twice at a Mandalorian hauling a woman with a stab wound through the streets.

Her hands gripped the edges of the worn crate Mando sat her on. She was gasping, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs, but each inhale felt as if it were bathing the surrounding muscles in acid, slowing eating away at her body.

Mando was back now — where had he gone? When had he gone? — and crouching in front of her, something metallic in his hands. He slowly unravelled the fabric Ten had put to stabilize the knife, and she cried out.

“I know, I know,” he said in a low voice. Perhaps … soothing? She couldn’t put the pieces together in her mind to make out the tone. “I know it hurts, but I need you to stay still for me, okay? Grab here, hold as tight as you need.”

He raised one of her hands up until they met with something soft and warm. She wiped furiously at the wetness in and around her eyes, until his blurry helmet came into view. Her hand was wrapped around the fabric of his upper arm, she realized, his shoulder pauldron discarded on the floor nearby.

There was a gentle ripping noise, and Ten felt cool air on her skin. Looking down at the source, she saw he’d cut away the dress around the knife, just below her breast. The flesh there was red and mangled, the edge of the knife serrated. Shit.

“Mando, it’s … fuck—” Her eyes were glued to the wound, watching the edges expand and contract as she took shallow breaths. She felt a gloved hand on her face, urging it up. It was covered in a wetness that was no doubt her own blood, now smeared across her cheek. Mando dragged her eyes to his helmet.

“Don’t look at that. Focus on me. Okay?”

She nodded weakly, her brow furrowed tightly. Her own distorted reflection started back at her from the beskar chrome, body writhing of its own accord.

“I’m going to pull it out now, okay? On three.” She nodded, tensing as she felt the movement of his hand wrapping around the hilt of the weapon. “One—”

She screamed out as he gave a harsh pull, the sound echoing around the ship. Her hand cramped as she gripped his shirt tightly, as if she was trying to will the pain to travel somewhere else, anywhere else. It blinded her, and she could hear Mando speaking but couldn’t make out the words as he pressed onto her side. Wetness flowed down her body, outlining her leg, blood pooling on the floor.

The room spun around her, and Mando’s voice finally drifted back to her ears.

“—need to cauterize the internal— doing so well, okay— talk to me, Ten.”

She shook, forcing words up and out of her throat. “What the f— shit — fuck do you want me to say?”

“Tell me about the Mandalorians you knew.”

Ten almost — almost — had to laugh. He wanted to know .... about Mandalorians. Of course he did. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to pull the memories through the dense fog of pain.

“There were … two of them. Refugees like w—we all were, from the Great Purge of … of Mandalore. Fuck!” Her muscles seized anew as she felt burning; a real burning as she realized Mando was cauterizing. She grit her teeth, moans of pain slipping out as she slammed her head back against the wall.

“Keep going.”

“F—fuck, okay.” She tried to take a deep breath, though it still felt much too shallow. “They were like … they were like you. With the helmets and shit. But they … shit … they were on that moon for a long time. We all were.” She twisted her hand harder into his shirt, and she could feel the muscles straining underneath as he worked. “They were — ah — they were kind. Silya used to … used to tell me stories about Mandalore when I … when I couldn’t sleep. And Tinian … taught me how to throw a punch and not— not break my knuckles.”

Mando laughed at that. His hand came to grip her elbow, so tightly it almost hurt. The fire raging under skin was beginning to douse into a duller burn, embers of an inferno that glowed with a constant heat. “You’re doing so well, Ten. I’m almost done.”

Ten nodded, letting out a long breath. Her breaths felt more attainable now, more air drawn into her starving lungs.

“What happened to them? Silya and Tinian?” Mando was grabbing wrappings now, his hands gliding over the blazing skin of her torso, temporarily suppressing the fires they encountered.

“They’re dead.”

He didn’t ask anymore. Ten released her hand from where it was embedded in his shirt, the muscles aching as she flexed her fingers. She wiped a generous covering of sweat from her forehead. She dared a glance down again, thanking the Maker the area was now covered in a bandage, the skin around it shiny with bacta salve. Her breath came in pants.

Mando’s hands came back to her face, framing it. “You did well, Ten. You’re okay.” He pressed the forehead of his helm against the skin of hers, seemingly not caring about the blood and sweat that was likely to be deposited there. “I should get you a towel—”

“No,” Ten gasped, grabbing him by the elbows. “Just … stay. Please.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

For a moment they stayed there, Ten’s breath fogging against the front of his helmet. She closed her eyes, hands curling upwards around Mando’s biceps.

“I would cuddle you now, if you wanted.”

“Go fuck yourself, Mandalorian.”

—

A/N: what did i tell ya??? a beAST! thanks again for all those who read it, this is my baby and im excited its been gearing up for these stubborn mf'ers

taglist: @djarrex @pedrostories

[yangrr]

disastrous rolls [h.jisung]

⇾ pairing : han jisung x reader

⇾ summary : chaos erupts in midst of enjoying some sushi rolls.

⇾ wc : 2k

⇾ genre/warnings : college!au,best friends to lovers!au | mild swearing

The continuous buzzing of notifications fell upon deaf ears,but even if it was anything important,you told yourself you weren’t going to spare it a glance.Thick reference books sprawled across the table,notes and exercise papers arranged in a messy array.You were treating the finals season like it was a life-or-death situation,but it was only fit considering you laze away most of the days when you could’ve done early preparations.

Your phone vibrated obnoxiously,adamant on getting your attention. You let out annoyed noises,unable to focus on the swimming words in front of you.It killed your concentration alright,and you pushed back your chair to get to that exasperating piece of electronic.

You knew quite well it was no other than Jisung,no one would’ve been that relentless to keep up the fruitless efforts of spamming your inbox with repeated messages in a row.Jisung wasn’t one to give up,that boy is more determined than anyone you knew--he could be fighting for the last slice of cheesecake during a sale as if it was the last puff of oxygen anyone would inhale.

Sure enough,your phone lit up with his contact,but this time it was an incoming call.Deciding it was enough waiting on his part,you swiped on the green answer button,flopping down on the plush couch.

“Hey,oh my gosh.”Jisung puffed out in greeting.The resounding smack of the soles of his shoes against asphalt was loud enough for you to hear,little pants of breathlessness filled your ears as you waited for Jisung to elaborate.It was rare to hear the energetic male sound so out of air,but you guessed he had been running for a while now--there didn't seem to be any other logical explanation for him to come off like he was on the verge of death.

“Sung,did you miss your bus again?”You spoke,forcing back a yawn as you listened to more wheezes of wind.

“No,” Jisung huffed,sounding mildly offended. “Who do you take me for?I’m not that irresponsible.”

You bit the inside of your cheek,choking back a laugh.The memories of his misfortune right before he calls you every time were priceless--something always go wrong before he runs into you,it was almost like an endless time-loop that brought you both together again and again under the guise of bad luck.

It has a wide range of defects,from slipping on spilt hot coffee to accidentally burning your worksheets to crisps,you honestly don’t know how much more disaster you would run into the longer you spent time with him.

“Okay,yeah maybe I missed my bus.” Jisung coughed out.His footsteps faltered,pants slowing down simultaneously. “But I got some food and I didn’t want it to get cold so I ran over.”

His fingers curled nervously around the paper bag,tearing the brown material apart from how hard he was digging his nails into it.The lack of response from your side was unnerving,and he felt his guts gurgled nauseatingly.

“You’re okay with me coming over right?”He quipped,voice smaller than before. “I know you’re studying and all but I figured you could use a break.”

“My door is already open,hurry.”

+

Donned in a simple black hoodie and sweatpants,Han Jisung had a funny way of making your heart thump like hooves on concrete pavements.His hair was a tousled mess,clear sheen of sweat coating his skin was glistening under the evening sun.The eager and warm expression gracing his features was one you could never brush aside,as you let him into your humble abode.

“Nothing else happened right?”You giggled,taking the package from him.His lithe fingers grazed slightly against yours,igniting sparks on the expanse of your skin,causing shudders to run down your back like little ghost fingers.

He laughed,embarrassed. Jisung’s arm rested comfortably on your shoulder,guiding you into your own kitchen.Sometimes,you wonder if you were the one living here or him,considering how well he knew the layout by now.

The amount of times he disrupted your peace was phenomenal too.

He fished out the plastic container,revealing tempting-looking pieces of sushi.You recognised it almost immediately,making a grab for it before Jisung pulled it away.

“That aunty opened her shop again?”You gaped,lunging for the food,which Jisung avoided with ease.He sniggered,backing away to the kitchen counter. “Give me.”

Jisung shook his head,a teasing glint apparent in his eyes.He smirked coyly, “You’ll have to come get it if you want some.”

You whined in vex,crossing your arms across your chest and sent him the dirtiest glare you could summon.Jisung paid no mind,reaching over you to seize the chopsticks.He made sure to bend just enough,so his chest brushed you in the most subtle way possible.Silent smirk adorned his lips when he felt you tensed up under the contact,breath hitched when his warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear.

“You should study,I’ll keep you company,”

You raised your eyebrows questioningly,gesturing to the unopened packet of food.He returned your look with a smug playful one,almost quizzically as he stared back at you.

“These are my sushi.”He emphasised.Stretching his arms above your head,Jisung continued. “If you survive another hour of studying,I’ll give you the other box.”

“Are you really gonna bet with me right now?”You snarked back,a competitive grin stretching across your face. “No,if I do it, you’ll have to give me more than a box of sushi.”

“Bet.”

+

An hour has never felt longer in your life.The clock seemed to tick by way too slow for liking,like muddy water sliding down a cemented path.You were feeling agitated,fidgeting in your seat each time you heard chewing noises from behind you.

(Exaggerated groans of satisfaction accompanying the chomps were starting to piss you off too.You were sure Jisung was doing that as a very messed up form of torment.)

“Are you gonna give up yet?”Jisung asked,with mouthful of the meaty goodness.You could almost inhale the corporeal form of the tender salmon if you try hard enough,you think.Maybe then you would realise how stupid the bet was and you should have just tackled him for it. “It’s been 35 minutes now.”

“Stop talking to me.”You mumbled. “You’re being a distraction.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

There it was again,the teasing lilt in his tone was about to drive you up the wall.You pursed up your mouth,choosing to violently highlight your textbook instead.

“If you give up I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Jisung,be quiet.” You chided,flipping the page a little too aggressively.It was times like this where it was just the two of you made you realise that the back and forth fronting was not worth it,but you were too much of a coward to act on a whim.The sudden overwhelming part of you that longed to be more than just his good friend burned,and you didn’t dare turn to face him lest the yearning got too much to curb.

“I’ll get you some water,stop drinking coffee.”He ignored your last statement,the sound of the chair legs scraping the tiles behind you told you that he had probably gone to the kitchen.

Sighing,you stood up and followed him out the bedroom. Jisung’s back faced you,one hand curled around a mug and the other around the kettle.The golden fingers of the sun bathed your apartment with the right amount of saturation,glowing off Jisung’s tanned skin.You let your eyes indulge in him,raking over his soft features from the curve of his nose and the divot of his lips,you swear you would give anything to keep the shine in his eyes last.

Jisung sent you a gentle smile,handing you the cup carefully.

Maybe in the same way,you saw his eyes adored you in ways you were sure you did to him,admiring your beauty in the bask of the yellow light.Maybe he was falling too deep to tap out,delirious and drunk with the throbbing want in his chest that he had tried so hard to suppress that he let his guard plummet.

And maybe he would’ve kissed you if his wrist didn’t go limp with the adrenaline coursing through him,anchoring back to reality when the ceramic shattered.

“Jisung.”You sounded weak,he wasn’t sure if you were angry or just too tired to deal with the non-stop chaos that tailed him whenever you both met up.He didn’t look up,opting to keep his head down as he searched for the broom.

“I’ll clean it up,I’m sorry.”

“Jisung,it’s fine--,”

“No,just--,”His tone was sharp.Frustrated. “Just let me do it.”

You watched as he swept up the bits and shards,leaning against the counter as he did so.

“Jisung.”You called out again. “Jisung.”You repeated,this time firmer.

He sighed in defeat,slumping against your form as he snaked his arm around your waist. “Don’t you think I’m just causing trouble for you?”

You disagreed,patting his back comfortingly. “Don’t say it like that.You’re never a bother.”

Jisung lifted his head,gaze trained on your face as he exhaled shakily.The room felt like it was closing in,the bursting need to hold him closer erupted in your chest but again,

You were a coward.

Jisung’s fingers were cold,tucking the stray locks of hair behind your ear as delicately as he could,in fear that he would break you if he wasn’t cautious enough.Blood pounded loudly in his ears,and he hoped it would get louder,just so he wouldn’t be able to hear your curses at him if you were to reject his moves right now.

Slowly,he closed in,squeezing his eyes shut when he felt all shreds of confidence leaving his body.He was afraid,afraid that after whatever he was about to do,your relationship will perish,burning into ashes of being strangers again.

But he figured,if he was already at this point,there was no reason for him to turn back.

So he pressed his mouth against yours,starting off strong and eager but it mellowed down,turning sweeter and more chaste by the minute.His lips told you words he would never have,studying yours with more enigma than readying for exams.You dreamt too many times of this,and it didn’t turn out the way you wanted--it was more than you ever expected.

You tasted the salmon on his tongue,shivering when his hands mapped out every curve and dip of your body.Hanging your arms on his broad shoulders,you dove more and more into him,familiar and cozy like fresh linens after a long day of hard work.It was just...right.

It wasn’t worth being a coward but at least you didn’t push him away like an idiot.

It took all self-restraint to pull away,Jisung steadied his giddy self by placing a wobbly hand on the marble countertop.The air escaped your lungs in bashful giggles,intertwining your trembling fingers with his as you inhaled the scent on his hoodie.

“You still want sushi?”Jisung choked out casually,opening the second box behind you.He forked out one,bumping your lips. “Say ah,”

Still slightly hazy and confused from the exchange of saliva,both your limbs and coordination haven’t recovered enough,causing Jisung to totally miss the target,and stabbing you on the bottom lip instead.You shrieked in pain,Jisung stumbled backwards and now there was sushi on the floor.

Everything was a roller coaster with him,but the kiss was definitely not a disaster.

Fuck the sushi.

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Bleeding Sunshine

Javier Pena x Reader

Part 1. 

So... this was a challenge... to write Consensual non-consent... but then this icky thing called feelings got in the way, so now this is 2 parts. 

So theres gonna be: Spanking. Slight jealously. Insecurities. Javi being both rough and soft. You being a brat at times. Feelings getting talked about. Hands tied.

Got the title from this poem that I found forever ago.

It had been a long day of work with the DEA. They had almost caught La Quica and he just barely slipped from their grasps. Your partner and boyfriend, Javier Pena, had left early, leaving you and Steve with the paperwork. Again.

“Did Javi tell you why he decided to cut early and leave us with the paperwork?” Steve asked, filing away his stack.

“Nope. But is it really that odd for him to leave early?” You replied with a shrug, as you stood up, throwing on your jacket.

“I have to stop and pick up dinner for us tonight, tell Connie I said ‘Hi.’ See ya tomorrow,” You said with a wave as you left the office.

You hopped into your car and drove to a local pizza place and picked up 2 large pizzas. Javi tended to devour most of a pizza pie by himself, leaving you with only one slice far too often.

Once the pizza was ready, it was a fairly short distance to the Embassy apartments. While you had your own apartment, you spent a vast majority of your time in Javi’s once the two of you began dating a year ago.

While dating him was amazing most of the time, there were times that you were doubtful and didn’t believe this relationship would last long. For example, you still had to deal with the issue of his informants and while you weren’t necessarily happy with the arrangement, you also knew that it was for the job. You dealt with it, even though you hated it.

You made your way to his apartment and used your spare key to open his door. You stopped in your tracks when you saw him.

“Please. Please, do not tell me you cut out early just to go fuck a hooker?” You asked, slightly annoyed taking in his appearance.

He sat on his loveseat, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, a cigarette hanging between his fingers. The Look as you once called it, when your relationship began.

“No. Don’t get your panties in such a twist,” Javier grumbled, tapping the cigarette ash off into the tray on the side table.

Your eyes narrowed at him slightly, as you walked past him, to set the food on the kitchen table.

You began to grab plates and such when Javier called for your attention and waved you over to him.

You looked at him as you slowly walked back over to him and stood before him.

He patted his lap, enticingly, silently asking you to take a seat.

“Mh. No. I hate this couch. I know what you do on it,” You respond, crinkling your nose in slight disgust.

He sighed loudly and commanded, “Get. On. My. Damn. Lap.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, but did as he wished, wondering where this was heading.

You straddle his hips and gently situate yourself on his lap.

“You remember your safe word?” he whispered to you as he took his last drag of his cigarette, before putting it out.

“…mangos? What are we?” You asked slightly confused as to where this was heading.

He then proceeded to reach up and rip your shirt straight down the middle, buttons flying everywhere.

“Javi! I just bought that!” You exclaimed, smacking his chest with the back of your hand.

“Hm. Don’t care. I’ll buy you a new one,” He offered carelessly as he began to kiss your neck, nipping lightly.

You rolled your eyes at his response, and said, “How? It was limited.”

“Shut up, querida,” He mumbled into your neck as his hands ripped the rest of your blouse off, throwing it somewhere.

“Javi. The pizza’s going to get cold,” You complained as he began to unbutton your pants.

“That’s why they invented the microwave, sweet cheeks. Now. Imma tell you one last time,” He growled as he grabbed your chin to look him in the eyes. “Shut. Up.”

You blinked in response and opened your mouth to say something else, but Javi decided to land a firm slap on your ass.

He raised an eyebrow, daring you to react, as his hand hovered near your backside, threatening to do it again.

You took that challenge, and stood up, turning toward the kitchen and to go eat.

Javier shook his head and grabbed you by the back of your pants, pulling you back.

“Oh? Going to be a brat, eh?”  He said, disapproval lacing his tone. “Hm. Let me see if I can beat that out of you. Undress.”

You crossed your arms and looked away, ignoring him.

He sighed then and scooted forward a bit, looking up at you with annoyance.

He then proceeded to rip off his belt, twisting you around, and tied your hands together.

“Javi!” You exclaimed, wiggling your arms and hands, trying to break free.

He ripped your pants down, gently guiding you to bend over, and he commanded, “Count them out.”

He spanked you harshly and waited.

“One,” You whispered, not wanting to admit that this was turning you on. You always enjoyed it when he was rougher in bed. Made it more exciting; the mind-blowing orgasms were a plus.

“Louder,” He corrected you, slapping your ass again.

“Two,” You said louder, breathing getting heavier as arousal began to flood your mind.

This continued on until you reached 10 finally, and his hands softly soothed over the enflamed skin.

“Now. Are we going to be a good girl? Or are you going to continue being a brat?” He questioned lightly.

You whimpered in response, trying to calm yourself as both pain and pleasure saturated your brain.

“What was that?” He asked turning you back to him.

You took some deep breaths, in an attempt to get yourself under control.

After a moment you jokingly narrow your eyes at him and let out a breathy, “Ow.”

He chuckled, gently bringing you back to his lap. “I didn’t hear you complaining. In fact, I bet if I were to touch your panties they’d be soaked.”

His hands began massaging your thighs as he lightly pressed kisses to your chest. This usually made you want to be brattier or just give into his ministrations. However, for whatever reason, you were suddenly not as into this as you were a moment ago. Especially when you saw out of the corner of your eye, an old cigarette butt that had lipstick stains on it; you didn’t smoke.

You stared down at his short messy curls, biting your lips, thinking.

‘Why is this man with me? I’m such a mess. I mean why else would he still be seeing his favorites from the brothel? He clearly doesn’t want-‘

“I can hear you thinking. What’s up?” He asked pulling away, one of his hands cupping your face.

You opened your mouth to answer but found you didn’t know what to say, so you closed it.

Javier stared at you for a long moment and noticed the small glances to the ashtray you made. His eyes briefly roved over to it and realized what it was you were looking at.

“Does the thought of me being with a hooker bother you that much?” He guessed, his voice low, his movements stopping.

You don’t answer immediately. You chewed on your bottom lip harshly before sighing heavily.

“I understand… that you do it for work… but it also makes me wonder why you even bother to be with me, when you have all of them,” You admitted.

“What if…. What if I told you… that I haven’t slept with any of them… in months? That I’ve just been paying them for their information?” He hesitantly asked.

“Wh- Really? Why?” You stammered in confusion.

“Because I have you,” He answered plainly, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You looked at him shocked, your mouth dropping open and you fully expected him to say that he was joking. But after a full minute of him just staring at you softly, you knew he wasn’t, which made you smile and look down.  

He tilted your chin back up and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Let’s go eat, yeah?” He offered with a half-smile.

“What happened to the whole ‘that’s what microwaves are for’ thing?” You teased.

“I want your full attention, when I rail you into next week my love. I don’t want there to be any doubts or thoughts that I don’t care about you. Plus, I can hear your stomach growling and it’s quite distracting,” He joked, his hands flying up to protect his face as you grabbed a pillow and whacked him with it.

“You’re such a jerk! I can’t help it! I’m hungry,” You tried to say sternly but kept laughing.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your forehead resting against his. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the last time you did that he refused to speak to you for a week. So, you were quiet, and pressed small kisses to his lips.

The sweet moment was ruined when your stomach growled. Loudly. You pulled away, closing your eyes, and scrunching your face up in mild embarrassment.

“So. Pizza? And whatever’s on TV?” You proposed trying to move away from this awkward moment.

“Yeah. Bring me a couple of slices, please?” He politely asked with a chuckle, turning the TV on.

You filled both plates up pizza, grabbed beers for the both of you, and some napkins.

Javier moved from the loveseat to the sofa and you handed him his half, before curling into his side.

“Do you really think Veronique killed Paolo or do you think it was Marie?” You asked as your (and Javi’s, though he would never admit it) favorite telenovela came on.

“It was definitely Veronique. It’s always the spouse,” Javier argued back, taking a sip of beer.

“C’mon. They just had the baby! Marie’s always been jealous of Veronique!” You exclaimed in response, taking a large bite.

“I guess we shall find out then, won't we?” Javier shrugged devouring half a slice in seconds.

The two of you spent the next hour eating and watching the episode.

When it ended you looked at Javi smugly, “I told you so.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and cleaned up the mess they made while eating. He returned to the living room and picked you up, taking you to his bed.

You lightly giggled at the action, shaking your head.

When the both of you were in bed, the lights out, he pulled you close to him. He was on his side and you on your back. He gently brushed your hair out of your face, he whispered something to you then.

Three words that you hadn’t expected. Three words that you had accepted were never going to come from him, at least not in the traditional sense. Hell, he said it so quietly, you could almost have believed that you misheard him.

“I love you.”

You whispered it back, as he kissed you firmly on the lips. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and you turned on your side to do the same, and the both of you fell into a deep sleep. Best sleep the both of you ever had in a long while.

[adrenalinesaint]

When one departs from under the sheltering wing of one’s benefactor, one must reckon with a sudden and profound lack of money. And while poverty had been a running theme in Jonathan’s life, having to clear out his old laboratory and find a new one, with all of three hundred dollars in his checking account, was more than difficult. Penguin’s people lock the door behind him, and all he’s got are his costume and a few barrels of toxin.

Three years ago, he would have been utterly defeated.

Gotham City, 3:24 AM, on the interstate-405, an armored car bearing the Waynetech logo is maintaining a steady 60 miles per hour. The woman in the driver’s seat and the man in the passenger’s seat are armed with bulletproof vests, stun batons, mace spray, and pistols -- all of which are hidden behind tinted glass. Their destination: Wayne Tower, where their payload would sit under guard for another two days before the weapons and defense exhibition the following week. Developers in the field of defense would be arriving from the world over to see what Waynetech had created for their militaries -- and, with a little finesse, they won’t find what they came for.

On an overpass overlooking the interstate, a tall, thin silhouette stands out against the streetlamps behind it, standing on the edge as though it may jump to its demise. With careful calculation, it’s possible to gauge whether or not human bones will break upon impact -- although there are a few other factors to consider: traction, for one. So, the figure on the overpass, getting a clear view of the armored car incoming, reaches down to tighten the cramp-ons its secured to its feet.

When the armored car comes fully into view, the driver gestures to the passenger. A figure standing on an overpass in Gotham can mean only a few things: suicide, or a heist. The passenger brandishes his pistol first, checking the chamber for a bullet and nodding to his driver when the confirmation comes in the form of a solid click. When they pass under the overpass, the sound of something heavy hitting the roof of their car is followed by a long, shrill scraping sound. From up top, the black-clad figure’s cramp-ons leave long, silvery streaks where they’d gripped into the metal roof.

Footsteps echo overhead. The passenger holds their finger over their lips to the driver, and the driver, now starting to sweat, keeps a trembling grip steady on the wheel. They don’t speak, but there’s a mutual understanding that if they crash this car, this entire section of the interstate is blowing up along with them. The dangers of driving delivery in Gotham. And the driver had just quit their pizza delivery gig.

For a few moments, it seems as though nothing will happen. In hopeful confusion, the driver wonders if whatever had happened was all a bad daydream.

And then the blade of a scythe comes crashing through the windscreen, the point of which stops mere inches in front of the tip of the driver’s nose. Letting out a shriek of sudden fear, she swerves, forcing the passenger to drop his firearm to reach over and grab the wheel to stabilize. They cannot run off the road. They cannot crash. With a heavy foot on the break pedal, the armored car comes to a skidding stop in a tunnel, fishtailing out in the middle of the lane.

The passenger gets out first. The driver is too frightened by the near-death experience to stir for a few moments, frozen in terror, but does only after her comrade is outside the car and appears relatively safe. When she too comes stumbling out of the driver’s seat and into the tungsten-lit tunnel, she finds her comrade aiming a shaky firearm just above the exterior roof of the car. But, when she looks, there’s nothing there.

“Mark, what’s going on?” She asks, out of breath from the adrenaline.

“There’s -- there’s something there -- something on the truck, Esther...” Mark’s pistol is wavering in his trembling grip. Esther can’t see from the distance at which she stands from him, but his pupils are dilated and the veins in his neck are throbbing. His sympathetic nervous system is on fire.

“Let’s get out of here -- “

“There’s a fucking scythe stuck in the windshield!”

From the angle of the handle of the scythe, it appears as though someone was standing on the roof of the truck and impaled it downward. As she approaches, she can see the silvery streaks from where the cramp-ons gripped the roof. Someone was here. But not anymore.

With Mark aiming his firearm at the truck, Esther swallows a mouthful of hot, dry air and resolves to move in. He can cover her. They aren’t going anywhere until this truck is secured. An explosion in a tunnel would cause significantly more damage than above-ground -- damage to not just the tunnel itself but the surrounding infrastructure. For a moment, she debates the virtues of calling GCPD so they can get the bat-signal up.

When she rounds the other side of the truck, she finds nothing but a strange discoloration on the ground. In the orange tungsten lighting though, it’s hard to tell what exactly it is -- probably just some oil leaked out of a passing car. Her feet splash quietly as she walks through it.

“I’m starting to think we may be in over our heads...” Mark is on the other side of the truck, voice starting to quiver with fear. Esther has never seen him like this before -- usually he makes a concerted effort to seem unflappable, but something is under his skin.

“Hey, come on. Robin’s like, what, twelve? If he can do this, so can we.”

“Doesn’t he say he trained all his life with elite assassins?”

“And what are we? Chopped liver?”

“I don’t know about you, but I used to be a schoolteacher before this job. Gotham’s one hell of a town.”

“No shit?”

“No --- “

Esther, while checking the undercarriage of the truck, promptly straightens, kneeling in that puddle, knees wet, ears open and alert like a feline in danger.

“...Mark?”

Nothing.

“Mark, this isn’t funny. We get scythed through the windshield, you can’t play games with me, man. M-Mark?”

When she stands, she finds that the scythe is no longer in the windscreen. For a moment, she stands in the still silence that’s fractured only by the humming of overhead lighting and the distant whooshing of far-away cars on far-away roads. In that moment of stillness, everything around Esther becomes saturated in color and texture. The cracks in the floor are darker. The lines painted on the road seem to wave and breathe in her peripheral vision.

“Mark?” As she utters her partner’s name one final time, the sound of her own voice seems to warp in pitch and tone, like dropping her own voice down a chute. “Somethings --- wrong --- “

“H̸͕͆̍i̴̻͈͂̀c̷̖̾͝k̵̖̖̂o̷̝̅̀ṛ̴͑y̸̺̏̆ ̶̲̋̊d̶͕̑í̵̢̀ċ̴͈͙k̴̭̊ó̵̜͗r̷͉̀̾y̵͖̑͠ ̴̣̊̚d̶̹̎̓͜o̶̥͌č̴͇͠k̷̙̯̈́͋.̶͉̎͠ͅ ̸̡̀T̴̻̥̂̕ḩ̶̡̐ẻ̸̛̟ ̶̐͝ͅḿ̸͙̯̎ô̷͇̯̕u̷̘̹̾s̷͓̖͝e̷̝̕͝ ̴̥́̈́ŗ̷̘͌a̷͙̟͐̚n̷̼̣̒̀ ̸̢̄̆u̸͓͊p̸̩̋ ̶̧͎͗͠t̶̢̆̎ĥ̷̲͕e̵̬͙͗ ̴̠̏͝c̴͉͗̓l̷͇̍͗ȯ̶̬c̴͓̥̔̑k̸̹̳͐.̷̡̃“

As though she were in a movie, she feels the world come into focus centered around her. In a radial blur all around her, all she can see clearly are her hands, so she reaches for her pistol. But what she finds there instead is a cold, wet slab of meat in her holster, forcing her to drop the thing in disgust. When it clatters to the ground with a metallic sound, she watches in horror as it sprouts several non-uniform spider legs and scurries away.

“Mark -- ?“

The world is spinning. Esther stumbles backward and trips, landing in that strange-smelling puddle. It’s all over her hands clothes now. The smell is overpowering -- her nose is burning -- where’s Mark?

Several gunshots echo through the tunnel, and in a whizzing ricochet, several overhead lights explode, showering Esther with sparks and shards of glass that, as they fall, transform into ash and blood and salt water. In a warp of psychadelic colors, her stomach turns and she vomits. When she comes back up from it, the tunnel is full of crows. So many that she can no longer see the pavement under her feet. The writhing mass of black feathers moves and sways like an ocean, and she’s deafened by the sound of them all screaming in unison.

Her mace. She has mace spray.

As the mass of feathers overtakes her, forcing her to the ground and pressing her face into the puddle where she sputters for air, she manages to barely pull her can of mace out of her belt and -- there! The birds wail in agony as she sprays them back. Several more gunshots go off -- and this time, when the last one echoes through the tunnel, she feels something.

Something in her side -- right in the weak point of the vest.

She looks down: her flank is black in the tungsten lighting. Maybe it would be red under white light. Is this real? Or is this part of the dream? Stunned and already in shock, she can’t feel it yet. She puts one hand over the bullet hole and pulls back, fingers stained. So it is real.

As she rapidly loses blood, the hallucinations begin to wane. There are no feathers, there was no chunk of spidery meat. Her gun sits useless on the ground beside her, and her comrade Mark stands over her, huffing lungfuls of air desperately as his shaking hands clutch his gun. Even as she watches him in her final moments alive, she struggles to understand what’s happened to her. He doesn’t seem to see her at all. Already, he’s shooting at random it seems, screaming about “They’re everywhere! My god! Everywhere!”

In an hour or two, Esther will finish bleeding out and die. For now, she loses consciousness as Mark descends further into madness.

“Ì̵͈̈́t̶̼͔̿'̵͔̤͆s̶̖̰̀͐ ̸̯̄͂ș̷̎͘o̷̮̚ ̸͖̈̊ͅh̴̲̮͊̔a̶̹̪̓̾r̵̻͚̍̓d̴̩́ ̸̣̰̂t̶̲̋ơ̶̥ ̴͖͆̚f̶̣̄̄i̴̫̻̾̂n̸̟͒̌d̶̬̃̆ ̸̘̣̐g̸͍̯̀͠o̸͘͜͝o̷̭͒́d̷͇̙͒͛ ̷̨̒͝h̴̞͔͊̿ę̴̱̆ḻ̶̬͌̈p̵̡͎̆ ̶̄͜t̸̜͝h̸̙̆̆ê̸̫͌s̵̪̦͆̈é̵̡̳ ̷̣̭͌̚d̴͓̋̑a̵͇͑̇y̵̼̬̽̑s̵̹̿ͅ.̵̩́”

The fluid on the ground was fear toxin, of course. The tungsten lighting is orange and masks the orange-colored gas that fills the tunnel. Standing perfectly within view, and yet perfectly masked by the effects of the toxin, the Scarecrow watches as the guards tear each other apart. The male shoots the female in the stomach, mistaking her for a schoolchild, as he’d developed quite the phobia of children since working as a teacher in the lower grades. She maces him in the face, mistaking him for a flock of birds from Alfred Hitchcock’s titular film that scarred her for life as a child.

In the end, Mark is left standing, but not for long. Scythe back in hand, the Scarecrow makes one fluid motion powered by whatever slight muscle he may possess and failed to behead the fellow, but does more than enough damage to his neck to ensure a swift exsanguination.

Already, though, the gunfire has drawn some attention. And the idle nature of the truck had triggered a safety protocol that alerted HQ. When the guards failed to respond to their radio pings, the bat signal went up. There are only so many things an armored Waynetech truck can run into, after all. A rogue is bound to be one of them.

Pressing the filter of his mask against his mouth, Scarecrow laughs from the sheer thrill of it all. He feels quite young again.

Hopping into the front seat of the truck, he leaves his scythe embedded in the neck of the dead guard. Let it be a love-note to Batman when he comes to clean up the crime scene.

As the truck peels out of the tunnel, leaving behind two corpses and a trail of exhaust, Crane leaves a handful of sweet Georgia straw in the wind, where it scatters through the crime scene to leave his mark.

And what’s next? Well. Someone just came into quite a bit of money.

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 22

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-one

Title: CONNECTION LOST

Words: 5800

Warnings: Rape (bow out if you need to, I will include a brief summary in the end notes), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of trauma.

Summary: When it rains, it pours. And then the world starts to explode. So it's all just a giant mess.

ST Rambles: Did not upload yesterday because I wanted to take my time instead of rush this thing out. I truly hope you all have enjoyed the story thus far.

Okay, so. My ADN classes and clinical start again on Thursday. What this means: I'm taking a 2-3 week break from writing so I can get into a good rhythm for school and just find my bearings. I think this is a perfect place to take a break. It'll act as an intermission in a way. Jeez, I think you all have earned one by now.

[MASTERLIST]

Excess saline dripped in crimson creaks toward the floor, a bog forming beneath a shaking foot onto a towel. Two empty flushes laid in their respective positions, remaining diagonal to each other as they’d landed earlier. Another towel was set below your thigh as you propped it onto the bathroom counter with your knee bent over the edge, choosing to remain standing rather than chance losing the ability to crawl up from the floor if you’d sat. With every thumb-push of the syringe plunger new streaks of liquid agony soaked into the red, throbbing, raging wounds; each lick of searing solution reminding you of their harbinger, your tongue stained in acrid remembrance of the words which had fallen from it.

I hate you. The phrase you’d feared most had turned out to be the least insidious, its existence light-hearted in relation to the ones that came quickly after. The simple statement had catalyzed the catastrophe, its memory burning what remained of your heart, ashes now dormant and gray within your chest, each beat superficial in the way it sustained a life you no longer wanted. It was difficult to name what you were feeling, the uncertainty rooted in the fact that you were twisted in the clutch of grief and guilt while also floating in a nebula of numbness, the contradiction dissonant and dizzying.

With each haunting phrase, each sharp with a venomous bite, new collections of misery scathed into the scarring tissue, each tear acidic in its salty existence. A recoil was earned whenever recalling the wrath that inhabited Kylo Ren’s tone when he called you a liar, its mental presence ricocheting between your ears and setting your skin aflame with goosebumps, each wave of heated chills revitalizing the blistering burns as they settled into their intentional permanence.

Upon your left thigh, bright and belligerent and baleful, sitting just above the hem of your uniform, stung the evidence of Kylo Ren’s indignation. Staring down at the welts – two pointed, laser-sharp letters – shame accompanied the initial longing regard you held for the brand. You now bore the undeniable truth of your time with Kylo Ren, a raised K set in finality next to a partnering R, the pain-inked initials tied to a turmoil laden conflict you didn’t want to acknowledge. It was too pitiful, too pathetic and disgusting even in the infancy of its consideration.

At the fringes of your mind, the dark corners of consciousness you rarely visited, sprung an aching truth that thrashed against every belief you thought you’d once held. Yet, with each shiv of shaky air, every dagger of dread pitted in pain, you came closer to accepting it. Barely below the surface now, even as the injury pulsated with piercing torment, smarted in sync with the blatant beat of your heart, you could not deny the fact that you felt deserving of its detriment and relieved by its reality. As you tended to the wounds, using whatever scrapped supplies you’d accidentally brought home from the med bay, you fought to react in a way that would be appropriate to this situation.

The malice-born mark should have tinged your blood with fury. In its wake, the aura of red which bled outward from each initial should have filled your lungs with an indisputable hostility towards their maker. Right now, suffering in solitude, you were supposed to be cursing Kylo Ren, spitting his name and screaming hellfire over him as he’d singed into you. There was an overwhelming presence of heavy self-set expectation to sink into an unrivaled hatred for the creature you’d left in that room, the same who’d left less permanent proof in the past. Though, while the targeted tissue throbbed below your trembling hands as you attempted to apply an antibacterial protectant, you found it impossible to feel anything but misery for him.

The haunting image of Kylo Ren’s fleeting soul tore talons into your chest, a coughed sob echoing in your empty residence as you replayed the tangible change in his demeanor. Had light been scarce you swore you could’ve seen the shroud of darkness fog into his sclera, set his jaw flat and firm as he’d backed away from you. Swiping the salve over your wound you shuddered into yourself, time barely hindering the void tone with which he’d rescinded his trust, the abandonment in his voice contradicting the promise you’d made him the night he’d spoken protection over you.

Time ticked on, each second one of slow suffering. As you healed the outward wounds, inward ones formed fresh and raw, head pounding with pain and regret. Even that made wrought you with guilt. The whole reason you’d gone through with Snoke’s plan was to save Mason; his life had been equated to a trading card and it had been your doing. The least you could do was free him from the hell only intended for you. But, similar to the way regarded your new scars, shame took root in the acceptance that you didn’t deem the deal a fair wager.

Maybe it was just the immediacy of the situation, or maybe you were crueler than you’d once believed, but as you’d watched Kylo rip away from you, there was a silent moment where you wished you could allow yourself to embrace the selfishness that would keep him in your life. If you’d had the time to think on it, or if the ultimatum had been less dire, less fatal, in that moment you were swallowed by the fact that your choice would have been Kylo. Completely, entirely, wholly, undoubtedly, instantaneously. Mason had been a comfort for years, someone to rely on, the boy you’d founded a fictional future with. But you’d never wanted him the way you did Kylo. It was the most foreign, mortifying thought you’d ever held, but, however small, there was a part of you that would always choose Kylo. Over Mason. Over anyone.

“Fuck!” Anger swelled as a flare of pain lashed under your touch while applying a saline saturated gauze. “I hate this!” No one was around to hear you, but that was always when the harshest truths hit.

Steadying yourself with the counter and the door, you hobbled away from your working position, affected leg just barely grazing the ground while you made your way into the kitchen. “How did this even fucking happen? Why did it have to be me?” You stood away from a drawer, activating it and digging around until you found a roll of paper tape. “I left here this morning hating him. Why can’t I just go back? I-,” a strangle of tears came, fingers prying uselessly to find the start. “I want to go back.” Thick and faltered, the words fell from devastated lips.

Giving up on your hands you ripped your teeth into the waxy material, spitting the torn tape from your mouth once you finally found the start tab. A rush of hysterics hit, lungs stuttering in defensive laughter. “You can probably fucking hear me, I bet! What, you saw me then, why not now? Why wouldn’t you see me like this, you fucked, disgusting, wretched, voyeuristic scum!”

Pressing down on the damp gauze, keeping it in place, you reached into the drawer once more to grab a roll of left over Kerlix. Tearing it open – again, with your teeth – you pressed it against your upper thigh and held it in place, regarding your scars covered the surface area that spanned the length of your pinky, both horizontally and vertically. Wrapping the rolled gauze continuously around your upper thigh, you couldn’t help but appreciate how precise and clean the letters were. Even brandishing a pen of pain Kylo Ren’s handwriting was beautiful, the thought bringing you a hesitant warmth with a short burst of guilt. The uproar of conflict currently battling in your soul would surely be the death of you.

Taking the last strip of tape, you secured the dressing, smoothing your left hand over it to make sure friction was minimal. While doing so, you caught sight of a flashing message scrawling across in bright red capital letters. The radar had disappeared altogether, not only vacant of the red dot indicative of Kylo’s location, but even of the faint red lines it had moved across. Waiting until the message cycled through until the beginning, you felt your lungs empty as the last letter solidified the severance from your Master.

CONNECTION LOST

“No. No. No no no. Why?” Frenzied fingers tread through sweat sodden roots, pain shooting up your leg as it bore new weight. “I didn’t ever want this! Why? Why? Why?” Sinking to the floor, willfully basking in the pain, you crumpled onto the tile until ice bit the backs of your calves.

Heaves of air collected and left in rushed lungfuls, choked cries reverberating through the room while the heels of your hands dammed the influx of tears. A frantic effort was made to think of anything else, a distraction sought in the face of your now official loss. Cycling through this morning you recalled conversations held by stormtroopers on the Command Shuttle, sharing news and celebrating in the fact that the Republic had been destroyed just prior to landing on Takodana. Mason had gone out of his way all those weeks ago to tell you of the mandatory rally, only for neither of you to be on Starkiller to attend it. It had to have been at least two hours since it occurred, its contents and importance still a mystery to you. A shawl of shivers fell onto heavy shoulders, that feeling of dread you’d felt this morning reminding you of how this day had begun on an off note, like it was destined for doom.

A click and a hiss came from behind, your heart stalling and nose sniffling. The only other person who could have access to your residence was-

“Kylo?” It was a quiet plead.

There was no response, no movement. Unease struck the hairs on the back of your neck. Looking back to your watch, the same message still running across the screen, you didn’t know what to think. The first thing that came to mind was to grovel, to take his sudden presence in stride and fulfill your wishes of selfishness. This was your opportunity to tell him everything, already knowing the excruciating truth of not doing so earlier. Him coming back gave you the chance to right all the wrong done today.

Sloppy, careless movements brought you to your knees. Seething, you remained here while the stinging diminished. “Kylo, none of it was true! You were right. I don’t hate you. I don’t. I promise, I don’t. I can’t.” Confessions were abundant while he evaded your senses. “Snoke. It was all Snoke. He threatened Mason, and, and I had to. Please, you have to understand!”

There was still no answer, but a hiss; it was similar to the mask’s muzzle, but not exact. The difference was strange, like your ears were playing tricks. The sound was closer than the door, still out of sight.

“Kylo, I’m so sorry! I’ll do any- ah!” No matter how tender you tried to be, attempting to stand without pain proved impossible. “I’ll do anything. But please know that I didn’t mean any of that! You aren’t irredeemable. You’re not a bastard. I never… I never want to forget you.”

“And you won’t, I promise. Though, I’d prefer you call me by my name.”

Just as soon as you’d regained an upright posture, you nearly lost it. It was Robbie. He was in your residence. He was here. Robbie was here, talking, with you. At you.

“You know the one.” He came into view, armor intact other than his helmet. “Miss me?”

“How are you- how did you get-,”

“Mm, you really should be more careful, especially with belongings like this.” Robbie, wicked eyes slithering down your stature, held a black rectangle between two fingers. “You never know who might get a hold of them.”

As light glinted over the object your chest sunk in instant realization. It had been so long ago, such a minute occurrence that you hadn’t thought anything of it. All those weeks ago, only a few days after Kylo had barred your practice, you had lost the keycard he’d given you. The one that had been folded into his note was lost in an accidental run-in with a stormtrooper. Its absence had only been noticed a few hours after losing it in the cafeteria, when leaving Mason’s and having to get an emergency replacement that day.

“Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” A hobbled step neared you towards the counter.

“I told you the last time we spoke—” the card hit the floor with a booming clip, its sound lost in your pulse “—this isn’t over.” A slow step carried him forward, sending you back further. “Almost, but not just yet.”

His presence was mutilating, every muscle tensing even as your leg throbbed in rejection. The edge of the counter bit at the small of your back, hands gripping into the edges.

“Why are you doing this? Why now? Why me?” It seemed that was the question of the day. Two quivering lips took turns quieting pain and hiding fear.

“Why am I doing this?” He was a madman, visage void of sanity. Another calculated step forward, your pulse peaking. “I knew you were stupid, but this? Come on, you don’t actually think you’re completely innocent here, do you?”

One final step and he was smothering you, fury sweltering as it drifted from his skin to yours. His jugular vein was throbbing to match one prominent on his forehead. Kylo’s eyes may have resembled the emptiness of death, but Robbie’s were swimming with a vengeful desire to deliver it. Vomit rose when you smelled his breath, felt it hot over your nose in his proximity.

“Maybe you can learn, though.” He brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, clammy hands slick over burning skin, scanning eyes set in thought. “Maybe you’re not completely helpless after all.”

Two hands strangled your own, tightened them to the counter as he pressed his chest against you, leaning down until he could bury his nose in the collar of your uniform. A complete breath hadn’t come since seeing him, head dizzying with thoughts of blame, rejection, and emergency.

“Why are you apologizing to Ren, huh?” Violating lips pressed into your neck, a whimper leaving as you fought to escape him, searching for the fasted route to safety while he couldn’t see you. “Say sorry to me, baby. It’s that simple.”

Self defense was useless against his armor. His lips pulled at your lobe, a gag forming at the touch. Twisting away from him, you peered down to the drawer and found a pair of scissors, their red handle bright in your periphery. The crushing weight over your hands became bruising, your throat thirsty for escape. The only way to evade him was to indulge him, to distract him with the very thing he sought most.

Repulsion clawed at your stomach. “You want me to apologize, correct?” Sultry words hid the sickness they brought.

Robbie hummed into your neck, nose now buried in your hair while he bucked his hips into you, fire sprouting from your wounds under the pressure. “That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time,” just as Snoke had claimed your last name, Robbie clutched your first, rolling it off in a purr.

“I bet you want me to say your name, too, right? You’d like that a lot?” Today had tested your ability to hide your true intentions. Brushing your thumbs along his hold, as much as you could under their restriction, you eyed the scissors. “The name I gave you?”

A grunt left him, another thrust into your brand fuzzing your vision. “Yes. Say my name. Apologize to me.”

Eyes shut tight while Robbie continued in his unwanted nearness, you swallowed hard. “Kiss me, then.” He stopped moving, shoulders still as air stalled in his lungs. “Kiss me and I’ll apologize. I’ll say your name.” It was a desperate hope to hold that he wouldn’t hear the shakiness of the offer.

“Dammit,” he breathed, “you can’t be taught.” Rage grated against his throat, grip leaving your hands and wrapping around your neck. He leaned you back over the counter, the stance awkward and agonizing. “What a stupid bitch! You think this is a trade? You ruined my life! You gave me an identity and ripped it away like it was nothing! Like I was nothing!”

Black pulsed at the corners of your vision, his face doubling and dizzying as you reached for the drawer, fingers inching over nondescript items. “Apologize! And maybe, maybe! I will let you leave here. How does that sound?”

Grappling your free hand over his clutch, you gagged for words, none escaping his compression while you collected saliva at the back of your mouth. You mouthed his name, eyes full of feigned pleads while your fingers found the scissors’ handle.

Robbie’s jaw quivered more while he watched you struggle. Your manipulation was working. That seemed to be a theme today. Though, this one was much easier to endure. Two murderous eyes flickered between yours, quicker and quicker with each movement until he released your throat just enough for you to form words.

Fist locked onto your weapon, adrenaline readying, you stared directly at him and hocked a gob of hot spit into his eyes. He went to shake it free, but your hand came up and slashed down through his brow and over his left cheek. Robbie’s hands flooded towards his face as you pushed him out of the way, scissors still in hand while you rushed for the door. But your leg was a hindrance, dragging behind you, eventually only hopping on the one when the pain began to cut deeper with each stride.

The door activated per your touch and basked you in the light of freedom, only for your head to fly backward as a fist dragged you away from safety. A string of winces left in line with a pouted scream. It barely registered but the exit hissed shut again, your forehead cracking against it with the same force that’d just been around your throat.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for—” a harsh inhale came at your nape “—you knew it all along. Away for months only to get new fucking security the moment you return?”

He had you pinned, legs splayed and arms flung out. Your forearms framed your head, his hands flat over your wrists and stealing every bit of opportunity. The scissors hung loosely under your hand, teetering closer to the floor with each second.

“You left me! I woke up and you were gone. Such a fucking cunt, and for no reason.”

“You are psychotic you sick, vile creature!” Pain seethed into your tone, bandage rubbing into the raised skin.

Robbie trembled with anger, his body vibrating at your back as he pressed further into your right hand so the scissors finally fell. “Maybe that voice was never beautiful.” His right arm bent your elbow behind your back so his abdomen could trap it there; when he was satisfied, he reached it around you so it lay flat in front of your mouth, grip wrapping around your left forearm. His head pushed into yours so your mouth went flush with his arm and your nose could barely attempt at breathing. “Maybe it was only ever annoying. Useless.”

You couldn’t escape him. There were no defenses left to attempt, the only one now bloodied at your feet. All you could do was endure. There was nothing left. No time. No saviors. All that remained was an overwhelming sense of guilt and a pestering question: did you deserve this? After all you’d done, all you’d been forced to do and go through with? In some way, was this karma? In turn for hurting the one you loved, you would be hurt by one who you’d wanted to love? Was this the restoration of balance?

A stifling hand rushed under your skirt, taking time to grope at the flesh over your underwear. Every effort to flex away from him was wasted, and there was so little left to fight for. The message that flashed over your left wrist taunted you, held you just as captive as the monster behind you; in saving two lives, doing what you thought was right, you had given up every aspect of your own. Robbie had snaked his touch beneath the thin fabric, now moving it aside and preparing his own clothing, and the only thing you could focus on was the patterned scrawl on your watch.

It was mocking you, emphasizing its point in the darkest moment of your life, your body stiff and scared with no lasting dignity. There was less than a person, less than a shell now. Each organ working to keep you alive was doing so in vain, purpose fleeting from your foggy thoughts; you’d returned to heal wounds you’d grown to want, and now you wouldn’t live to see them scab over.

You wretched onto his arm, biting down onto the flexed muscle, when you felt the head of his penis swipe over the back of your injured leg. Vomit threatened when his hips circled and he moaned, breath thick and satisfied.

“No, you’ll never forget me,” he huffed, “You won’t have the time.”

Robbie readied himself for penetration, your tears hot and obstructed at his arm, your eyes peering over at the watch as you tried to die at your own will first. Furious, unrefined disgust and shame stabbed your soul when you felt him proceed, felt him buck into you. Your brain couldn’t decide whether to catch fire or burn out, didn’t want to accept this as one of the last things you’d feel.

His breath shuddered at your neck, your cries silent and shattered beneath him. He attempted to speak, but something happened. Something sudden and fleeting and rapturous. A miracle born in the absence of hope.

The lights went out. Pitch blackness swallowed you, enveloped him and in tow distracted him. His restraints weakened and you slammed your head back against his, adrenaline softening the blow.

“Fuck!” Robbie tripped backwards, leaving you completely.

Stunned at the event, you stalled, not knowing what to do. You couldn’t move quick enough, Robbie catching your knee in his bent over position. It was nearly impossible to see him, but the red cast of your watch threw crimson shadows just far enough to glint off his bloodied features. He wasn’t going to give up until one of you was dead.

“Get off of me!” Of course he’d attached himself to the leg currently rippling pain through your body.

“We’re not finished!” A rough tug brought you down next to him where he attempted to climb on top of you, your fingers digging into his eyes and sending him to his back.

“No—” scrambling fingers searched the dark for your earlier weapon, drying blood sticking when you found it “—we’re not.”

Red. Everything was red. Robbie’s face. The blood which dripped from it. Your hands, the same blood streaking and drying in place. He couldn’t see you’d gained the upper hand. In a final glance over the animal beside you, searching him for humanity and drawing a blank, you felt your heart stutter with a decision that would mark you for life. A mark you’d make yourself.

Interlocking your fingers over the red handle, two steady hands pulsating over the hard object, you brought your arms up and slammed them down with insurgence, hitting the break in his uniform over his right inner thigh. Robbie roared in response, his howls echoing into the nothingness which surrounded him. The red haze of your radar glinted off the pool of blood forming beneath him. With each second, each flashing moment, it grew wider and fuller.

With a hard swallow, relief barely recognizable, you looked into his wide eyes just as the ground began to shake. “Now we’re done.”

Without dropping his stare, your hand slammed to activate the door and you backed out of your residence, watching him fade from view when it locked in front of you. It had to be done. He would’ve done the same. It was him or you. In searching for a reason why, you saw a change in the light coming from your watch. The flashing was different, and it started vibrating. Lifting it to your face, you found the message missing and the radar returned. It was fading in and out, though.

No matter, you were rushed back into the reality of people running past and into the floor lobby. A crowd surrounded the elevator, anger being pushed into the button when it wouldn’t respond. You and your floormates were exiles, the floor continuing its violent shaking. A cloud of rushed and flustered conversation plumed down the hall before every face turned towards you.

“Stairs,” said a quiet collection. “Stairs!”

A group of two dozen people stormed in your direction, their speed scaring you past your pain and into the stairwell. The group moved over each other, the leader switching between you and two men. It was a hushed chaos of stomping feet and fast breath. Nobody would make any noise other than the occasional grunt. On the fourth flight of stairs, more and more people piling out from the doors of their respective floors, your leg began to ache again. Though every step burned into you, you knew you had to escape this. You’d escaped much worse just a minute ago, and, for whatever reason, you were still living. Unknown to you, only revealing itself when it was entirely too necessary, there was a fight in you, and whether it be for yourself or someone or something else, you indulged in it with each step.

When the now stampede of officers of all backgrounds pushed past the doors into the Elite docking bay an alarming new mayhem ripped into realization. Hoards of people were fumbling and climbing over each other while screams tore through the room from all directions. TIEs were being crowded with as many bodies that could fit, and then some. The group you’d arrived with all flailed out, each person on their own journey towards safety.

Right where you’d left it earlier, before every horrible thing had gone on, sat the Command Shuttle. Even this far you could hear the engines stirring. Your legs took over and carried you as fast as they could, no matter the injury or barricades of people. The hell that had been born on this forsaken base would die with it, but you refused to do the same.

Each stride brought you closer the now ascending ramp, watching it close as you caught a glimpse of the future you wanted and were going to fight like hell to protect. One, two, three sloppy paces and your foot caught on the elevated ramp, your body sliding into the ship as it closed completely under you.

Desperate breaths stifled a groan as you slid across the floor. A white boot stomped in front of your face as you remained splayed and heaving beside it.

“Clearance?” It was a command, however useless as you felt the ship lift from the ground.

A dark thought crossed your mind – well, do you want my watch, or my keycard, or my uniform, or my leg? Rolling over you found General Hux standing on your opposite side. A thick gulp came as you patted your left arm to your chest, tracing over R – E – N to point towards your position.

“I’m his nurse.” Each word was separate and gasped. “His. I’m his. Commander Ren, I’m his nurse.”

The stormtrooper looked to Hux for approval, only for Hux to look at you with grim, stunned eyes and nod his head. “She’s authorized,” he said. He turned toward the bow of the ship. “Proceed to Ren’s location.”

Remaining on the floor, you felt the ship vibrate into your tired chest, felt the adrenaline course through you in violent pulsations. A veil was cast over your mind, everything close yet distant, present yet past. The only thing you registered was when the ship descended once more and sent your body towards the hatch again. Gripping onto the edge of a seat you strained your arms to keep still, not knowing what was going on, just aware you were still breathing.

Six pairs of boots crowded and fled the now open hatch, frigid air stinging over heated skin. “We’ll get his right, you three get his left!”

Ren’s location? Get his left? “What’s going on? Where is Ren?”

Your questions fell on absent ears, Hux now standing and staring out at the threshold until turning his body to allow the men more room.

“He’s breathing, General, but-,”

“But what?” It was the loudest you’d been since screaming in the halls.

Forcing yourself onto your knees, relying on the adrenaline keeping your own pain at bay, you stood to see your Commander being lowered onto the ground, three men at either of his sides seemingly struggling under his weight.

It was an automatic response to rush to him, to begin searching for injuries and checking for airway, breathing, and circulation hindrances. There wasn’t much hiding the emergency residing over his right side, splitting the skin and muscle apart in a broken, bloody stripe. It flayed his face, red streaks spilling from it and glinting in the low light of the ship.

“Stars! Someone get me some light!” you screamed, command taking over. This was your patient. This was your future. You were going to protect him. No matter what, that’s what you were going to do.

Two soldiers jumped at your voice, flooding away and falling into the wall when the ship catapulted upward once more. One grappled for the back wall and pulled a black box with a red medic symbol engraved on top. He threw it to the second and the three next to you scattered so he could open it for you and shine an overhead light.

“Hey! You three—” you barely glanced at the men before gesturing them down “—take these and apply heavy pressure when I say, understand?”

None of them moved when you threw three dense collection pads toward them. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” They all quickly grabbed one and waited for your go ahead.

Angling yourself so you could finally find Kylo’s eyes, you leaned over him and watched as he seethed away; you didn’t know if this was a reaction aimed towards you or due to the very obvious pain he was in.

“Kylo,” you whispered, knowing it was too loud and chaotic for anyone else to hear or care, “you’re going to feel pressure and then it’s going to be really painful, but I need to make sure the bleeding stops. Just be prepared.”

He looked up at you like he’d never met you, like you were a perfect stranger. It wasn’t the nothingness from before, but instead something more alive. Wonderment, almost. Or shock. That was a more reasonable emotion at this moment.

Keeping his stare, you gestured the three waiting men with your hand. “Now.”

The men plunged the sponges into his wound and watched as the material expanded and filled with blood. Kylo’s jaw set firm and fluttered by his ear. A quiet grunt left him while your own breath caught. Watching him so pained and wounded was an impossible act. The only thought you’d allow yourself to have was of the relief you’d have once he was being cared for by a team from wherever the ship was heading.

Something warm washed over your right knee. Looking away from him you found it was more blood, another wound on the side of his abdomen dripping through his uniform.

“Fuck, I swear!” You threw your hands over it, pushing deep into his tissue. “How much longer till-,”

The ship answered your question before you could finish it, slightly angling to the side as it went into a rough, screeching landing. Kylo grimaced at this just slightly, lip trembling only a second before he returned to that same shock, staring up at you in silence.

Light seared into the ship when the ramp fell without effort, hitting the floor with two loud bangs. Before you could register, a team of medical professionals slid a transfer board below him and went to move. You grabbed one of the handles on the side, remaining at his waist while you watched him, keeping steady pressure over his abdomen. Blood sopping onto your hands and burying Robbie’s.

“How long has he been like this?” came an indiscriminate voice from behind you. A man, again. The same one who’d helped you with Talia. The physician you’d worked with to save your patient.

“We collected him probably five minutes ago. Initially I only noticed the one gash but found another two minutes ago. There has been constant pressure applied since discovery. The patient is semi-alert, not responding verbally, but appears to be awake.” There was no time for stuttering, the group closing in on the entrance to the Elite med bay.

“Another one right over his shoulder, sir.” Another voice, female this time, came from behind.

“I’m ordering stat fluids and blood replacement therapy. Along with that I will instruct the pharmacy to have antibiotics ready and for the arrival team to gain the appropriate IV access first thing.” The team pushed into the assessment room you’d come to know all too well, your feet stopping as the physician’s did next to you.

“Do you approve of those orders?” He snaked his head to get your attention.

Stunned, shell-shocked eyes peered up at him, head dizzy and ears rushing with blood. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re his nurse. You got him this far. Do you think anything else needs to be added to the immediate care plan?”

You’d meant to say no, to agree that the physician was appropriate and logical in his treatment. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut as sound began to fade. The ceiling grew in distance while you felt your knees give out.

“Get her head!”

The last thing you registered was a hand at the back of your neck and the sound of urgent feet rushing toward you. There was a faint set of three beeps which accompanied your fall, monitors running beyond the threshold where Kylo was receiving care. A team was caring for him. He was safe. You could rest now. You could heal now.

And so you did.

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Part 7

P

Woo, do we have more characters to introduce you to. Ok, obviously- upper right is inside a hurricane, now imagine more angel looking creatures flying on the inside of it, all of them glittering like gold and diamonds and pearls. Upper middle ish- what a moura mark looks like- now imagine it gold, and at the base of your skull where your head meets your neck. Yes it takes up most of the back of your neck. Yes each one is very intricate and henna styled but different and unique among individuals, like a fingerprint. Ok, once that chain and cuff came off, that silkver rope thing was still there, tied similarly to that, but invisable and while Benyana could feel the effects of it, she couldn’t physically feel it tied around her. Upper right- Benyana. 

Now for the guys underneath those pictures. From left to right, Crown Prince Cordene, the son of Crown Prince Delmal who we met in the last part. Next to/ the right of/ him- Lord Suriel, Remiel’s apprentice in the royal court of the crystal angels. to his right, the Lord Ralitar- a minor prince, tasked with finding Benyana, we’ll get to know him later and next to him is the fae Prince Matae. And then if you’ve ever seen Sinbad where Eris pulls Sinbad under the water and how HUGE she is at first- yeah, grandma. 

Now the last row- Prince Oriles, think little mermaid but...higher fantasy-ier? And more creature-ish (I know those aren’t really words.) and of course Benyana as a siren, then we have the next to are sirens/mermen who were totally part of that orgy. and last but not least- Brock. He’s so outmanned and outgunned it aint even funny. Luckily our girl is on his side. Caution, the next few parts are gonna be that carcrash that collided with a dumpster fire. It’s gonna get MESSY. I can’t wait. Now, go get some popcorn and/or twinkies and some wine, or any other beverage you prefer. 

Also this is going to be relavent- (I’m sorry that gif looks like it’s having a siezure but it’s all I have)

Tagging @probablyclever​ @imherefortheforthefanart​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ and if anyone else wants to be tagged, just let me know. 

Of Heaven and Fire 

Part 7

You woke up to Brock pressing soft kisses into the crown of your head as his arms were wrapped comfortably around you as your body was still pressed up against his. His warmth radiating off of him and seeping into you until you were positively saturated with it and felt it in every inch of you. 

“Good morning.” He purred when you woke up, a smile blooming on your face as you stretched out before you relaxed fully against him once more. 

“Good morning.” You mirrored, a lazy, sleepy but still sated smile on your lips before he dipped his head down and kissed you good morning, a kiss you returned as you were once again relieved that he was ok, he was safe and sound and having him this close made you feel happy, you could protect him as long as he was near you, the closer the better as you reached around him and started to scratch his back. 

“Oh, oh, that feels glorious.” He praised as he gently scooched you back to lay on his belly so you could access all of his back as you giggled and obliged, scratching all over before you moved up and moved his thick braids away from the back of his neck before you were met with a golden tattoo on the back of his neck which made you pause. 

All mouras were born with a golden tattoo on the base of their skull where their heads met their necks, usually over an eighth vertebra in their neck since moura’s had naturally long and graceful necks like any proper bird, usually their moura cloak originated from this mark, it was unique like a fingerprint and their moura cloak would have a golden design on it that matched this mark exactly and when the moura cloak laid over this, the moura cloak would stay active, but- if a moura cloak were taken off, and perhaps buried, there was a gold piece of metal, that looked like a metal collar of a dress shirt that would remain once the actual feathers rotted away. A moura cloak could be revived and grow out again IF it was reattached to the wearer and you would bet your life that there was a gold collar belonging to him in TriKeng’s estate, either buried in his garden or in a jewelry box or something, he must have hundreds of them by now, stored away because the gold collars are otherwise indestructible, impossible to melt down or hammer apart or destroyed by any means. The other way to revive it was to be born again in the ashes then the collar would turn to dust wherever it was and reappear on you after you were reborn. 

“I see you found my birthmark.” He noted, his voice muffled by your pillow before you traced the pattern, happy he couldn’t see your bittersweet face as you did so. 

“Are you the only one in your family with it?” You asked, forcing your tone to be casual as you traced it, it was a gorgeous mark and it complemented his green skin incredibly well before you wrapped your hands around his neck and massaged it, giving yourself to opportunity to feel the vertebrae in his neck as he moaned out a pleasured groan, counting the vertebrae in his neck and counting down from his skull. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven...and eight and you forced yourself not to cry. What a different life he and his family could have had if TriKeng hadn’t been a selfish purist as you realized if TriKeng had actually allowed his mother and her sister in the colony, and welcomed orcs in, you would have grown up with him. He would have absolutely been your friend, possibly a childhood sweetheart and all this mess would have never happened. All because of TriKeng who was the real enemy in all this. You had to figure out a way to get Brock and his family the justice they deserved. 

“No, all my siblings and my cousins have a mark like it, but not exactly.” He answered. “But in my clan it’s only my mother and her sister and their children who have it,.” He revealed. 

“It’s beautiful.” You praised in a low murmur. 

“Thanks.” He smiled as you made a mental note not to let him see yours. 

“I noticed last night your tattoos glowed…” You prompted as you traced them over his body before you got to his side which made him squirm, he must have been ticklish which gave you a lopsided grin. 

“Yeah, they’ve been doing that a lot lately, it’s honestly, really weird and it freaks most people out.” He answered honestly as you hummed thoughtfully as you realized all those merpeople, that’s what they found most entertaining, is to see you light up as you realized, if anything you were just a passing distraction and fling to them, which you were ok with. Honestly they were that to you too and frankly you didn’t care if you ever saw them again or not. It had been a fun evening, a wild night- that was for sure. But one that you didn’t want or need repeated now that Brock had effectively rocked your world right. 

“I noticed your marks do the same, is it a moura thing?” He asked. 

“Not necessarily, lots of species have bioluminescence, does it ever hurt for them to light up?” You asked thoughtfully. 

“No, actually it feels good.” He answered. 

“Good.” You nodded. 

“So why do yours light up?” He asked as he turned to look at you which made you smile bashfully as a deep blush dusted your cheeks. 

“Well they light up when we heal, as a siren though they were always on, which was nice because deeper water is really dark.” You deflected. 

“And obviously when you have sex.” Brock pointed out, bringing you right back to the point. 

“They do, but that in itself can be a downside. You grow up seeing your parents room light up a lot and once you’re old enough to understand what’s going on it can be embarrassing and keep you up at night, your older siblings when they reach sexual maturity get sexually frustrated easily and the only thing that can keep the light out is heavy furs which in the summertime is inconvenient because you’re already hot and especially when there is already so many of you sharing a room, you start to get snappy with each other and most in the colony have special doors and shutters on their windows to keep the light in so the whole neighborhood can keep their nose out of your business and apartments with these light proof rooms go for quite a bit of money.” You explained. 

“Like how much money?” He asked curiously. 

“Well, moura money is in silver, in a colony where everyone can turn everything into gold, moura gold is nothing- that’s what you give the merchants and outsiders, silver and copper is what you use with everyone else in the colony and what you ask for in change from the merchants, true gold however is rare and especially precious and of course hoarded whenever possible. So a decent apartment with the light features goes for about 500 silver ryal a month.” You answered. 

“So what’s the difference between moura gold and true gold?" He asked. 

“Moura gold behaves like wet clay in the hands of a moura, true gold doesn’t, all merchants think that moura coins are minted to be disks that are slightly curved and printed with a finger print.” You answered as you grabbed a seashell that was used to decorate the wall and turned it to gold and then smooshed it like wet clay and made yourself your own moura gold coin that was slightly curved like your thrumb before you gave it to him and held your breath to see if he had that ability without his cloak as he took it and tried to bend it with his teeth but it wouldn’t budge which made you blow out a silent breath of relief after he gave it back and settled back onto his belly so you could keep scratching his back. 

“So that’s why most couples choose to build their own house, carving a place out in the mountain sides and engineering a way to get water into it by pumps and pipes so that each home has plumbing, both to bring water into the house and waste out of it and to catch rain water, a feat made easy since you can buy all the tools and materials from merchants for moura gold which they have no idea is any different and I would greatly appreaciate it if you kept this a secret, mouras can lose everything if this is found out.” You urged him. 

“On my honor, I won’t tell a soul.” He vowed which two weeks ago you would have made a snappy comeback to but now, it gave you relief and comfort to hear. 

“So with all that considered it’s much cheaper to build a house than it is to rent one, but the location of the house is just as important as the size or kind it is. Houses close to the markets are prime realestate so you don’t have to drag or carry your goods home since most of the passages are too thin for a cart but are ok for a wheelbarrows. The colonies have sectors because many different kinds of moura can make up a colony and so the royal moura who leave the courts to live with us, each court has its own aesthetic and they still like to settle in the part of the city that reminds them of home and each areas compete to see who can build the prettiest buildings or people compete to see who can build the prettiest houses or most decorated areas of town. Usually the bigger the house- the more kids you want and some want to get as far away from their parents as possible and some want to stay as close as possible but mostly location matters if you want to set up a shop, most places, the bottom floor is the shop and the upper floors are the house and moura’s number 1 product is food, food of all kinds there’s entire centers that are hawker centers near the heart of the city where you can go and get dumplings and noodles from the orient- curries from the spice district or all these different kinds of ales from a brewery or even colony specific foods because each colony has it’s own unique dishes it created upon it’s being built, that’s why merchants come from far and wide to sell food stuffs and especially spices of all kinds.” You explained. 

“So what are your preferences for food?” He asked. 

“Honestly I love it all, but I gotta say seafood is really high up there, that crab and those scallops and shrimp especially” You answered with a fond smile which he returned as his face turned towards you. 

“So what’s your preference for a house?” He asked thoughtfully. Oh. Oh gods. Fuck. Your KNEES just got week and you weren’t even on them as a thought of how magnificent he would look building you a house danced in your head. You wondered if he would ever consider leaving the business of warchief behind to live in Suchi, if he would be happy there. Or would you be happy somewhere else? Perhaps, in his clan, on the lovely river with the sound of the sea always in your ears. 

“I don’t know, honestly I like a little bit of everything. But having been away from home, I miss my family like crazy, but being away from them has given me opportunities to experience things I probably never would have. I would have never known I had family in the oceans if I hadn’t been on a boat.” You answered and you could see the guilt Brock tried to cover over in his own expression.  

“Wait you have family down there?” He asked.

“Oh yeah, it was my grandma that pulled me from the hold. She lives in a nice cave, she’s lined one of her walls with sunken ships and keeps a really big blind shark as a pet and a volcanic vent in the cave keeps things warm and cozy. And it was she who introduced me to the dragons, Yingshen and Pantaou and they are very much old oriental water dragons, guarding a huge nest of eggs that sits on top of the vents and there are huge, just huge schools of fish that swim around the rich waters and the floor is just crawling with crabs and huge lobsters but because it’s so close to the nest, there’s no way to get at any of them because the eggs themselves are delicate and if a crab pod were to land say on an egg, I’m pretty sure they would damage the egg and those dragons would not hesitate to kill whoever was responsible for putting their fishing stuff over the nest.” You answered. 

“So what does your grandma look like?” He asked because he had had the most horrific nightmare last night of a huge siren trying to eat him. 

“Oh she’s probably two to three times as big as this ship, if not bigger, the deeper things live and the older they get the bigger they get apparently, although my grandma was the only really big siren I met, all the others were my size but they lived in shallower waters in coral reefs and stuff, of course me coming down there was a big deal because after I made that deal with the water dragons, my grandma took me to meet the rest of the family and I got to meet aunts and uncles and a whole school of cousins and all their friends and they got a clam that is- I shit you not- is as big as this bed and they cut it up for all of us to eat and it was really, really delicious, like I’m pretty sure anyone else would die trying to harvest them but man oh man were they good!” You retold with a fond smile. 

“So what made you come back?” He asked. 

“Well, actually I had a dream my grandma was trying to eat you for enslaving me and she’s big enough and mad enough right now to do both and I wouldn’t put it past her, like part of me really just wants to get you back to shore as soon as possible and I can not begin to tell you the panic I would feel if you were to leave my side right now, it’s ridiculous.” You explained as he rolled over onto his side to face you to listen attentively to you and his face was just fond and adoring as he considered you. Grateful that your connection was strong enough to share dreams now. 

“So what kind of beds do they have down there?” He asked, wanting to avoid the subject of your tethering, hoping that now that it wasn’t on you anymore that you would hopefully never bring it up again and hoping that now that you were no longer tethered, that it would be left in the past and that he would hopefully never have to admit what it really was. The fact that it came off proved that you now loved him. It wouldn’t have come off otherwise. You were his. And that’s all that mattered. Everything would be ok and together the two of you could solve all the problems that came against you as a couple. He would happily build you the biggest and best house in the clan, he would even model it after your own home if it meant you wouldn’t get homesick. He would even follow any and all moura courting rituals to make sure you felt that he did right by you and that you felt he earned your love and affections and respect. This hadn’t been nearly as hard as he thought it was gonna be. Now he was just going to enjoy the fruits of the now established relationship. 

“Um really big sea sponges and there was a cloth down there that they used for curtains and stuff and it felt like silk but not quite.” You answered, hoping he wouldn’t ask if you actually slept on one. 

“Sea silk.” He explained. 

“What’s sea silk?” You asked, hoping to distract him by veering the conversation away from the subject. 

“It’s a cloth that the merpeople make, I don’t know how they do it but it washes up on shore a lot but if it dries out, it shatters like dried out kelp but as long as it’s wet and stays wet- it’s fine.” He explained. 

“Huh.” You murmured as you stored that away mentally. 

“Well it’s good that you were with family, they took care of you, I thought whatever had taken you had eaten you shortly after.” He revealed as he scooted closer to you and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you to himself again possessively which you didn’t mind one bit. 

“No,” you shook your head. . 

“So what kind of house do you want?” He asked and your cheeks blushed harder as your smile got giddy. 

“Well I guess that depends,” you began. 

“On?” He asked as his nose danced and encircled yours, his lips so torturously close to yours you could almost taste him as you gulped as lust started to haze your senses as your breathing started to labor again. 

“What I can build you?” He offered and the thought melted your heart and you couldn’t take it anymore, you kissed him, hard and murmured an ‘uh huh’ in confirmation as your leg hiked over his hip, your core already dripping in anticipation as it grinded down over his hardening cock before it was hard enough to spear you before you rolled him over to ride him, savoring the feeling of being joined with him as your moura marks lit up and pulsed again as you watched as his tattoos did the same while his eyes drank you in and watched as your lower belly bulged ever so slightly again as he started to fantasize what you’d be like pregnant with his child and it nearly sent him over the edge as he grabbed your hips and drove up into you as you had to brace yourself on his chest again, feeling his heart pound under your palm like a steady drum. 

“Gods I love you,” Brock professed and you just beamed before you bent over and kissed him hungrily so you wouldn’t have to answer if your mouth was already preoccupied because returning that didn’t feel...completely honest. Now that the shackle wasn’t on you anymore, you could sense you could lie again. at least partially but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to be dishonest in this moment. You didn’t want to ruin it and instead you sped up, using every move you had to get him to cum as quickly as possible as your own climax quickly approached as his fingers sunk into your hips, to the point the softness dimpled around his fingertips as he helped move you on him before he rolled you over and really drove into you with much more power than you possessed and it was exactly what you needed to cum, your moura marks getting so bright both of you had to close your eyes to keep you both from going blind.  

Once your orgasm finally snapped and flooded you with euphoria and Brock had emptied himself again and you both rested and recovered and basked in the afterglow. 

“I love you so much.” He repeated. 

“I love you too.” You professed, his bright happy smile making the half truth seem like a whole one as he kissed you sweetly. 

“I love you more.” He returned. 

“Probably, yeah,” you giggled as he snorted a laugh. 

“Well, I’m a patient man, I don’t mind proving it to you every day until your love is as strong as mine.” He insisted. 

“That’s gonna be a long time, maybe even a lifetime.” You returned, keeping your tone light and teasing. 

“One worth living if it’s with you.” He returned confidently and you hugged him to hide your own guilty expression. Shit. Did you really want to live the rest of your life with him? Would you be happy? Was he really your mate? Well your moura marks shone that it was but right now- you weren’t so sure. 

“Ok,” you whispered in his ear as you kissed his cheek and his shoulder and buried all of your doubt before you heard Cugas knock on Brock’s door. 

“Brock! Get your ass up! We got a problem!” He hollered. 

“What’s wrong?” Brock hollered back. “What the fuck are you doing in Yana’s…” Cugas began before he opened your door to see Brock quickly covering both of you with the blanket and shield your body with his. 

“Hey! Hey! Knock bro.” Brock complained as Cugas just stood there, his eyes about to pop out of his head as his jaw hit the floor before he quickly slammed the door shut, splintering the door and the door frame as you and Brock dissolved into giggles before he got off you as your moura cloak became an outfit once more before you wrapped a blanket around himself as he looked at his still sopping wet clothes on the floor. 

“Go and get some dry clothes.” You gently urged him before he agreed and took your blanket with him and left your room to see Cugas pacing the hallway about to have a crises as Brock quickly went from your room to his own as you walked over to where the chain had been thrown and picked it up, keeping it away from you just in case it decided to reach out to grab you again like it had a life of it’s own like it was some kind of venemous snake. 

“What the hell?” Cugas asked as he came into your room to see you holding the chain as far away from you as you could.

“No way,” Cugas shook his head in disbelief as you laughed mirthlessly. 

“So what’s the problem?” You asked. 

“Uh, it’s just an entire school of merpeople and selkies and sirens as big as the fleet circling the ship demanding to see you.” Cugas explained. 

“Shit, make sure Brock doesn’t go near any windows and doesn’t come to the top deck or he’ll be snatched off the deck and drowned!” You quickly dropped the chain and pushed past him as you rushed down the hall. 

“Why?!” Cugas called after you. 

“Because they’re really here to kill him!” You answered over your shoulder as you sprouted wings once more and flew out of the first door and flew out of the ship like a bat out of hell before you swam over the water in the eye of the hurricane, watching as everything stopped swimming around the ship and swam so they were under you like a moth to a flame. 

“Well that’s the first thing to make sense all morning.” Cugas murmured to himself before Brock came out of his room, barely tucking his shirt into his pants. 

“Who’s here to kill me?” He asked before Cugas grabbed him and shoved him into his first mate’s room across the hall on the interior of the ship. 

“Everyone apparently.” Cugas answered. 

“What are we doing in here?” Brock asked. 

“Yana asked me to keep you away from the windows and off the top deck because apparently there’s a giant fucking school of selkies, mermaids and sirens, giant ones, circling the boat that have been demanding to see Yana and right now all the crew is hiding below deck because they will snatch anyone off the deck, I’ve had to knock out several of my crew so didn’t they actually listen to the siren’s song and jump overboard.” Cugas explained as he lit a lantern. “And in the meantime you’re fucking her?! What the fuck?!” Cugas demanded.  

“Hey, the cuff came off and she asked me to.” Brock answered, a love drunk haze oh his face as his tattoos started to come alive and pulse again and Cugas could see he was starting to get hard again. 

“Yesterday she was ready to set you on fire and today she’s fucking you, what the hell happened between those two points, girls just don’t flip that big of a switch that quick.” Cugas argued disbelievingly. 

“Well she met her grandma and met her oceanic family and missed me and had a dream I was in danger and came back.” Brock answered. 

“So because she had a bad dream- she came back and forgave you for enslaving her for two weeks and promptly emptied your balls?” Cugas repeated. 

“Ew, not like that.” Brock frowned in disgust even though, yes, that was an accurate description of the events. 

“Bro, you know I love you like a brother and I have your back, but there is a really, really big piece of the puzzle that’s missing and you’re too love drunk to notice.” Cugas argued. 

“Look the shackle is off! That’s proof enough!” Brock argued. 

“Well then it’s faulty and broken.” Cugas argued. 

“No it’s not!” Brock argued. 

“Did she say it? Did she actually say the words ‘I love you’?” Cugas asked. 

“Yes!” Brock insisted. 

“Did she say it first or did you say it to her and she replied with that?” Cugas asked. “And was your dick in her when she said it? Was she close to orgasm or just had an orgasm? Because you know as well as I do that afterglow makes you say shit you don’t really mean, or better yet, was the shackle on her when she said it?” Cugas pointed out.  

“She said it, I believe her, that’s all there is to it!” Brock argued. 

“Brock! Bro! Actually think with the brain that’s in your head and not with this.” Cugas said as he slapped at Brock’s hard on as Brock quickly backed up so that he wouldn’t connect with it. 

“Bro, something is wrong. I am telling you I feel it in my soul. Something is majorly off and this isn’t adding up! I think she made friends down there and they’re out to do whatever it takes to keep her, she told me to keep you safe which means she knows you’re in danger and is protecting you because even though that tether isn’t physically on her- it’s still active.” 

“If that’s the case- she still can’t lie then, so she was telling the truth when she said she loved me.” Brock insisted as Cugas growled in frustration. 

“Fine, then believe her, but watch her, let her prove she loves with acts other than sex.” Cugas insisted before he poked his head out of the door and called a crew member to watch Brock so Cugas could go up on deck and see you with his own eyes as he saw you hovering over the surface of the water towards the middle of the eye where the winds and waves were the most calm since there was a current that all the boats stayed in just inside the eye that was traveling with the current of air above it so that meant that one side of the boat had rain and winds while the other had sunshine but a constant breeze in the direction of the hurricane, the water under where you were hovering however was boiling with merpeople as you talked with them before he saw heavenly moura and angels alike flying down from the cyclone and grab you up and fly up into the eye storm and talk to you themselves for a bit as they completely surrounded you before he heard something on the other side of the ship before he turned to see a huge hand come up from the water before it started to reach for him which made him scream which got your attention before you lit up like you were pure fire as you flew across the eye to get to the hand. 

“Shit! Grandma no!” You screamed as you dove and collided with the hand, pushing it back the other way until it fell back into the water,  leaving a trail of fire in your wake as the hand closed around you before the actual angels dove down into the water before they were swarmed by selkies, merfolk and sirens as Cugas just watched helplessly from the side of his ship, not knowing where to look because obviously it was all out war down there. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck!” He cursed as he got a harpoon and got one of the rowboats ready as he called for his crew to come and help lower him down. 

“Captain, you can’t!” They argued. 

“Do not disobey my order! Lower me down you can have a mutiny while I’m off the ship!” Cugas roared before they followed his order and lowered him down. 

Meanwhile you had flown out to sea, hoping to lure everyone away from the ship, trying to greet them happily as they all clamored for your attention, asking you why you had left. 

“I was worried about my friends.” You managed to answer them as they all reached for you but before you could touch any of them, royal heavenly moura and angels came down to you. 

“Benyana!” They called making you turn your head up before your angel reflex kicked in again as you felt yourself float up to them as they swarmed you too and flew up with you. 

“Yes?” You answered. 

“Oh your mother will be most pleased, we must get you home! Your mother came and pleaded to the heavenly moura king to help look for you and you actually came to us! This is the best sign! You’re unharmed, but tethered still.” A young angel said as he came and reached out before an invisible tether glowed around you, it was wrapped and tied around your neck and your body as it suddenly halted you from going any further up into the sky which you were grateful for. 

“Wait! Before you take it off, tell me exactly what it is.” You pleaded before the angels inspected it as the heavenly moura inspected your wings, happy to see such a glorious and perfectly symetrical pair you had- gorgeous blue and green shimmering to your feathers showing off your siren heritage as other feathers were shimmering diamond and gold and platinum while all the feathers had opalescent and pearlescent quality to them. I sign of greatness indeed and you were quite gorgeous. Your aesthetic was greater than even their own, and they were royal, supposed to be the most magnificent in the heavens as the young princes grinned at each other, happy that they hadn’t been pressured into marrying anyone yet because that you were obviously a bride worth waiting for, much less fighting for. 

“It’s a “truth, love and protection in all things” tether. It keeps you from being dishonest but it’s very weak, here, let us take it off.” They said before the angels pulled at it and it came off and all at once you felt as free as a bird and not tethered anymore and you expected to feel all those affections for Brock reverse but they didn’t. They remained which made you realize that your feelings for him were genuine and wholly your own. “Can I have that back, just in case, it might come in handy later.” You requested before they gave it back to you, now that it was off it was simply a length of silver rope.  

“Come, you need to have your angelic ability awakened.” The young angel said before he hugged and kissed you and in that kiss you felt more power than you had ever felt in your life come alive and start to pulse through your veins as your body grew bright as your muscle tone and fantastic body condition came back and a strength you had never felt before flooded your body, you felt you had the power to start flying in the opposite direction of the hurricane and it would stop and swirl in the new direction to follow you. That and Mr. Angel was particularly handsome and a really good kisser and it stole your breath away and made you feel lighter than air. 

“What did you do?” You asked as he pulled away, his own eyes hazed with love drunkenness now. 

“Well first, I’m Suriel, your grandfather Ramiel is my mentor, he told me to keep a close eye on you as he flew your mother home.” He answered. 

“My mother came to the hurricane to ask for the heavenly moura’s help in finding me?” You asked. 

“Yes, she was here not even a day ago. My name is Prince Cordene, my father is Crown Prince Delmal who is taking the throne this summer. When the festival ends tomorrow, I will lead the charge of fifty legions to escort you home.” He explained as he took your hand and pulled you away from Suriel to have you to himself before he kissed your hand and looked at you like you were the greatest treasure he had ever laid eyes on. 

“And I am also leading a hundred legions of angels to lead you home as well.” Suriel answered as he pulled you back to him as Cordene frowned, not wanting to be outdone. 

“Awesome.” You smiled happily before you heard Cugas’ scream. 

“Shit! Grandma no!” You screamed as you immediately left the angels and heavenly moura and came to Cugas’ rescue as you flew as fast as you could, your new angel heritage helping immensely, leaving fire in your wake as you flew into her palm and pushed her hand back and then her hand closed around you and pulled you to the ocean as you changed into a siren the moment you touched the ocean, the change being effortless and not hurting at all. 

“Grandma! What were you doing! You nearly hurt Cugas! Cugas is a friend, not food! Brock is in the center of the ship and guarded. And no you can’t crush the ship to get at him.” You insisted before you heard the merfolk start to battle the angels that started to dive down after you as you swam to investigate.

“Stop it!” You screamed, your voice enhanced by your siren form and your angelic heritage as the sound made everyone stop and cover their ears as the scream then traveled and broke all the windows on the ships as even the crew on the ships had to cover their ears and those at the bottom of the cyclone faultered. 

“Stop fighting! You’re fighting each other for no reason!” You argued as you swam over to them and broke them up before Prince Oriles came to investigate, trident in hand as he stopped and stared at you in awe, you were now by far the most magnificent goddess divine he had ever seen before he noticed the scene. 

“Enough.” He said as with a wave of his trident the angels were one side and the merpeople were on the other with you in the middle as he swam around you to get a better look at you. 

“I’m Crown Prince Oriles, what seems to be the trouble?” He asked you. 

“I was just about to ask that. Seriously? What in the world is going on?” You asked them. 

“One at a time.” Prince Oriles said before Suriel came forward. 

“This is Princess Benyana Auksa, she is the granddaughter of King Tehnore of the heavenly moura realm, but she is also the granddaughter of Supreme Chancellor Ramiel serving King Madan in the Crystal Realm in the crystal heavens, she is a daughter of Suchi, a mixed moura colony, two weeks ago a clan of orcs, ruled by a moura orc led an attack against Suchi, she led the counterstrike, she turned the tide of the attack and gained victory but in the commotion, she was captured and then enslaved by the moura orc who led the charge and he tethered her to himself using an enchanted silver anklet and an invisible curse which she is now in the possession of.” He explained as you pulled it out of a little purse as you presented it to him. 

“Detestable.” Prince Oriles scrunched up his face in disgust as everyone else nodded in agreement as you felt they all collectively looked at the ship and you could sense they were calculating how to wreck it. 

“Ok, that moura orc has no idea he’s part moura, someone in Suchi stole his moura cloak when he was an infant and has repeated that heinous crime with all of his siblings and even his mother and her sister and all of her children. Without those cloaks they are powerless, they don’t have any of the gifts moura’s do and restoring to them their birthright and give them justice is now my priority, my own two week enslavement is nothing compared to the 34 years they’ve had to endure without their birthright. It is my responsibility as a daughter to Suchi to clear it of this dishonor and exposing the real wrong do-er in all of this.” You insisted. 

“Even if that culprit is as close as a family member?” Suriel asked. 

“You say that as if you know exactly who it is?” You challenged before you swam up to him. 

“Is the culprit either my father or any of my brothers?” You asked as he grimaced. 

“Worse.” Suriel gulped. 

“How much worse? My mother or any of my sisters?” You demanded as all he did was swallow as his eyes got wide. “Are you fucking kidding me? Who is it?!” You demanded, the water around you starting to boil. 

“TriKeng is Rhoslan and her sister Kalnu’s father, it was he that took their cloaks and took all of their children’s cloaks to bury the fact that the only thing his seed will sprout in is an orc womb.” He answered. 

“And where are the cloaks?” You smirked, your hunch was right. 

“Buried deep under the ancient tree, impossible to dig up because the three has been growing around them for so long. He has used fae magic to imbed them in the tree.” Suriel answered. 

“And that tree is ancient and blessed and the whole colony would be against me destroying it to retrieve them.” You realized. TriKeng had wisdom and age on his side and many things working in his favor. But you were undeterred. 

“But back to you dearest.” Your grandmother interjected. “Your majesty, she’s also the daughter of my son Rhen, who is a siren halfing I bore when I lived on land about 50 years ago. She has also obviously inherited the siren heritage as well, and only last night she finally got to meet her oceanic family but was pulled away because of that damn tether. Which when her father Rhen came looking for her in the oceans only yesterday, that tether nearly strangled her and choked her when he got too close, what kind of monster puts such a thing on another creature? Especially one as precious, magnificent and treasured as she is?” She demanded trying to focus the blame back on Brock. 

“True.” Prince Oriles conceded. 

“So. Where is her captor?” He asked. 

“On that boat.” She pointed to the ship before you put the tether away before he lifted his trident to destroy it. 

“Wait, don’t do destroy the ship!” You requested as you reached out and pulled the trident back as he looked at you strangely as he noticed the trident obeyed you. The trident was only handable by royalty and this was proof you were of royal blood and therefore more than worthy to be his queen and his trident took to you well. 

“The ship’s captain is a good friend of mine, he’s been fighting for my freedom since he laid eyes on me and his crew is good, the whole fleet is great and are just innocent fishers in all this. Please don’t destroy all of them just to destroy one man.” You pleaded. 

“So mild and kind despite the abuse you suffered.” He cooed as he reached up and held your face in his hand, marveling at the softness of it. Softer than seasilk itself as your whole body just glowed with untapped power and potential. 

“I am the one wronged, therefore let the vengeance be mine and mine alone to get. Besides, I’m a much bigger fan of making love instead of war.” You countered, knowing that was the best way to wrap him around your finger as he was hooked like any good fish on the line. 

“Besides, right now, I feel my home is in Suchi unless a greater one can be offered to me. For now, bless all who wish to- to follow me home, and if my angelic and heavenly moura brethren will help me, let Suchi be the host of this year’s summer solstice festival.” You offered which appeased everyone before you broke the surface to tell the heavenly moura who were hovering over the surface of the water which they eagerly took before they kissed you excitedly and then left to rejoin the others in the cyclone before two doors opened up underwater to reveal an elven prince and a fae prince. 

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ You thought to yourself before you swam up to them. 

“Hello,” you greeted as both of them looked at you in awe. 

“Are you here to take me home?” You asked as they both nodded dumbly, unable to really speak because you were that bewitching as you swam even closer to them so that you could see both of them out of their portal doorways at the same time. 

“Well there’s no need, I already made a deal with the Hurricane Breaker Clan, when this fleet sails back to their harbor, they’ll escort her home.” Your grandmother revealed as a chill traveled down your spine. Fuck. The enemy of my enemy is my friend- well played grandma. 

“Yes, but when I do get home, I just asked the heavenly moura and the angels here if they would convince the elders of Suchi to hold the summer solstice there, it’s a moura coming of age festival and it will be mine this summer. If you wish for a chance to court me, court me as a moura first then as you wish to second, I swear I’ll give you an equal footing with everyone else.” You promised as both of them nodded dumbly. 

“Now, go and make ready for my arrival.” You urged them before you blew a kiss at them and that was more than enough for them both to close the doors and retreat out of there along with the angels before you addressed the merfolk that had remained. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a captain to reassure that he and his fleet aren’t in danger, and it would mean a lot to me if you didn’t try to harm them or the ship or the fleet, actually, you know what? Grandma, if you could go to Pantaou and Yingshen, and request that when the hurricane dies down, I’ll have the fleet drop the nets, if all of you would be oh so kind as to steer the various schools of fish into the nets and if you could get all the best crabs into the crab pods and stuff them full and make sure they don’t disturb the water dragon nest, and grandma if you could ask the dragons to just ice the holds for the fish. I want them to stay frozen long enough that we can go straight up the river to the foot of the mountain and have someone bring a crane and we can pull the blocks of iced fish right out of the boats and load them onto carts and I want the river deep and wide enough that the boats can sail right up the river with ease, Suchi has never had good seafood and they’ll need it for the festival especially. I want the Stormbreaker Clan to have all the proceeds from the sales of the fish. But if Hurricane Breaker clan will ensure their safe arrival and that no one from Stormbreaker will be harmed at all. Since Stormbreaker itself was led by someone who was simply misguided. A mistake that shouldn’t cost them everything, especially their lives, the sins of one shouldn’t endanger everyone else.” You insisted. 

“Consider it done.” Prince Oriles agreed. 

“Thank you so much.” You cooed to everyone as you swam around them, kissing all of them sweetly, grinning when they seemed to fall under a spell you weren’t knowingly casting but in this moment, you were going to use everything at your disposal to protect Brock and his family and clan.  

“Now, go get ready for the party of your lives in just a couple of short months.” You cooed before they all all swam away except for Prince Oriles and your grandma. 

“Grandma, was one of your terms to Hurricane Breaker Clan that they would feed you Brock?” You questioned. 

“You’re very astute.” She praised. “Well, you must fill your hunger differently, because Brock is mine and I will exact my vengeance how I see fit, I’m certainly powerful enough to exact it myself. Trust me to do this at least for myself.” You pleaded. 

“Oh come on,” she complained before you got infront of her face. 

“Grandma, swear to me you won’t harm him, or anyone else from Stormbreaker. Please.” You pleaded. 

“Fine, I swear.” She swore. 

“Thank you.” You thanked her before she swam down to meet with the dragons. 

“Till we meet again Prince Oriles.” You dismissed him but he didn’t take the hint, he just reached out and wrapped an arm around you and kissed you deeply as you kissed him back, hoping that would be enough to get rid of him. And while he tasted really good, it still just wasn’t quite right either. 

“Ok, enough, enough, I need to get back to keep my hosts from worrying too much about me, but I look forward to seeing you again soon.” You cooed before you gave him another parting kiss and made sure he was gone and out of sight before you swam over to Cugas’ little row boat and he nearly shot you with the harpoon before you put your hands up in surrender. 

“Woah, don’t shoot, it’s just me,” you offered before you climbed into the boat and changed back into yourself, spitting all the water that had been in your lungs over the side of the boat before you changed back. 

“Are you ok?” He asked worriedly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just stopped a world war.” You answered as you wrung out your hair. 

“Is that what that was?” He asked as he started to row back to the ship. 

“Yeah, so, uh, we’re both blessed and fucked.” You leveled at him. 

“Yeah, I figured. Brethren?” He mused. 

“Ha! Oh yeah, almost all of them in fact, so come to find out, my mother somehow has two fathers and a third adopted one, one is a very high ranking angel in the crystal heavens that encircle the planet, her other father is King Tehnore of heavenly moura who they both have finally, after 45 years of her life have finally come forward to claim her however Elder TriKeng has been my adopted grandfather ever since we moved to Suchi. So now once this festival hurricane dies tomorrow, fifty legions of heavenly moura and a hundred legions of angels are going to escourt this fleet all the way back to the harbor and then back to Suchi.” You informed him. 

“Fuck.” Cugas gawfed. 

“Oh but that’s not all, Suchi is going to host this summer solstice. And not just all the mountain moura will be in attendance, all the angels, heavenly moura, elves, fae and merfolk are coming because now Prince Oriles down there is going to gift every merperson the ability to come out of the water and be on dry land for as long as they want to to also attend the solstice in Suchi.” You revealed. 

“Holy shit.” Cugas blinked in surprise. 

“Yep, and now because I’m now the claimed granddaughter of a king of heavenly moura that makes me a princess and because I’m also part angel and part siren, I’m now apparently the most wanted bride everyone has ever seen in their lives and no man, well other than you- can look at me without practically falling in heads over heels for me and all of them want Brock dead because he’s the only thing between them and me. Do you have any idea what I had to do to keep him alive?!” You complained which made Cugas grin as he rowed. 

“I can’t even imagine.” Cugas answered. 

“Brock isn’t gonna like this but it’s the only way to keep him alive, much less your clan alive, one heavenly moura could burn the clan to the dirt, fifty thousand of them...much less a hundred thousand angels they could scorch the continent a million times over, there’s no way Stormbreaker would survive.” You fretted as you just sat there and held your head in your hands as he rowed the boat back to the ship. 

“So you said something about blessed or was that the blessed part?” He asked. 

“No, that was the fucked part. The blessed part is once the hurricane dies- drop the nets and the sirens will herd all the fish you can candle into the nets and drop the pods and they’ll place them around the dragon nest and personally herd all the lobsters and crab into them. And then once everything is on board, the dragons will ice the holds because I know for certain that Suchi and the other mountain colonies would give you all the gold you can stand for that fish, all we need is a way to pick the iced blocks out of the ship and put them on carts and by the time the carts make it up the pass, the ice should melt enough that the fish will be easy to get and easy to sell and no one will get sick eating spoiled seafood.” You explained. 

“Oh that’s a genius move!” He praised. 

“Thank you.” You smiled. 

“Wait, that was your idea?” He asked. 

“Yeah, while they’re so eager to please me for some unknown reason- might as well maneuver things to the best possible advantage. Besides, I have someone in Suchi I want you to meet.” You grinned mischievously. 

“Oh yeah? Who?” He asked curiously. 

“My brother Adris.” You grinned. 

“How much is he like you?” He asked a goofy grin started to spread on his face. 

“More than he likes to admit, but you offer him my room on your ship and offer to take him to the sea to meet his oceanic family while you fish again or better yet, once we’re in Suchi, you feed him seafood like you fed me seafood and he’ll be trying to choke on your cock for dessert.” You revealed. 

“Is he as pretty as you?” Cugas asked eagerly. 

“Oh, much prettier. And you are so his type. Huge powerful muscles, captain of your fleet and a heart of gold and the fact that you’ve been fighting for my freedom since day one is going to go a very long way and your sympathy and empathy and easy going nature when you’re off the ships and in private are going to be huge draws for him. Like he’ll teach you all the dances for the solstice and I’m pretty sure he’d like to stake a claim before the solstice even starts so you can’t be stolen away by a prettier face with finer dance moves. By the way are you a bottom or a top? Because he’s a bottom.” You revealed. 

“Top.” Cugas couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Yes,” you cheered, having wanted to play matchmaker with Cugas since you met him as he managed to row the boat back to the ship and the crew was able to bring the boat back up to the deck and once you got on the deck you went back to your room where you laid out the rope and the chain, just looking at them though made your anger rage before you went to Brock’s room to get your blanket back, grateful he wasn’t in there and cleaned up the rest of your room, hanging up the wet clothing and towels so they would dry out as your side of the ship was facing the storm before Brock slipped into the room. 

“Oh good, you’re safe,” Brock blew out a breath of relief before he hugged you from behind and while you wanted to enjoy it, your anger started to boil before you pushed him off of you.

“Get off!” You grunted as you pushed him away, a feat made much easier with your returned strength and new abilities before you got his wet clothes off the line and pushed them into his chest. 

“What, I don’t, I don’t understand…” He answered as he looked at you in confusion. 

“I am so angry at you right now and I need time and space to think ok?!” You snapped at him as you started to aggressively clean your room, a trait you learned from your mother. 

“Well, let’s talk it out. We can figure this out.” He insisted as he got a chair and sat down and you wanted to rip his head off of his body but instead you grabbed the silver rope and the silver belt and lead and threw them at him. 

“Tell me exactly what those fucking things are!” You roared but he caught them before they could collide with his face. 

“It doesn’t ma- ah!” He flinched as he dropped them because they burned him. 

“Oh, this works.” You grinned before you took the chain and wrapped it around his wrist before it tied itself snugly. 

“For once, don’t lie to me, tell me the truth and the whole truth, what are these things?” You demanded as the chain got long enough that you could walk across the room to get a chair before you sat down far enough away that he was out of reach. 

“They’re…” He began as he tried to take it off but it just tied itself around him like a snake and you just shook your head. 

“Wow, you don’t really love me do you? Because if you really did, you’d be honest with me without me having use magical means.” You spat as he just looked wounded that you would say such a thing. 

“I do love you!” He insisted. 

“Then why did you enslave me?!” You demanded. 

“Because there was no other way to keep you!” He finally confessed.  

“Look, I was... am…, fuck, still very desperate ok? You’re a moura, the most angelic being to walk the face of the earth and I know I don’t deserve you in my life and the world thinks that orcs are barbaric stupid meatheads who only know war and fighting and that’s not true! My clan is young and small and we’re trying to abandon the old ways so that we can embrace a new way of living that doesn’t involve us risking our lives for things like food or clothing.” He explained. 

“So how does enslaving me help with any of that?” You asked. 

“Because you’re my mate! Mates are supposed to walk with you through life and you’re supposed to help and support each other and all anyone ever sees when they look at me is either someone to fear or someone to manipulate. All the women in my clan all want me just so that they can be warchieftess, everyone outside of my clan wants nothing to do with me because I’m an orc and my people have been the enemy of everyone for all of history and I can’t be Warchief without a warcheiftess or even a warlord by my side and my dad is getting old and I’m running out of time and our enemies are growing stronger but we’re growing weaker and I need you to help me and I know I fucked up. I know I did, and I will always regret the way I did things with you until the day I die. But this was the only way I knew how to even get to you because you’re special! You’re supposed to be different from everyone else! You have magic and abilities and power that I can only dream of and ever since the Shaman showed me a vision of you I haven’t been able to hardly eat or sleep or anything until you could be a part of my life and it was like I was possessed and I knew if I didn’t get to you sooner than later, before the summer solstice that you were going to choose someone else and I’d be lost and my clan would implode or dissolve and our territory would be lost and we would all just end up being slaves to others and I can’t let that happen, my family has worked too hard their whole lives just for everything to be lost because Suchi wouldn’t even open it’s gates to us. Every successful kingdom has a moura ruling by their side and they’re all just...so happy and their kingdoms thrive and peace envelops them and they have no problems and all they know is ease and success.” He explained, oh if only he knew the treachery within the royal moura households. 

“I went to the Shaman who told me all about the moura to begin with and he told me that my soulmate was a woman by the name of Benyana who was more beautiful than the moon and the stars in the heavens or the sunrise and sunset and he gave me a vision of you and of us and how happy we would all be and a vision of what our clan would become with you as warchieftess and how we would handle each problem together and find solutions and that you were a daughter of Suchi, a moura who would unlock all those secrets and gifts and would bless the clan and we would be the first of the orcs to lead a new way of life and that the clan would reap from Suchi. All I had to do was go to the gates and that you would come to me and all I would have to do is reach out and touch you and you would be mine.” He explained. 

“So I went and I was stopped at the base of the mountain and the merchants stopped me from even climbing the trail and the other orc clans thought I was a scout for an army and nearly killed me before I had to flee for my life and so I came back home and regrouped and went back five times, each time, the merchants would send word to Suchi and the gate would be closed by the time we got up there and then we met with the elders who cursed us before they would even hear us out. And I just had had enough, so we surrounded the city at the base of the mountain so they couldn’t warn Suchi of our arrival and the shaman gave us all magic spells in glass jars, all we had to do was break the jars when we were at the gate and weapons big enough and strong enough to break the walls would come out and when we broke the jars, trebuchets came spilling out and piles of meteorite balls and so we attacked.” He revealed. 

“And I knew it would take longer for you to like me, let alone love me but it was the only way I knew how to get to you and when I heard your voice giving orders, I froze and I nearly died but I knew your voice like my own and when you came out of the flames at me I knew that that was my chance so I called to you and you just hovered there as a bird so I figured you were just a shapeshifting moura and once I had you, I ordered the retreat and when I got back I went to the Shaman again and he tied the silver tether around the silver cuff and chain and it disappeared and told me to put this on you and that it would keep you with me and it protect both of us and would come off when you loved me and when it came off, you wouldn’t fly away, you would stay with me because you wanted to.” He revealed and your heart broke. 

“Do you have any idea what the ramifications of taking me will be?” You questioned your sternness softened considerably.  

“Well I figured you’re gonna be resentful for a while.” He admitted. 

“Yes, that’s true, but this is now so much bigger than just you and me Brock. Look. I’m not just a normal run of the mill moura, since I left, my mother went back to the heavens where she proved out to be the king’s daughter. Which makes her a princess and makes me a princess and therefore- worth something to them, to all of them, apparently. Tomorrow, when the hurricane festival ends- fifty thousand heavenly moura will surround this ship and escort me home. If that wasn’t all, my mother has two fathers- don’t ask me how, I don’t know, but my mother’s second father is somehow an angel, who is a grand chancellor of the crystal heavens, who is sending a hundred thousand angels to also escort me home. One heavenly moura could burn the clan to ashes. One crystal angel can destroy the continent, they are sending enough fire power to destroy the planet thousands, if not millions of times over. And if that wasn’t all, my grandmother, my father’s mother, the giant siren three times as big as the ship? She made a deal behind my back with Hurricane Breaker Clan who will be at the docks waiting for us, who will also be tasked with escorting me home and then she demanded that once I’m home, they escort you back to her by whatever means necessary where she gets to eat you and I can tell you now there isn’t a place you go and run away from or sail away to that you won’t be found. And if that wasn’t enough, someone- if I had to guess, Elder TriKeng, my adopted grandfather- has also tasked a Fae Prince and an Elven Prince to come to my rescue too and they’ve been searching all the realms and found me in the oceans just now, each of them has an army a hundred times bigger than Hurricane Breaker. And if that wasn’t enough, I now have a merman prince who controls the literal oceans trying to court me too. You may have captured me but there is no way you get to keep me and live.” You implored as you scooted closer to him to grasp his hands. “Do you know what I had to do to just get everyone to agree to not kill you immediately? I had to agree to give everyone a shot at courting me, and I literally had to pull my grandma’s hand back from crushing this ship and drowning the crew just to kill you and I had to pull back Prince Oriles’ trident back from destroying the ship to kill you too. I may be strong and powerful but even I can’t fight all of them off. I’m sorry. It’s literally you against the rest of the world for me at this point. And I know for certain that one wrong move on my part- everything turns to shit and everyone dies. Fae’s don’t take rejection well like they would murder everyone in my family, in Suchi and in your clan if they find anything offensive because Fae have thier own set of rules and they are harsh and deadly. I had to agree to at least court all of them just so they didn’t kill you or at the very least the rest of your clan.” You revealed as Brock just stared at you, an unreadable expression on his face before he turned and thought for a moment. 

“Is there any way you can get- in writing, the rules and steps associated with each way each of them courts? Is there any way you can set out the definitions and parameters to be courted? Like no matter the outcome- none of the competitors can harm either you or your family or your colony or the other competitors, make it as fair of a game as possible? But one that I can play and hopefully win?” He proposed as you blinked in surprise at him before you promptly launched yourself into his arms and kissed him all over which made him laugh as he held you, the chain easily falling from him as he held you and kissed you back and hugged you tight. Still, just so happy you came back to him. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok with that and keep your cool? Because I’m pretty sure part of every courting ritual is a coupling session.” You winced. 

“It’s your body to do with as you please, as long as your heart stays mine, I don’t care.” Brock insisted. 

“Well now my body is mine.” You chuckled. 

“Yeah, I know, I made a huge mistake and I should have found another way to go about it and I will be forever sorry about it and maybe one day I’ll be able to make it up to you.” He apologized which made you smile before you ground down on his hardening member starting to poke at your center before you realized- sex with him should be the benchmark moving forward. 

“It’s going to be ok, we’ll get through this together ok?” He proposed as he broke for air. 

“Sex then paperwork?” You proposed. 

“Deal.” He laughed as he picked you up and carried you to bed and pulled off the covers as your moura cloak became a full body tattoo once again before he rolled you over to fuck you in the doggy styel position as you made sure your neck craned up so that your skin would cover over your own moura mark at the base of your head but a good back scratch had you curving your spine the other way so he would scratch all of it, which of course, had your hair falling forward and just as he entered, he froze. 

"What the fuck…" He breathed before his finger reached out and touched your gold moura mark with a ghost like softness. 

Fuck. He found your mark. 

"OK I can explain…" You began.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

just a random something of Mala n Augi bein cute!! :D

August tapped her fingertips lightly against the keys, not typing, not realizing she was doing it. The sky beyond the floor to ceiling windows was the colour of granite and felt just as heavy. It had seemed to drag at her wings this morning. One of those days.

The knock she had been waiting for tugged her free from her thoughts.

“August!” Emala greeted her with a smile, a kiss on the cheek, and an armful of the items she had been carrying. “I’m sorry, there was no brown, only black. Will that be okay?”

“It’s fine, I told you not to worry,” August sighed, stepping aside to let her in. She couldn’t help a smile, though, as her little sister bustled over to the kitchen to make coffee. It must have been one of those days for everyone, then, since Emala rarely ever drank coffee, and she was dressed for comfort instead of her usual blend of style and soft edges. “I like your sweater.”

Emala laughed. “I like it, too. It’s hideous.”

“It’s tastefully hideous,” August corrected with a smile. “Mars gave it to you?”

“How can you tell?” Emala tugged at the hem that ended almost at her knees and raised her eyebrows.

“I had a hunch.” She took out the cups before Emala could complain about their placement on the highest shelf. Emala wasn’t that short, but she and Mars liked to joke she really was the baby of the family compared to them.

“So,” Emala said, spooning in the coffee, “how do you want to do this? Do you want to have lunch first, or-?”

Something inside August’s chest lurched. “Can we do this first?” she asked. “Please?”

“Okay.” Emala looked at her. August didn’t know whether to flinch or cry from the kindness in her eyes. “Of course we can.”

Boiling water was poured and stirred in, and Emala led the way into the bathroom, coffee in one hand and box of dye in the other. She made an appreciative noise when she noted the lighting.

“Do you care if that shirt is ruined?” she asked, glancing back at August.

August looked down at her blouse. “... Give me a minute to change?”

Emala flapped a hand at her, already reading the instructions. Smiling, August dropped an affectionate hand on her head as she past, ignoring the more vigorous flap that warranted.

Flicking through the hangers and chewing on the inside of her lip, she eventually settled for the clothes she wore while she flew, since nobody saw those anyway. Sweatpants and a simple shirt with twin slits down the back that allowed for her wings. Hardly a fashion statement.

“I didn’t know you owned clothes like that,” Emala said, almost wonderingly, when August took a seat back in the bathroom.

August rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know you are a hairdresser.”

“I am many things,” Emala said mysteriously and slopped some dye onto August’s head. There was a small pause as August felt a cold droplet trickle down the back of her neck and stain her shirt.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Emala admitted, and August laughed and sighed in one exhale.

All in all, the staining was minimal and the colour saturation was decent. Emala flipped back and forth between “I did a great job!” and “oh, I am so sorry.” August just smiled to both. She was lucky her hair was so naturally light, and unlucky that it would reject the dye as quickly as it took it. But for one night, nobody would look twice at her. For one night, she would be normal.

The brown contacts stung her eyes; she could almost feel them begin to melt as her grace reacted to the intrusion. She blinked one, twice to clear her vision.

A strange woman looked back at her from the mirror. A beautiful face, yes, but with the black instead of the silvery white and the brown instead of blue, she was ordinary. Almost human.

So many nights, she flaunted her unnatural features, drew attention to herself with the gowns and the stars glinting at her throat and wrists. The calculated beauty and extravagance gave her control: people stared only because she wanted them to. That’s what she had to make herself believe. 

“Are you alright?” The question was gentle, as was Emala’s hand settling on her shoulder. Concerned purple eyes met hers in the reflection.

She hadn’t realized she was crying. She tried to say yes, but the word tasted like poison she couldn’t spit out. “I... don’t know.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Stop it, you’re making me cry more,” August said, struggling to keep her tone light through the tears.

Emala only hugged her tighter. “Good. Crying helps you feel better.”

“Really? It doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” She didn’t say anything else, she didn’t have to.

“Don’t tell Mars,” August whispered.

“You know I won’t,” Emala said firmly, squeezing her shoulder. She kissed the side of August’s head, then reached up to touch her hair. “Do you need any help with styling it?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“And I’m trying not to take offence at how quickly you said that,” Emala said, mock-stiffly, leaving August alone in the mirror with a smile drying the tears.

The restaurant was filled with currents of quiet conversation. It had hit them like a wave the moment they stepped inside, but now it felt comforting, like a blanket woven of stranger’s voices.

Emala had opened a heavengate to change for the night, now dressed in a simple vintage dress with a flower print - anybody else might have thought she bought it from a thrift shop, but August knew it had been in her closet for a hundred years. August had forgone a dress for black slacks, a black blazer she had ‘borrowed’ from Mars, and a white bodysuit.

She knew how different they looked, especially since Emala had let her hair down from its usual bun, falling soft and wavy and light brown around an equally soft face. But it didn’t matter. Nobody looked twice.

August exhaled slowly and set down her knife and fork. The meal had tasted like a mix of ambrosia and ashes.

“See?” Emala clasped her hand. “I told you it was going to work out.”

“You did,” August replied, squeezed her hand gratefully. “How is your soup?”

“Divine,” Emala said with a smile that crinkled her freckles. She looked down at the bowl and pursed her lips briefly, like she was temped to pick it up and drink the last of the soup, but instead folded her napkin neatly to the side.

“I never would have forgiven you,” August said darkly.

“I wouldn’t have forgiven myself,” Emala sighed.

Later, the tips of August’s hair would begin to lighten and the contacts would break down and melt away, completely but she would also be curled up on the couch with Emala watching whatever her little sister had picked out and laughing about how many times the waiter apologized for thinking they were a couple.

Later, she would be able to face herself again.

For now, she let the absence of eyes on her soothe her anxiety.

[whispering-sumire755]

Tigerlily

Her mother hired her a driver and a bodyguard, though Laura didn't want it, said she'd be fine on her own, Talia didn't care, their family was in a precarious situation right now, and she'd be doing the same for Derek and the twins; Peter was only exempt because he was an adult who could take care of himself (and by that, Laura privately thought, what she meant to say was that Peter would totally emasculate and shred any ego and/or confidence the paparazzi/protesters had with his vicious words, if they were in public, and, if not, well. No one would miss them, he'd say, they must be vile people in their private lives to do such vile things in their public ones), and Philip because he was in Ireland with their father. Grouchy, Laura admitted defeat and accepted the burden of whomever her mother had hired, despite being two whole states away from the center of the chaos.

When she leaves her apartment, the first day she's being picked up by this person, she's taken utterly by surprise to see a buxom woman with honey-blonde hair in loose pig-tails tied up with big, sleek ribbons, a steampunk captain's hat atop her head, eyes like crushed nutmeg sprinkled with cigarette-ash flecks, wearing a white shirt and oil-slick black leather pants, her clothes clinging, like she chose them with the specific intention of showing off, standing in front of a pastel, antique Volkswagen beetle, looking for all the world expectant, bored, and vaguely amused in that same way Uncle Peter sometimes gets, like the whole world is a joke that only they're in on.

"You must be Laura," the woman- or, more accurately, girl, at least comparatively- says.

Laura laughs a little, nervous and slightly incredulous, "And you're my ride?"

Blondie flashes a grin, full-up of too many teeth, plumb-red tinted lips parting dangerously around too-sharp bone, an expression as seductive as it is terrifying. "That's right," she opens the backseat door and bows with a flourish, waving Laura inside the vehicle, "my name's Erica; our chariot tigerlily and I will be providing you all of your escorting and personal protection needs, as per your mother's- and therefore my paycheck's- request."

"Uh-mm," Laura laughs again, walking down the concrete steps and away from her apartment complex's entryway, stopping short when she gets to sidewalk proper, biting her lip and wringing her hands a little. Erica remains bowed, though she does turn her head to narrow her smokey eyes, the silken waterfall of her sunlight hair tangling with her neck, the black bow holding the pig-tail in place falling just under the girl's ear, contrasting the brilliant neon-chain piercings that decorate- nearly overwhelm- it. "Are you... old enough to be doing this?"

An explosive sigh as she rights herself, leans an elbow on top of the door and rests her cheek on her hand, its' opposite going to her hip with a half-resigned, half-sass sort of attitude. "Do you want to see my credentials? I've got about a dozen boxing medals, three belts, a nikyu rank in judo, and-" she does an asymmetrical kind of jazz-hands, underwhelming and seeming almost bored, like she's explained this thousands of times, before returning to her original position- "surprise surprise, a driver's license. I'm qualified, does my age really matter?"

"I... suppose not?"

"You don't sound too sure about that, princess."

Laura shakes her head with a little hiccup-squeak- a sound she will never admit to having made, and will quietly freak out about later, thank you- "Nope, I'm sure. I'm sure," and with that she skedaddles on into the car- as elegantly as she can manage, after everything- ignoring her driver's growing smirk with an awkward, embarrassed kind of desperation. She hears Erica huff out something of a laugh before the car door's shut gently behind her, the girl moving to the driver's seat and clambering in.

"So: where to?"

"Belle Grove Kindergarten," Laura answers promptly, mildly relieved to be done with the social niceties of it all.

"Oh, that's right, your mom did say something about you being a teacher." Laura hums affirmatively. "I hate kids, personally, but, you know-" she turns the key, starting the car and pulling away from the curb- "kudos to you for bringing knowledge to the next generation of assholes, or something like that."

Laura chokes on her own spit, and it takes a lot longer than she'd like for her to become composed enough to dignify that with a response, and all she ends up managing is a very high, very unsure, haphazardly chagrined and slightly sarcastic, "Thanks?"

She glimpses, from the rearview mirror, Erica's eyes crinkling with the mirth and width of her smile.

It's odd to learn about someone so extensively over such a short period of time, but, at the same time, it seems almost natural. There's awkwardness and blundering, but Erica and Laura just kind of click.

The wind-swept wild maiden, and the tamer, tranquil, motherly type of woman, both of them very, very different, but uniquely complementary to each other.

Erica, Laura finds, became a bodyguard straight out of highschool, her epilepsy- which she avoids talking about like the plague, so long as she can get away with it- made it difficult to become a driver in any capacity, but, her episodes winding down as she got older, along with finding meds to manage it that managed it well, or, at least, better than the others before, did seem help in that vein. Still, if she has even one seizure, it could revoke her license, which, while Erica understands, the safety of others and all that, she's also vaguely bitter about.

The girl's overtly sexual, voraciously flirtatious, with a mask of lethal confidence born from deep-rooted insecurities. She's very explorative of her identity at this point in her life because her identity always used to be her illness, and now that she has the chance to discover herself outside of that, she's diving in headfirst, reckless and urgent. She's a very in your face with both my middle-fingers in the air type of person, but there's a depth, a complexity to it, and a frugal kindness saturated in cynicism riding just underneath.

Her style, too, is fascinating, from her clothes to her car to the way she utilizes her language, and, despite mostly being a pacifist herself, if Laura's being honest the way Erica fights is... mouth-watering. Would be a vulgar thing to think. Which is why Laura isn't thinking it.

At all.

Erica taps the metal curl of her sunglasses against her teeth, glaring at the door that leads into Laura's apartment complex, impatient. She knows that the school-year is over, but she also knows that Laura isn't the type to have with staying inside or being idle. The woman likes fresh air and sunlight the same way flowers do, in that she needs it like breathing, could only wilt without it.

Which is why Erica ended up outside her place, figuring she'd still need a ride... somewhere.

Sighing explosively, she gets up off of her car, rubs the sun-scorched metal feeling out of her skin with a small grimace, and decidedly presses Laura's buzzer. No response. She clicks the button over and over again, irritating-persistent, pestering, until she hears a crash and an undeniably familiar voice shouting, "Cora, I swear to god—"

The aggrieved words halt, stutter, caught like fluttering-fragile butterfly wings in her long, pale throat, heterochromatic eyes startled-wide when they light on Erica—who'd backtracked down the small set of stairs, back to the sidewalk, to look up at the sight of her boss' daughter, her client, her friend, standing sleep-soft messy on her balcony. ink-silk curls in a loose-tumble bun, a slightly revealing preppy-pink satin slip under an unzipped hoodie, baggy sleeves sliding adorably over her bony hands, dream-like cotton-candy designs on it.

"Sorry to disappoint, princess," Erica smirks, watching as Laura's barefoot toes flex against charcoal grey floorboards.

Laura blushes furiously, rosy hue dusting her from her prominent collarbone all the way to her crown, getting ripe-strawberry dark just at the tip of her ears, and erica's helpless to the way her smirk widens into a genuine grin. "Not disappointed," Laura says, breezily, turning her eyes away and smoothing her hands down her skirt with all the air of recomposed royalty—the act betrayed entirely by her coloring and the high-pitch, embarrassed crackle of her tone. Erica bites back a laugh, scuffs the heel of her boot on the crack-crumble cement.

"You gonna grant me entry into your tower? Or am I gonna have to beg you to let down your hair?"

Laura's eyes flutter closed, tonguing the back of her teeth even as an indulgently mirthful smile overwhelms her. "You know... I shouldn't," she points out with a look, exasperatedly shaking her head even as she retreats back inside to buzz Erica in, fatalistic, calling over her shoulder: "You’re likely a dragon, come to kidnap me and burn me alive."

Erica rolls her eyes, jogs back up the little street-stairway, opens the door when it unlocks for her at Laura's bidding, before running up the three flights it takes to get to Laura's apartment, only the barest hints of breathless when she gets to the woman's door and sweeps inside. "No way am I a dragon. I'm more like... Excalibur," she leans into the woman's space, sultry-purr, "silver and sharp."

Laura backs away with a sound split between a groan and a sigh, "And just as dangerous."

"Not exactly," Erica hums, shutting Laura's door carelessly and meandering to the dining table, snatching an apple from the wicker-weave basket in the middle of its’ wax-shine mahogany expanse and biting into it. "The dragon kills you, princess, because it's hungry, driven by instinct, whatever. I, on the other hand, am wielded in your defence-" she shrugs- "or not. Maybe your evil step-mother picks me up and beheads you with me. My point is, as a weapon, I have no intent, good or bad." 

She looks up from her fingers, picking restlessly at blood-rich apple-skin to find Laura staring at her, expression indecipherable.

Silence reigns- vaguely uncomfortable- for a second too long. Erica blinks, knits her brows.

"... What?"

Laura shakes her head, "I— Nothing. Nothing, nevermind." She clears her throat, shuffles things around that don't really need to be shuffled, restless. "Um, so. What're you doing here?"

"My job, unless I was fired while I wasn't paying attention."

Laura huffs a little, glittering starlight returning to her eyes, "No; I'll have need of you for a while yet. But..." She shrugs, "I don't really have anywhere to go."

"Bullshit," Erica scoffs, narrows her eyes when laura's only response is a deadpanned glare. "Seriously? No... friends? social gatherings? nothing?"

*"Nothing,"* Laura sighs, nearly a pout, flopping lethargically onto her white-cotton plush couch. "Just the kids—work."

Erica blanks for a moment, fidgets, eats her goddamn apple.

"Okay," she shatters the vaguely somber air after a moment, annoyed, tossing her apple-core into the trash-can on her way to the couch before lifting Laura bodily off of it, hauling her into a bridal-carry easy as anything, and ignoring her yelp of utterly indignant shock. "Fuck this. We're going out."

Laura sputters for a moment, hands flapping a little wildly as Erica straight-up carries her past the threshold and- since the stairs don't seem like a good or practical idea- to the elevator, before she resignedly, almost begrudgingly, gives in, wrapping her willowy arms around Erica's neck and melting into her with a huff. "I suppose it wouldn't do to leave tigerlily all by their lonesome, anyway, would it?"

“No,” Erica agrees victoriously. “No, it would not.”

They spend the day driving around, avoiding paparazzi, getting frozen yogurt, a whole trunkload- literally- of books, two records, a record player, and a moment saturated in the floaty-fluff memory of dancing with Erica in the middle of the street, both of them a study in awkward clumsiness and both of them devolving into hysterical fits of laughter.

The image of Erica with her head thrown back, their bodies spinning, dizzying, her laughter throaty and reckless and breathless-wild, is replaying in Laura’s head on a loop when Erica walks her back up to her apartment, the sight of the girl's teeth, tongue, the roof of her mouth, unexplored places that Laura suddenly, yearningly, viscerally, wants to map out, discover, taste, know. Which is probably why, when Erica grins a, "G'night, Lulu," with every intention of leaving, Laura ropes her in- knuckles fisted in the collar of her shirt- and kisses her soundly.

Erica freezes for just the barest hints of a frantically eternal, terrifying moment, before she's all motion, folding Laura into her body with all the ease of a sculptor molding clay, fingertips, sharp nails, pressing into her shoulder blades as she dives into her in turn, greedy, with a gasping moan, wavering somewhere deep, all animalistic, ferine need.

When they part enough to allow air back into their lungs, lips bruised and spit-slick, Erica rasps, teased lovely, so fucking lovely at the edges, "That was-" a swallow, dry, clicking- "unexpected."

"No, it wasn't. It was a kiss. That's what you're supposed to do at the end of a date, isn't it? Kiss?"

Erica snorts, dissolves into giggles, lets her head fall to rest on Laura's shoulder, button-nose pressed into Laura’s pulse-point. "Yeah," she agrees, every muscle easing down to supple, pliant, and Laura hadn't even realized how tightly Erica was holding herself until now. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"Come inside?" She asks, maybe begs, and Erica lifts her head, raising an eyebrow, which has Laura rolling her eyes. "To cuddle. Watch Netflix? Eat p—" she halts herself- because she knows, she knows how much Erica hates popcorn- squints her eyes at the ceiling for a second as she thinks, both arms wrapped around Erica's back, one hand absently playing with her puppy-soft hair. "Poptarts," she decides, finally, looking back down into Erica's eyes, only to be knocked entirely breathless by how much of the girl's naked heart is beating in them, joyous, honeycomb sweet, and glittering with something new, transcendent, something that, maybe, hopes to be love.

Erica catches whatever expression of besotted surprise Laura must be wearing with a kiss, like fireflies in a mason jar, says, "Sure. Poptarts sound good."

And Laura realizes, mostly accidentally, that she's now dating her best friend, and her whole world glows.

(When the political turbulence gets tied up, and the reason for Erica being hired concisely ends, she moves on to a new job, another client, but her relationship with Laura remains, grows, develops. The two women explore each other, their identities together, and, when Laura decides to bring the girl home to introduce her to her family- them road-tripping to BH in tigerlily- Erica brings a fruit-basket, which she bequeaths Talia, for essentially introducing them.)

[numberonehalfdadinthegalaxy]

We arrived at the party about when that the police ships were pulling away, followed by a generous range of nuclear missiles. My heart sank. I suppose Gamora was lying to me about the fireworks.

Perhaps it was a realization that was a long time coming to me, but there was little time to reflect on this. Ronan was already gliding the Sanctuary II over to the right side of the Milano.

As the intern slowed my flagship to an even stop, I took a deep breath and gazed upon the many broken-down speedsters littering the spacescape below.

Though I had fought many things bigger and grander than a horde of Ravager-hovels, something about the sheer number of ships seemed to produce unexpected intimidation in my heart.

I suppose I had never really been what they would call a “party animal.” Even in my childhood upon Titan’s gardens of bliss, it was always my brother, not I, who had the lion’s share of mirth, celebration always his “thing.” But that fact was acceptable for I always had much to do and little time to waste on frivolity.

It was an irony he’d enjoy that my task now took me into the midst of what looked to be, as he would put it, a “banging” party.

Nebula squeezed my hand almost tight enough to cut off any semblance of pulse still pumping through it. Clearly a gesture of comfort that I well appreciated. “So,” she muttered to me, metallic voice echoing in the interior of the spaceship like the ring of a bullet, “Are we going or what?”

I straightened myself up, smoothing over any wrinkles in the suit Ronan had so careful picked out. Not the kind of person that I would have expected to be a fashionista, that Ronan. But all the same.

“I’m ready, my daughter.”

“Good.” With the confidence expected of the daughter of a Titan Eternal, Nebula strode out of the cockpit and down the tentacling tube that hung strung from Sanctuary to Milano like a parasite. I followed her, head somewhat bent-- not out of any sort of anxiety of course, but simply because the ceiling was too low.

And together, we entered the chaos and cacophony of the party.

***

I suppose it was a bit optimistic on my part, even in a room full of drunken pirates, to expect that it would be over five minutes until the two of us were recognized.

Dodging between scuffles, spooning and all the other sort of tomfoolery one would expect at a party thrown by wanted criminals, I was seeking to find, someone, anyone who looked mildly similar to the descriptions the media had given of the Guardians.

Best as I could remember there were five of them.

A genetically modified rodent, schooled in the intricacies of explosive weaponry and sharpshooting.

A botanical being, strong as a galactic toothhare and indestructible save by fire and ash.

A warrior brazen enough to call himself “the Destroyer.” As though he too was tasked with a quest to save the galaxy from ignorance and greed.

A paradoxical pirate captain, half Earthian and half something wilder, more ancient than that.

And finally a huntress. Unshakable warrior. My daughter Gamora.

I had to find her, had to understand the width of the gap that so suddenly had grown between us.

But alas Fortune was not of the same mindset. It was barely a few minutes before the (admittedly strange) sight of a Titan Eternal and galaxy-class assassin weaving through the crowds drew attention-- and with that came recognition.

“Eyyy,” a voice slurred from behind me. I whirled around, unsure if it was I who was being addressed. But the sight unfortunately only offered confirmation. A man dressed in the rags of a Ravager, eyes clouded by spirits stumbled toward me. “Ain’t you Thanos? The Mad Titan?”

I would not flinch. After all, he was drunk. The situation could still be...salvaged. I took a breath and tried to act as disgusted as the rest of the world felt when it saw me. “Your accusations offend me grossly. Systems forbid I should ever be ever be mistaken for that purple error of nature.”

For a moment I thought I had done it. The man’s eyes drooped back into his sockets and he let out a short moan-- something about me “talking funny.”

Then he screamed.

Though I like to think of myself as a being of great restraint, I will admit that I punctuated the ear-curdling shrieks with a few cuss words of my own.

Thankfully, Nebula by now could not hear them, already having disappeared into the throngs of partygoers-- all shape, size and species-- that swarmed to me en masse. From prior experience, I knew that their purpose was to hunt me, tear my flesh to pieces for destroying exactly one half of their civilizations as to to save the rest of them.

And I understood their actions. How, after all, could I fault any single one of my foes when I had taken away so much from them-- family, friends, normalcy? Fear and hatred came far more easily than rationality to the grieving mind. Indeed, as long as this fact held true,  I would be mad to expect any of the survivors to understand the importance of my solution.

All the same... I could not allow this mismatched group of pirates to strike me down.

So with a heavy sigh, I reached for my Infinity Stones, hidden away in a breast pocket because Ronan had thought they would clash with the outfit. The jewels warmed to my touch and responded to my call, enveloping the room in an uneasy scarlet haze. With a snap of my fingers, there now were dozens of Thanoses, each like an image reflected in an infinite mirror.

The pirates halted in confusion and I allowed myself a brief smile. I had learned the trick from my first intern, and though he had been less than helpful, I still used the tactic-- convenient and remarkably nonviolent-- to this day.

Now the problem was reduced a simple matter of sneaking away undetected in the midst of this chaos.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done when you’re an eight foot tall Titan Eternal.

“Excuse me,” I muttered slipping between two Skrulls hurling shot glasses at one of my doubles.

“Pardon,” I called to a what looked like a genetically modified labrador in a spacesuit as I almost stepped on his tail.

Neither of the groups responded and I knew that the Reality Stone was shielding me somewhat, hiding me away from any set of prying eyes.

I crept closer and closer to the door, careful not to let impatience or anxiety get the best of me. But they would not. I could not have made it this far to my goal without learning to quiet the din of emotions in my head.

At last I was only a few feet from the door, the air alight with shouts and saturated with the smell of alcohol. I drummed my fingers against my side, a nervous habit I had never quite been able to shake, as I lay in wait for an opening. Patience, I thought, Patience yields perfection, Thanos.

The crowd cleared a path almost as though it heard my silent demands.

I took a step.

And then came the explosion.

It was a Type-Y bomb, I could tell that by the size of the blast. Technically illegal in more than 97% of the galaxy and most certainly not approved as a party favor. For a few moments I was knocked to my knees but I rose quickly. Ronan would be furious if I managed to ruin the suit on the Milano’s dirty floors.

“Everybody put your hands up above your heads where I ken see’em.” A sandpaper voice cut through the cloud of haze. Around me, most of the pirates raised their hands, with what appeared to be fearful recognition of the noise’s source.

I, however, did not join them.

This was a game I had played before and one I had known for decades how to win.

I would keep to the shadows where the smoky air and Reality Stone could do their best work; I would find out who I was dealing with, and then I would strike. Patience. That’s the way the great thinkers of Titan had done their work and that’s how I would do mine.

Finally as the dust settled and even my own illusions faded, I finally began to get a glimpse of the man who set the bomb. Except it wasn’t a man.

The creature appeared to be dressed in what was a child’s sports jacket and shorts and was toting a gun nearly as large as its own body. Something clicked within my synapses: I had found my first Guardian.

“A’right. A’right, what’s the big idea here, ya scum?” The rodent took a step forward with enough swagger to fit the dictator of a small planet. The same pirate who I believed had screamed at me earlier in horror stared down the barrel of the Guardian’s gun.

“I, uh…”

But before the man finished, he was cut off by a reedy voice emanating from behind the trigger-happy raccoon. “I am Groot.”

I sighed-- how long had it been since I had practiced any of my Groot-speak? Too long, apparently. But I could glean some clue of what the living tree was saying from his smaller friend’s response.

“Yes, Groot, I can call them scum. I mean, they ain’t my friends, they’re Quill’s.”

“I am Groot.” The tree’s tone was a specific shade of patronizing I remembered from my daughters’ teenage days.

The raccoon rolled his eyes. “I know we’re the ones hosting the party. But why would that made us have to treat ‘em special? They’re lucky to be here.”

“I am Groot.”

“You’re lucky to be here too, and not grounded.”

“I am Groot.”

“Why? Don’t be askin’ me why! Because you haven’t done anything but play that stupid game in weeks!” The first Guardian shifted his gun as to put his hands on his hips. If he were actually on the same scale as the tree, I suppose this might have been found intimidating. But as it was, the companion- Groot- just gave the most indignant of sighs and returned to the glowing screen at his fingertips.

The pirate at the two’s feet raised his hand and gently tried to push the gun so that it was pointed anywhere else but his face. “Hey, uh, man. I was kind of hoping to tell you that--”

The raccoon whirled around baring his teeth. “Hey buddy, can’t you see that I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“I mean yes but--” The Ravager shifted his gaze around the room uneasily as though he could sense that I was still here watching.

“Then why don’t you just shut up, huh?” The raccoon jiggled the gun around a bit for effect. “Don’t make Quill have to wipe your brain guts off the floor.”

“No, it’s just--”

“Brain. Guts.”

At last the pirate rose his voice in a understandable desperation. “The Mad Titan is on the Milano!”

It was dead silence after that. The two Guardians stared at the mercenary, jaws hung open in shock as he dove under one of the tables. His body shook as though I was, for some absurd reason, about to strike him with the very rage of the universe itself.

Hmm. The Mad Titan.

I never did like that title.

With a sigh, I stepped out from my place in the shadows and turned to face the two Guardians. All around us, the room reeked of whispers, no one quite able to raise their courage enough to speak aloud.

So I did.

“Greetings Guardians. My apologies for dropping in on you with such little warning. I fear, however, it is a necessary evil. You see I’m looking for one of your comrades, Gamora, and would be greatly indebted to anyone who would help me find her.”

The murmuring among the pirates grew louder and I began to hope that this encounter could reach a peaceful end. But all the while the Guardians’ gazes remained inscrutable. Finally, the raccoon opened his mouth--

“Bitch please.”--

leveled the gun at my chest and fired.

As the bullet hit my rib cage, I realized again to bitter disappointment I had been too optimistic.

“You know,” The words came out as a cough as the stones did their work to knit my tattered flesh together, “I really had high hopes for the two of you. After all, if Gamora had deemed to extend the hand of friendship to you both, then I assumed you to be more than a trigger-happy genetics experiment and a gaming-obsessed tree.”

“You take that back!” The rodent cried and attempted, again, to express his rage through violence.

Unfortunately I was done with the formalities. The Space Stone stopped the detonation before it could get within a few meters of me. Along with the following spray of bullets, river of flames and somehow, another Y-Class Grenade.

As a former tax-paying citizen of the galaxy, I was truly disturbed by the amount of illegal weaponry that was available to this raccoon. As the father of a woman who had spent the last several months with this creature, I was terrified.

“Please. I meant no offense,” I said, taking great measures to keep my voice as calm as possible. “Just show me where Gamora is. I must speak to her--”

The raccoon let out a low growl “Over my dead body--”

“I am Groot.”

“--and Groot’s dead body too.”

I shook my head, confused. It was not like living beings to demand their own death, particularly over something as menial as preventing a conversation. “Are you certain that’s your request?”

“It’s not a request, grapenuts,” The raccoon managed to load yet another bomb into the front of his gun, then caressing its trigger in what I supposed was one final attempt to look “badass”:“It’s a promise.”

“Very well then,” I shrugged. The minds of these creatures were not mine to fathom. “If you insist--”

“Wait.”

My words were interrupted by what appeared to be another Ravager. Ragged leather, cybernetic accessories, scruffy face marked with poorly hidden panic and yet-- his voice sounded somewhat familiar. “No dead bodies. Not today. Not on Christmas.”

At last I placed it.

“Quill! I don’t suppose you could help me locate Gamora? Your two friends over here have been inexplicably uncooperative and--”

“Hold on a moment,” The human’s face pinched in confusion, “First thing-- how in the Seven Systems do you know my name? And second thing, what the hell do you want Gamora for?”

The raccoon cut in, jabbing the star captain in the only place he was able to reach-- which was, unfortunately, the groin. “It’s Thanos, ya bastard. What do you think that he wants with Gamora?”

“I am Groot.”

“That’s right, Groot-- bloody murder!”

Slaughter-- is that all they expected of me? Even with my own daughter?

I believe I was, as Star-lord’s species would say, beginning to reach the end of my rope. “I do not desire to kill Gamora, nor do I understand the path you have taken to reach that conclusion. I merely wish to speak with her-- which is actually the same method by which I learned your name, Peter Quill.”

The human looked bemused for some reason.“You and Gamora… have met?”

“Yes-- the two of us have known each other for years.” I replied with a hint of frustration. What did Quill think-- that I was just another absentee father?

The Guardian’s face was punctuated with confusion, even more confusion-- and then at last resolve. “Well you still can’t see her. And if you don’t get out of here in the next five minutes then I’m… I’m calling Nova Corps.”

“Even though they hate us?” The raccoon muttered. “Dude.”

“Yes, even though they hate us.” Peter Quill declared, glaring at me with an insane courage that I actually found impressive. “Because, you know what? They hate Thanos more.”

Unfortunately, I could not deny this.

Nor was I in any mood to deal with the Nova Corps tonight.

So perhaps in a last ditch effort to make Gamora’s friends see reason, I threw my hands up in exasperation. My voice, almost of its own accord, called out as though directing a question to the universe itself: “What must a man do to see his daughter in this galaxy?!”

The reactions I was expecting:

Anger.

Empathy.

Or even pity perhaps.

The reactions I was not expecting:

Utter shock and--

One face, the most important face of them all, turning away as though I had taken her wildest dream and turned it to ash.

[tog84]

A Spark of Lightning

Hey! It’s my birthday and I wanted to give you all a gift! Here’s a short story that I wrote as an intro to the main character and a little bit of the world of a novel I’m writing. I hope you like it!

It is a first draft so any input is welcome.

Bash let his golden eyes fall closed as he drifted weightless in the sea. Flashes of light of every color shot through the sky in seemingly random directions, casting his olive skin in various hues. His hair floated out from his head in a green halo tickling the tips of his long, pointed ears. This was his place where he could let it all go. He wasn’t some powerful defender, protecting the Veil from those who would tear it apart. He was just Bash, ordinary guy, who happened to be able to enter computers and make places like this for himself. He also happened to be an elf.

 Well, maybe he wasn’t so ordinary…

He was, in fact, a wyrd, one of the awakened, those who are destined to use their powerful magical abilities to protect the Veil. The defense of the barrier world between Dorim, the world of the sleepers, and The Forgotten, the magical world, was of highest importance for people like him. If the Veil were to fall, chaos would rule and far too many lives would be in danger.

 In addition, he was a spark, which meant that, while other awakened had to be careful around modern technology, he could interface with it seamlessly. Thus, he was able to create his own little escapes such as this.

As he drifted, he was startled from his reverie by a message screen opening in front of him. As the alert tone sounded, his eyes shot open, glaring at the screen. With a growl, he touched the button to open the message.

 Victor: Bash give me a call as soon as you get this. We need to talk!

 “This had better be good. It’s my day off,” Bash murmured. He swiped open his phone. The phone only rang once before Victor answered.

 “Bash! You got my message! Thank god!” relief saturating every syllable.

 “Yeah, Vic,” Bash said, trying not to let his annoyance seep into his tone. He knew Victor wouldn’t disturb him if it wasn’t Important. “What do you need, man?”

 “We have ourselves an emergency. Some idiot has gone and summoned a demon, and, wouldn’t you know, they lost control and got themselves killed,” Victor explained. “We have it contained on an ally off 18th, between H and J streets. That’s near you right?”

 “Yeah, I’m close,” Bash shrugged. “No one else can on call who can banish it?”

 “It’s a pretty strong one. At least a fourth-class threat,” Victor tone deadly serious. “There’s no one else close enough to get there before it breaks free. The containment team is having a hard time keeping the barriers up.”

 “All right, let them know I’ll be there as fast as I can,” He ended the call and willed himself out of his digital world and back to reality.

 Back in his apartment, he realized he had been in there a lot longer than he thought. It had been just after noon when he went in, and now it was after dark. He grabbed his black zip-front hoodie and threw it on over his yellow shirt. He swapped his pajama pants for a pair of jeans and put on his black combat boots. He strapped on his utility belt and checked the pouches to make sure he had plenty 9-volt batteries, a charged banishing charm, and a stocked emergency kit. With one more look around, he decided to take the fast rout. He looked at the power outlet and dove for it, converting his body into electricity. He traveled the relatively short distance to the alley Vic mentioned almost instantaneously.

 A street light near the entrance to the ally blew out as a bolt of electricity arched to the ground, striking mere feet from where one of the containment team sat legs crossed and hands together, fingers laced, with his index and thumb extended. When the light faded, Bash was left standing next to the Exorcist. Bash recognized him but couldn’t remember his name.

 “Hey, I’m Sabastian Graham, Vic sent me,” He gave a small smirk and a two-finger wave. “He said you were having some demon trouble.”

 “Yeah, he’s a mean one. We have him contained for now, but you should get in…” he was cut off by a loud explosion from the other side of the alley. The exorcist expression twisted with strain as the barrier fluctuated. Bash didn’t waste another second. He clapped his hands together focusing his power between his palms as he stepped through the barrier. He needed to do this fast. A protracted combat with a demon this strong would not end well. As he cautiously approached the dust cloud, he parted his hands. A ball of lightning danced between his palms, lightning arching between his fingers.

 Without warning, the demon burst out of the cloud. It wasn’t the biggest one Bash had seen, standing half again as tall as Bash himself, but it wasn’t a pipsqueak. Its black head sported one large horn growing out of the right side of its forehead and two red eyes peering out of a blank featureless mask. Its humanoid body was red and muscular, with long clawed fingers, dripping with blood, and talons on his toes. Its long tail was tipped with a scorpion stinger.

 Luckily, Bash was ready for it. He released a lance of lightning striking the beast in its chest, pushing it back and lifting it higher off the ground. As he maintained the bolt with his left hand focused a second ball of lightning in his right. He sent the ball out above the beast. Once it was in place he released the lance and clenched his right hand into a fist and yanked it down slamming the ball into the demon and smashing it into the ground.

 Quickly, he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out the banishing charm. He had one chance at this and it had to be now. He lunged forward and slapped the charm on the beast’s forehead and spoke the activation phrase. It was about then that the lightning ball dissipated, and the demon was released. The charm was working, and the demon was beginning to disintegrate, but it wasn’t going fast enough for how close Bash was to it. It swiped at him with it’s clawed hand. Bash couldn’t get out of the way, but once again luck was on his side. The claws had disintegrated so, instead of being impaled, he was just slammed by a meaty hand. The impact flung him into the wall and knocked the air out of his lungs.

 The demon let out a blood curdling scream as it tied to stand up, but there wasn’t enough of its limbs left to support it. It fell to the ground and let out one last scream. It continued to disintegrate until all that was left was the banishing charm which burst into flames and burned to ash. Bash slumped against the wall, his head lulling to the side as he heaved in breath trying to get his breathing under control. As his vision cleared, he pushed himself upright. He felt completely drained. He put too much into maintaining two spells of that strength at once. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out two 9-volt batteries and drained the power out of them. ‘Just enough to get home,’ he thought to himself. The exorcist rushed over and helped him to his feet.

 “Thanks…” Bash started.

 “Morgan, Morgan Heart,” the exorcist provided.

 “Thanks Morgan. I trust you can handle the rest.” Bash straightened his stance and dusted himself off. “I’m going home.”

 Bash walked back to the entrance of the ally. When he was close enough he jumped back into the light and headed home.

I’d love to her what you think!

@miraculousmumma @whimsolute @betheroo17 @glo-wyx @ldyfcknnoir @honey346 @shamelessgoophoagiemug