#this chapter gettin juicy

[obsessivestar]

'What If It's All A RomCom?' - A Ted Nivison X Reader

{{-Ooooh we gettin' juicy in Chapter 5 folks, next one might be a lil' spicy ;^))). If you wanna catch up on how we got here, I'd recommend starting at Chapter 1 and go from there! All old *AND* new Chapters will always be linked at the very bottom ♡ Thanks so much for bein' here and enjoy! :^) -}}

//General Warnings: 18+ fic, Reader implied to be afab and under 5'5.

Chapter Warnings: Heavy language, implied sexual thoughts ig

Word count: 4.6k\\

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@k-k0129 & @callsign-scully

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Chapter 5: You're Going To Be Trouble.

The rest of that day on set was spent filming a few more scenes with the extras. I found it a little strange at this point that we had filmed almost nothing with some of the main characters. Turns out, some of the extras could only be up here for the first week, so Tanner was getting all of the filming done with them first. It was fine by me, I needed a little break after that first kiss anyway.

God, that first kiss.

We did too much, I know we did, but...I can't say I regret it. Not at all. Ted was a better kisser than I was expecting. Suddenly, I find myself wanting to be one of 'the homies' he claims to smooch up so much. Truthfully, I know I shouldn't be feeling this way. Joseph seems to be cool with the idea of Ted and I fooling around now, but maybe he wasn't wrong before. I couldn't relax for the kissing scene until we were alone, and then I practically jumped on him. Tanner admitted it wasn't what he was expecting, but he liked it anyhow. Still, these feelings are starting to affect my job. What even are these feelings?

They could just be coming from the film, right? What if this isn't real? Or even worse, what if it IS real? Ted seemed to be struggling just as much with that kiss, not to mention all that flirting. Does he feel this tension as harshly as I do? What if we do find some twisted way to sleep together? What happens when it's a wrap on the whole film?

What if we have to part ways?

What if I don't want to?

I lay awake at night, staring up at the ceiling like I had done yesterday, once again thinking about Ted. All of these thoughts are racing through my mind, and I can't properly grasp any of them. When I close my eyes, I just see Ted kissing me. I feel his hands around my waist, I feel his stubble against my fingertips, his lips refusing to part from mine, his implied desire to go further, 'be louder'. I take a deep breath, breathing out through my mouth to calm myself. Even if all I do is kiss the guy for the next 2 and a half weeks, I'll be thinking about it every night. I know I will.

I wake the next morning to the sound of a lot of people moving around downstairs. Many members of the film crew were searching the entire living room. Some had lifted up the sofa, some were looking around the kitchen, moving cameras, practically pulling the place apart. I could see Tanner, Joseph, and Dan were helping out, Joe especially. He seemed upset.

"Is there a fucking bomb somewhere in the house?" I asked with a chuckle, coming down the stairs to walk to Joe. "What's happened?"

"Your clothes are gone." Joe admits with a frown, rummaging through some of the kitchen cupboards. He must've been desperate if he was looking through the kitchen for clothes.

"Uh...no they're not?" I furrow my brows in confusing, gesturing upstairs. "They're...in my room, I just changed."

"No no no no, the ones I brought. Your film wardrobe. They're just--they're just gone." Joe groans, closing some of the kitchen cabinets. Uh oh. That's over half of my clothes for this trip. My personal suitcase was way smaller than the one Joe had brought and had barely a week's worth of clothes in it. We had spent days getting all of those other outfits together for 'Kara', and I was supposed to take it all home when the film wrapped. Everything I was going to wear for the next 2 and a half weeks were gone.

"Alright, we've checked...literally everywhere. I even went outside.." Ted approached Joe and I, wearing a baby blue t-shirt and some brown slacks kept up by a nice black belt. I believe this fit was one of his own. I could tell. Ted had a nice sense of style. "I didn't leave it outside." Joe huffs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the kitchen counter. "It was down here by the kitchen, away from the camera's, in a bag."

"...It was in a bag?" Tanner asks from across the room, stretching his neck out a bit so he could see us. "Yeah, the suitcase I had it in fucking broke when I brought it upstairs last night, so I had to put it all in a bag until our hangers came in." Joe explained, running his fingers through his hair. "I couldn't drag it up the stairs by myself so I left it in here."

Tanner frowned, coming over to join the 3 of us in the kitchen. "What kind of bag?" Tanner asked with a nervous smile, gesturing his hands out in front of Joe.

"I had to throw them in--" I see realization hit Joe like a ton of bricks, his expression changing from frustration to near anguish. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"What?" Tanner frowns again. "You're not an idiot."

"I'm an absolute fucking idiot."

"Why?"

"Tanner?"

"Yeah?

"Did the garbage get taken out today?"

"Yeah."

"The garbage was her clothes."

"...OH..."

Joe places both of his hands over his face and moves his finger up into his hair to pull at it with another groan, a frustrated smile and a chuckle leaving him. I honestly felt pretty guilty, even if I had nothing to do with this. Maybe if I hadn't been the first to turn in for the night, I would've been able to offer to put the bag in my room.

"How many outfits we talkin'?" Ted asks, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Like...10? I think?" Joe answers, shaking his head and swallowing thickly, making an audible 'gulp' noise. "I don't know man--I'm just--I'm overwhelmed. I'm fucking sorry."

"No no, it's okay, we can fix this.." Ted speaks to Joe in a comforting tone, holding his hands out with his palms pointed to the ground. "We're literally 5 minutes away from the city, we can get new clothes, right?" Ted asks, turning his wrists in a little shrug.

"I'm not letting either of you front any of those costs." Joe replied, shaking his head. "Oh, they don't have to." Tanner chimes in, looking at Joe. "I got an emergency credit card literally for when something like this was gonna happen."

"Emergency credit card?" I repeated, furrowing my brows again.

"Yeah, it's got a little under a thousand in it right now." Tanner explained, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his worn leather wallet. "I signed up for it a couple weeks ago just in case we needed it. My instructor recommended it."

Joe and I look at each other and I smile at him. I see a sense of relief wash over his body, but he's still a little reluctant. "Tanner, I--I don't want to spend a thousand of your money because of my fuck up."

"See, that's the best part: It's technically not my money. It's the school's." Tanner smiled, pointing at Joe. "As long as it's related to this film and I can prove it was an emergency, they cover it."

Joe gives a humorous smirk and shrugs. "OK that's different, I'm OK spending your school's money." He chuckles, getting a laugh from Tanner.

After informing everyone to stop the search, the 4 of us have a talk and agree to split up for the day. Tanner and Joe will stay here and take the time to get some of the last solo shots with the extras done and over with, and Ted and I will head out in his Tacoma once again to go outfit shopping. In reality, Joe could've been the one to go with me, but he lied about wanting to watch Tanner be a director. I know he was lying because he winked at me as Ted was busy putting a long sleeved brown shirt on. It was meant to be a little chilly today anyways.

As soon as we stepped out, it was just Ted and I once again.

After pulling out of the driveway, we're once again on the road to head into the city. It's a Friday, so the roads are a bit more packed than usual. At one point we even ran into some traffic, which caused Ted and I to start an out of the blue conversation detailing interesting facts about each other. I had told him a few interesting things about myself, but boy did I feel boring compared to him. He told me all about some of the things he had done for YouTube content, like his trips to the Rainforest Café and Margaritaville with Eddy, his 400mg Nerd Rope incident, when he watched all the barbie movies, all of It. Anything I said, he'd immediately upstage me. But the one thing; the one thing that surprised me about him the most was...

"Your whole name is Theodore?"

I turn my head to look at Ted as he kept his eyes on the road, or more like on the still SUV at the red light in front of us. "Theodore Nivison.."

"Junior, too. I'm the sequel." Ted grins, glancing at me for a moment. "I almost introduced myself to you as 'Theo', actually, but I figured Tanner had already told you about me."

"Oh yeah, that would've made you sound even more like a prick."

"Well, see, I had this idea that I needed to be charming, but now I see you're a fucking wench, so.."

"Wench!?" I start laughing, tilting my head back. This mother fucker. He does not need to be this funny. He can't be handsome and funny. It isn't fair. "You're a fucking tool, Theodore"

"Oh I hate hearing my full name in your voice." Ted cringes playfully. "Don't do that."

"I'm gonna start calling you Theodore now."

"Please, don't. I'll take 'Theo' and 'Teddy', those are fine."

"I thought you didn't like Teddy?" I make my voice sound a little higher and lean my arm against the storage compartment between us, batting my eyelashes at Ted. He turns his head to look at me and say something, but he pauses. Our faces are close again and I think I see him blush for a moment, but he rolls his eyes and turns his head away to look out the front window again. "I don't mind it from you."

"Awe, Theodore! You do care!"

I'm giggling to myself in the passenger seat as the light turns green, adjusting myself so I'm fully seated. Ted gives me playful smacks on the arm before he starts driving again, pestering me to be quiet as he drives. I'm lightly whacking at his hand whenever he tries to pester me, giggling like an absolute fool. I just love messing with him. I absolutely love messing with him.

We drove around for a little bit, trying to decide where to go to get these clothes. We didn't want to spend hours and hours going from store to store and we certainly didn't intend to max out Tanner's card, even if it wasn't his money. Ted mentioned that he usually just goes to Old Navy, so we settled on there. The closest Old Navy was in a strip mall, so we had to find a parking spot and walk around inside for a little bit just to get to it. A lot of the smaller stores we passed by were either completely empty or closed down entirely, yet there were a lot of people walking around just for the food court. Valid.

"You wanna get lunch after?" I ask Ted, glancing up at him as we walk. He's so tall. "You askin' me out?" He remarks with a smirk. "I'm asking if you're hungry. I'm hungry."

"...Yeah, I could eat, but not here." Ted agreed with a little shrug, slipping his hands in his pockets. "I'll take us somewhere better later."

"Not the Rainforest."

"...Alright, but you're no fun."

We spend the entire late morning and half of the afternoon together in that mall. The entire time we're joking with each other and laughing together. It felt like it did on the very first day when we had to get breakfast: little to no tension, just good vibes and even better chemistry. As much as I enjoyed getting weak in the loins by his charming looks and deep voice, I also enjoyed just casually getting along with him. I enjoyed having this friendship

This friendship has A LOT of sexual tension in it, but still, I like being his friend.

I had tried on a TON of clothes at that Old Navy. Turns out, not a bad place to shop. They had some sort of flash sale going on, so we got a lot more than just 10 simple outfits. Even Ted had decided to buy a new shirt, letting me help him decide between a few before we'd pay for our stuff and leave. We took a lot of photos, too. At one point, Ted had completely underestimated if whether or not a shirt would fit me. I came out of the dressing room with it about half on. It barely covered my bra and completely showed my midrift. There was no way I was able to pull it down, I looked like an overgrown toddler. I looked ridiculous, but man, were we laughing about it. At another point, we accidentally took the long way back around to the entrance we came in from, so we passed by a fairly busy Victoria's Secret. Ted sneakily moved over to a full set of pink lingerie and held it up to his body, gesturing over at me with a humorous smirk.

"You're not buying that for me." I snicker, crossing my arms at me. "It's for me, bitch!" Ted remarks with a cringey, feminine lisp, hooking the lingerie back up where it belonged to scurry back to me before being seen. I laughed hard enough for my voice to start echoing across the mall. Everything he did today was making me laugh. Even when we were leaving the mall and I realized Sweet Escape was playing, Ted was making me laugh with his...unique idea of dancing. Maybe he liked making me laugh, I don't know. I wasn't complaining.

We get back to Ted's tacoma just before it starts raining. Ted has to rush to throw all of the new clothes in the backseat before he can get in, some of the rainwater weighing down his tall hair a little as he sits down in the driver's seat and closes his door with a huff.

"Look at us, getting caught in the rain." I grin at Ted, watching as he ran his fingers through his now damp hair. "Yeah, super romantic, I'm sure.". Ted playfully scoffed, starting up his truck to pull out of the mall parking lot. He'd drive a little slower once the rain would pick up, keeping his eyes on the road. This particular drive was quiet, but that changed once we parked by the restaurant we were planning to get lunch at.

"No way am I walking in that.." Ted speaks, taking his seatbelt off so he can relax back against his seat. "I don't think it'll last much longer." I reply, taking my seatbelt off as well. "It's probably just a passing storm. We can just kill time.." I lean forward to look up through the front window, trying to see how dark the clouds above us are.

"That works, got a question for you anyway." Ted spoke, shifting his body a little so he could face me more comfortably. I gesture at him to let him ask his question, checking my phone's weather app to see how long the storm was estimated to last.

"Why couldn't you kiss me yesterday?"

I stop scrolling through the weather app to look at Ted, raising a brow at him with a smirk. "From what I can remember, I had no problems kissing you yesterday.."

"Yeah, once we were alone." Ted smirks at me, tilting his head a little when I didn't give an immediate answer. I stare back at him for a moment before adjusting in my seat to face him more, leaning a bit against the storage space between us once again. "You couldn't kiss me either." I smirk back at him, squinting a little as if to examine him. "You're the one that said you could kiss the--"

"Yeah I know what I said, 'pretty lady' I know. I know." Ted interrupted me, holding his hand up in between us. "I'm asking you, I have my own reasons."

"And what reasons are there?"

"I'm asking you, princess. Don't dodge around it."

"No no no, now you've got me curious."

"I don't fucking care what I've got you, I'm not telling you shit until--"

"You're the one that was supposed to give the tell, Ted."

Ted and I lock eyes once again, my smirk turning into a knowing smile. It's true. All of those nerves? Ted technically started it. At first, Ted was too nervous to give the tell on camera so Tanner wanted us to do a practice kiss. That's where I was personally messing up.

"Why couldn't you kiss me, Theo~?"

Without even realizing, my eyes linger down to his quaint blush toned lips, quickly darting my eyes back up to meet his once more. Did he notice? I hope to god he didn't notice. I had been thinking about that first kiss for nearly an hour last night, but being alone with Ted makes me think about it again. My stomach feels fluttery just looking into his eyes. I have to hold back the urge to giggle anytime he smiles at me. Part of me even wants to kiss him right now.

Ted's silent smirk turns into a charming smile, raising his chin a little.

"...I don't think it needs to be said at this rate, does it?" Ted finally responds, his eyes seemingly searching my face. That certainly isn't going to help the butterflies in my stomach, but it's the closest thing I'm probably going to get to a clear answer about Ted's feelings, at least for now.

"Well...I guess we're both disappointments, then." I say, resting my chin on my hand.

"Guess so.." Ted shrugs lightly, keeping his gaze on mine. I glance at his neck before looking at his face again.

"You're going to be trouble for me, aren't you?" I ask in a gentle voice.

"I kinda hope so, yeah." He grins back at me, lowering his chin to fully meet my gaze. "That's what I'm goin' for."

The sun's harsh rays slowly move over to practically light up the inside of the truck, revealing that the storm had finally passed. I wonder what would've happened if that storm had lasted just a little bit longer. I probably would've kissed him. God, I wanted to kiss him.

Ted and I finally exit his Tacoma to go inside and grab some lunch, deciding to dine-in despite knowing we had been out longer than anticipated. I brought this up to Ted, but he assured me Tanner wouldn't care. I'm starting to think Tanner and Joe are trying to set us up. Even as Ted and I sit at our booth and continue to talk casually about ourselves, I get a sense that Ted and I have a timer between us. I don't know what it's counting down to, but either this tension is going to just fizzle out as harmless flirting and we go our separate ways, or it's going to explode in our faces. Yesterday's kiss makes me feel like it's going to be the ladder.

I had a big storm of my own on it's way.

After lunch, Ted and I returned to set with everything we had bought, plus some leftovers for Tanner. Joe and I spent the rest of the evening getting all of the outfits together, making sure to keep them all hung up in my room this time. Next thing I know, the day is over and I'm once again in my room, just looking over social media on my phone. I'm wearing a flowy nightgown to bed tonight with only pajama shorts on underneath, but I'm comfortable, even though it's late. I probably should've put my phone down an hour ago, but it was hard to fall asleep. It sounded like everyone else was out cold, it was dead quiet out there.

Suddenly, there's a knock at my bedroom door.

I look up from my phone, furrowing my brows a little. Who could that be? Joe?

"Yeah?" I ask in a confused tone, resting my phone in my lap.

"Can I come in for a bit?"

Holy fuck

It's Ted.

At my door.

At my fucking door.

"...Why?" I ask, sounding even more befuddled. Ted responds back with something, but I can barely hear him over the door. "Open the door, I can barely hear you."

Ted slowly opens the door, in the same blue shirt he was wearing earlier with some sweatpants on instead and a laptop in his free hand. "Tanner fell asleep in my bed and his door is locked."

"How did Tanner fall asleep in your bed?"

"We were playing Smash Bros on his switch and he--he just conked out, like magic."

As ridiculous as that would sound to the average person, I believed him. Tanner does just fall asleep sometimes. It's funny.

"What does his door being locked have to do with this?" I ask, pointing down.

"Well, I was gonna just take his bed, but I can't get in."

"Uhh-" I let out a nervous chuckle. "You're not fucking sleeping in here, weirdo."

"No, I--keep fucking dreamin', alright? I just need a space to rest my back while I finish this script. I'm sleepin' downstairs."

"Why can't you work downstairs?"

"Because that couch fuckin' sucks. Can I chill here for a bit or not? Like an hour, tops."

I let out an annoyed huff and roll my eyes, patting the empty spot on the bed beside me.

"Thank you." Ted mockingly bows at me before entering the room, closing the door behind him. I scoot a bit further away so he has more room, watching as he sits down next to me and stretches his legs out in front of him, placing his laptop in his lap.

"I don't see how the couch sucks." I shrug, looking down at my phone again. "It was pretty comfortable the other day."

"Oh cool. Can I steal your bed for the night, then? You can take the fuckin' couch." Ted looks over at me with an amusing smirk.

"Oh now you wanna sleep in my bed?"

"Not if you're yappin' in it."

"I wasn't yappin' in it till' you started fuckin' yappin' in it."

"Well now we're both yappin' in it when I need to be yappin' up my fuckin' work, princess. Quit your yappin."

"I'll stop yappin' when you stop yappin'."

"Alright."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

I let out a huff as I hold back the urge to laugh, but Ted starts laughing quietly, making me start chuckling as well. I shake my head to myself, lightly wiping my eyes.

"God, we never stop, eh?" I chuckled, looking at Ted again. "No, I don't--I don't think we can sometimes." Ted admits with a grin, running his fingers through his hair briefly before returning to his laptop, scrolling through what looked to be a long page of words before moving to the bottom to start typing again. I look back at my phone and smile to myself. I'm so comfortable with this man. It's a little jarring to me sometimes, but I am.

Ted works quietly alongside me for a few minutes. I'm scrolling through Instagram with my audio muted, so the only sounds are Ted's fingers clicking down against his laptop keyboard and the occasional hum that leaves him. After a little while, the clicking stops, and he decides to spark another conversation. Writer's block gets the best of us, I suppose.

"What do you think about filming so far?" Ted asks me, turning his head once again to look at me. I like the way the laptop is illuminating his face. "I've really enjoyed it." I admit with a soft smile, settling my phone down in my lap once more. "I like...how challenging it's been, y'know? I wasn't expecting this to be the easiest thing in the world or anything, but the amount of problems we've had to solve and the anxieties I've had to push through...it's all been fun. I'm having fun."

"Yeah, it's been a ride for sure, so far.." Ted nods at me, lightly licking his bottom lip. "I've liked getting to hang with Tanner and Joe again, I got to meet you, Dan's a little strange at times but I think he's openin' up. I think he's chill. I like this....tight little group we've developed. I like it. Um..."

Ted pauses for a moment, glancing at his computer screen before looking at me again, his eyes searching my face as if he was contemplating something. "Can I be honest for a sec? Just...between you and me?"

I feel those butterflies in my stomach again, meeting his gaze with a gentle blush along my cheeks. He's so dreamy. "Absolutely.." I speak in a soft tone, giving him a little nod as well.

"Who was it that was supposed to be me again? Mason, I mean. Carl?" Ted points at me as he tries to guess Conner's name, shaking his head at himself. "No. Con-Conrad?"

"Conner." I correct him, a giggle escaping me.

"Conner. Thank you." Ted chuckles a little, looking down at his hand for a moment before bringing his soft eyes up to look into mine once more. "I'm...I'm kinda glad he didn't make it up here. No I am. I am glad he...didn't make it."

I'm met with an incredibly genuine smile from Ted, making me smile back with a quiet sigh, as if one of those butterflies in my stomach flew up and out of me. I didn't need to guess what Ted was implying there, I knew. I just knew what he meant, and it was incredibly sweet. Probably might've been the sweetest thing a guy has said to me in a long, long time.

"But don't tell Joe I said that, he'll probably smack me upside the fuckin' head." Ted makes a smacking gesture to his head, getting another flirty giggle out of me. "No worries, I'm great at keeping secrets." I reply with a confident grin.

"Oh are you?"

"100%.."

My gaze lingers on him, my soft smile relaxing as I gaze into his dark, earthy eyes. The lights were off when Ted had initially entered the room, so the only thing really illuminating us were the screen lights of his laptop and my phone, but still, I could take in every detail of his handsome face. His dreamy eyes, the unique curve of his nose, the plucks of his growing stubble, the little moles along his cheek, the small dimples he creates when he smiles, his quaint but inviting lips, the shape of his jaw, all that hair on his head...

"...Did you just look at my lips?"

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|| Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 (smut) || Chapter 15 ||

[mrdixon]

A Rugged Muse | Chapter 4

pairing: eventual daryl dixon x f!reader

wc: 3.8k

warnings: SMALL TIMESKIP (it’s like a few weeks), reader has feelings, daryls short tempered, i love lori idc, lots of filler plot till we can get to the juicy stuff 😇

summary: going out with daryl.

A/N: sorry this chapter took so long and ended bad. cant even promise a better next chapter. but i at least hope you arent bored :/

a rugged muse masterlist | regular masterlist

The faint sound of crickets filled your ears as you stared out at the dark mass of water in front of you. You had taken solace in the lake behind the camp, finding yourself here late at night when you couldn’t sleep.

Glenn worried about you when you did this. Though there weren’t any walkers in the area he still didn’t trust leaving you alone in the forest at night, then again he didn’t like leaving you alone anywhere. You were so happy to have your older brother back, but not happy that he was nagging you so much. You may be a grown woman but he still saw you as his baby sister.

A rustle from behind you startled you, your body turned quickly and reached for the dagger by your side. You relaxed and turned back to the lake at the sight of Daryl. You heard his soft sigh as he stepped out from behind the bush and moved over to where you sat on a huge rock. His crossbow was placed next to you as a sort of partition while he sat next to you.

You leaned back on your hands, turning your head to look at him again. His eyes were set dead ahead while his arms rested atop his knees. It became a thing where you two would follow each other around but not say anything, just keeping the other company. At least that’s what it felt like.

You liked it to be completely honest, it was nice having someone else who kept you at ease instead of just Glenn. Even though Daryl didn’t say much, he still made an effort… of something.

“Did Glenn send you out to watch out for me?” You snorted, watching his eyes flicker as if coming to. He grunted in response, lifting his thumb to his mouth. You sighed, turning back to the lake. He still wasn’t much of a conversational person. The silence was comforting nevertheless and you couldn’t help but look at him from your peripheral.

You’d been noticing Daryl a lot more recently. You’ve pretty much established the fact that he was attractive to you, even if he didn’t speak much. He seemed to care about you at least a little bit seeing as how he’s been pretty much following you around camp. You at least considered him a friend, and hoped he thought the same of you.

You were starting to get tired so you stood up and stretched, yawning a little. Daryl’s head tilted upwards to look at you and started to get up as well.

“Tired?” He mumbled to which you nodded and grabbed your dagger.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head in. Should get some sleep and make sure Glenn isn’t stressing his ass off.” You chuckled and swore there was a smirk on his face at your comment. He bent down to grab his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder before turning to you.

“I’ll walk ya back, wouldn’ wan’ ya gettin’ bit.” Daryl tapped your shoulder gently before walking ahead and into the forest. You followed quickly after him, watching your step and making sure to be quiet so you didn’t awaken anyone, or anything.

You noticed he huffed a little when he walked and he grabbed the strap of his crossbow to keep it secure. His muscles flexed a little when he did this and the artist in you tried to keep that in your mind to draw later, after all your art block had lifted. As creepy as it sounded, Daryl was one of your most drawn subjects right now. You couldn’t help it, he was just such a fun thing to draw.

Your face hit his back and he looked over his shoulder at you, stifling a snort.

“Ya good? We’re ‘ere,” he stepped out of the way and watched you as you bowed your head in embarrassment. You hoped he didn’t just see you gawking at his arms.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and walked in front of him to get to your tent. You felt a hand touch your elbow and looked back to see him pull away.

“Ya wanna go huntin’ tomorrow? If ya got nothin’ ta do I dun’ mind teachin’ ya.” Daryl shrugged as he fiddled with the strap of his crossbow, his eyes darting around anxiously.

Your heart fluttered a little. You had told him a couple days ago about how much you wanted to go hunting and “do something useful.” He remembered.

“Yeah,” you nodded and smiled softly. He squinted at you and nibbled the inside of his bottom lip, shifting his stance side to side. “Yeah sure, you want me to meet you?”

“Mm,” he shook his head and started to turn away. “I’ll come getcha,” he waved his hand dismissively, not giving you a moment to respond.

The moonlight shone down on him through the trees as he stalked off. Your eyes were drawn to his back, his muscles rippled as he walked. Those broad shoulders always caught your eye. It was admirable how quiet he was, you could barely hear his feet hit the ground when he walked. You caught yourself staring at him again, sighing deeply as the older man disappeared into the night. You placed a hand on your chest in an attempt to slow down your heart rate which was racing for some reason.

You had just known Daryl for just a few weeks yet your heart raced every time you saw him. You didn’t want to think much about it though, at one point you just assumed he didn’t like you. You honestly didn’t care much either way, the friendship was nice… if you could classify what ever your relationship was as a friendship.

Shaking your head, you turned to your shared tent with Glenn, opening the flap as quiet as you could before slipping in. Glenn was laying on his side, curled up in his sleeping bag. You tried not to disturb him as you moved over to your side of the tent and slowly moved into your sleeping bag.

“What’s going on with you and Daryl?” Glenn mumbled sleepily and you jumped a little. You sighed as you lay on your back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Nothing is going on,” you murmured but it kind of sounded like a question. “Really, nothing.”

Glenn shifted in his spot as he let out a huff and faced you, his eyes were closed but you could tell he was awake and wanted to keep the conversation going.

“You two are going out?” The way he worded the question felt like he was asking if you two were going out. That’s what you assumed at least.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you coughed, shaking your head. “What? No… no I barely know him.”

“Not what I meant,” he shook his head, “tomorrow?” You froze as you caught your misinterpretation, biting your lip.

“I…” you mumbled, rolling over to face him. He looked back at you sleepily and tucked an arm under his head, waiting for your response. “Yeah, we’re going hunting.”

Glenn snorted, rubbing his eyes while you glared at him for laughing. “Oh god, you like him.” He tried to hide his grin from you, catching the pillow you threw at him.

“I do not,” you hissed quietly. “I barely know the guy, plus it hasn’t been long since…” You choked on your own words, thinking about your god damn ex again. Sure it’s been seven months, but no matter what, you couldn’t get over him. Glenn noticed and sat up, sighing as he gently threw your pillow back.

“You still hung over that guy?” He flinched a little when your head snapped over to him, your eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Okay, okay… but c’mon (Y/N). He was an asshole, and I’m not saying I fully support this thing going on between you and Daryl but hey, if it seems like something you’re willing to go for then do it.” You closed your eyes at his words, grabbing your blanket and pulling it over your head. Your older brother sighed, rustling around as he got back into his sleeping bag, “just think about it.”

You mentally eye rolled, there was no way. You couldn’t like Daryl, he was older… more brash and a little bit aggressive. It’d be an odd couple the two of you. Still, a part of you yearned. What for? You didn’t know, it wasn’t important. Whether you yearned for the warm feeling of being loved or him. You kicked your feet frustratingly, earning a scold from Glenn. You hated this feeling, you didn’t want to trust it. Not after what happened before, not after that warm feeling was quickly taken away from you. You couldn’t even imagine losing someone you loved now, in the apocalypse. The thought made you shiver.

You don’t think you could ever love again, especially with the current circumstances. It’d be nice… but not now. You shook your head in a lousy attempt to clear your thoughts, turning over to try and get some shut eye. You sort of dreaded tomorrow.

The sound of tarp rustling woke you up, immediately sitting up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Glenn turned to you apologetically, “sorry to wake you. I’m gonna head out soon.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “huh? You're leaving?” Your older brother nodded with a soft sigh, shrugging as he packed his bag.

“We’re running out of things, the others need me. I’m the only one who knows my way around Atlanta,” your eyes widened. Atlanta was completely infested with those walkers, your thoughts from last night rushing back to you. If something happened to him…

“What if you get hurt?” You frowned, tossing your blanket off to the side as you crawled over to him. He sighed deeply as you continued, “can't you just draw them a map?”

“No,” he shook his head, continuing to pack the things he needed. “It’s best if I go out there with them, safer for them. Safer for me, for us.” He looked at you and frowned at your expression of concern.

“If you die I’ll kill you,” you muttered unpleasantly. Glenn cracked a smile, nudging your shoulder as he shook with silent laughter.

“Sure thing, you have fun on your little date.” You groaned, pushing his head. Glenn toppled over, his body shaking with laughter as he quickly recovered from the fall. “I’ll be back soon, don’t have too much fun.”

Glenn quickly gave you a pat on the head and dashed out of the tent before you even had the chance to push him again. You let out a soft sigh, reaching up to ruffle your hair before crawling around the tent to grab your things and be ready by the time Daryl got there.

You felt a little excited for your little outing with the older man, unsure if it was for the hunting or the man himself, nevertheless you quickly got ready. Putting on some comfortable clothes, you grabbed your daggers and attached them at your thigh, you doubted you would be using them for hunting but you wanted to bring them anyway. A low grunt from outside signaled that Daryl had arrived, his voice confirming your suspicions.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was soft in contrary to his usual tone. You slung your bag over your shoulder and stuck your head out of the tent, seeing the archer standing by a tree. You shot him a small smile before getting out and walking over to him. He eyed you up and down innocently, shrugging before leading the way. “Saw a few rabbits down ‘ere.”

You followed after him like a lost puppy, trying to mimic his skillful step through the forest. He looked over his shoulder at you and scoffed a little, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a half-smushed pack of cigarettes, grabbing one before offering one to you.

“No thanks,” you shook your head, “I quit.” Daryl nodded respectively and shoved the pack back into his pocket before grabbing a lighter and lighting his.

His lips wrapped around the end, taking a deep drag before blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. The smell of tobacco occupied the area around you two. He glanced at you from his peripheral, taking another drag before asking,

“Any reason ya quit?” He coughed, “if ya wanna share… ‘m jus’ wonderin’.” You chuckled softly at his flustered tone of voice, you wondered if he was always this nervous.

“Ah just…” you shook your head as you looked up at him. The truth was, you used to smoke a lot with your ex, even more so after the breakup. You would've taken Daryl’s offer but decided against it. “…wanted to break habits,” you shrugged and looked ahead again.

Daryl nodded and continued to walk in silence, not wanting to push the matter further. Seeing the forest so clear was odd, before you wouldn’t have questioned it but it felt so weird to not hear or see a walker every five minutes. The two of you continued to walk in peaceful silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the tranquil forest. Your companion soon pointed to what you assumed was tracks, though they looked like a rock fell very strategically… Daryl let out a soft grunt as he dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground, stuffing it out with his heel.

Daryl’s crossbow slid off his shoulder and into his hands, beckoning you closer. You moved next to him, brushing your shoulder against his. He glanced down at you, gently maneuvering the crossbow into your hands. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him in confusion, his rough hands brushing against your skin as he guided your hands onto the crossbow.

“You ever use one of these?” He grunted, a hint of amusement dwelling in his tone. His eyes flashed with hilarity when you shook your head frantically. He gave you a light pat on the back and walked ahead, assuming you’d follow. “You’ll be fine, I’ll help ya out.”

You helplessly followed after him, the weight of the crossbow already straining your arms. No wonder Daryl’s arms were so nice, he had to carry this hunk of material every day. You stopped in your tracks as soon as his palm was held up towards you, his fingers curling up to hold one finger up, signaling you to be quiet. He swiftly moved behind a bush and you quickly followed, crouching down next to him.

Daryl pointed outwards to a small clearing where a rabbit was nibbling on some grass, you nodded and lifted to crossbow to aim towards the rabbit. You heard a snort from him, feeling a hand tap your own to lower it. You turned to him and furrowed your brows, he shook his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and placing both his hands over yours. You swallowed nervously as he guided you to properly aim at the rabbit.

“Now press the trigger,” his breath was warm against your neck, making you flinch slightly and pull the trigger. Unfortunately you did not hit the rabbit and ended up scaring it off, Daryl immediately got up and huffed in annoyance. You sighed, feeling your heart beat faster. He was just so close to you, screwing you over in the process. Daryl stood with his hands on his hips, biting the inside of his cheek to not blow up at you. Admittedly, it was your fault you missed the shot.

You stood up cautiously and handed him the crossbow with a guilty expression, “sorry.” Daryl took one look at you and huffed before snatching the crossbow back. He wasn’t about to scream at you, but he didn’t respond anyway. You didn’t say anything else as he started walking, and you followed after quietly.

Daryl held his head up, though his eyes were scanning the ground for the rabbit’s tracks. You just followed him mindlessly through the forest even though you were so sure he’d shoot you dead right here and now. His patience was running thin though, you two had walked towards where the rabbit should be, but didn’t find it. His fingers tapped against the material of his crossbow, clearly trying to keep himself from losing his shit.

Soon you met the end of the rabbits tracks, they simply disappeared. Daryl let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face with one hand as he grumbled something under his breath. A rush of guilt flooded through you, after all it was sort of your fault for missing the shot. Now there was no dinner, but hopefully the supply run group would come back with food…

“I’m really sorry Daryl,” you mumbled timidly. You didn’t want to piss him off but your shyness quite literally did. He hissed under his breath, turning to you.

“If only ya didn’ miss the damn shot, could’ve had food by now.” Your stomach dropped as he walked by you, bumping his shoulder into yours. You felt that was a bit unfair, it’s not like you missed on purpose.

You looked over your shoulder to find Daryl bitterly stomping his way back to camp. He may be attractive but he really did irritate you sometimes. His head turned once he heard you angrily walk over to him, passing him with your own shoulder bump.

“The fuck’s yer problem?” He growled before catching up to you. Your eyes rolled as you avoided his gaze, shaking your head.

“What’s yours? I didn’t even do anything bad,” you grumbled annoyed. “I apologized twice already.”

“Yeah well an apology ain’ gon’ do shit fer us if we don’ even have food ta eat.” You rolled your eyes again, not wanting to deal with his bullshit right now. “Wasn’ even tha’ hard of a shot.” Your blood boiled at his remark. It wasn’t even the difficulty of the shot that made you miss, it was the fact that he was breathing up on you.

You whipped around to face him, narrowing your eyes. “If you weren’t so close and breathing down my neck, I would’ve made the shot. I just got spooked.”

“Tha’ shit ain’ gon’ fly in this apocalypse. Ya gotta deal with gettin’ spooked or else yer gonna die from a damned walker,” he drawled lowly. “Surprised ya hadn’t already.”

You were done. Choosing to ignore him, you pushed through the forest and sped walked your way back to camp, ignoring his protests.

The remaining members of the group noticed your tense expression, most raised a brow while others chose to keep silent. Daryl had quite the temper and frankly? You weren't about to deal with an angry Dixon right now.

Said Dixon emerged from the forest shortly after, his brows furrowed together in irritation. His head whipped around the area, looking to Shane.

“Ya know where Merle is?” He let out a grunt as Shane sighed deeply, knowing Daryl wouldn't like his answer.

“He’s out on the supply run with the others,” you watches as Daryl rubbed his face, rolling his eyes in the process before storming back off into the woods. Shane looked over at you with silent acknowledgment to your assumed argument with the brazen man before Lori stepped in and placed a hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

You sighed softly as you let her lead you through the trees and towards the lake where the other remaining women were, folding laundry. Lori sat you down and gave you a gentle smile before calling out to Carl, telling him to stay close.

“So what happened?” Lori chuckled softly, though concern could be heard in her voice. You shook your head and lifted a hand to rub your eye.

“He’s just got a loose screw or something.” The rage in you was sweltering, but you found it in you to keep calm. “I missed a shot with his crossbow, and he blamed me for ‘losing dinner’.” Lori laughed at your finger quotes, shaking her head.

“I would say that’s just a Dixon thing… but trust me, it’s all men.” She chuckled lightly, “my husband is like that sometimes. Not as extreme as Daryl but y’know, he had his moments.”

You tilted your head slightly as you looked over at her, “I didn’t know you and Shane were married.” It wasn’t completely secret that the two were fooling around but you didn’t think they were married. Though you immediately realized your mistake.

Lori stared at you with wide eyes, glancing over your shoulder to see if Carl had heard before shaking her head. “No, no… Shane and I aren’t married. I mean Rick… he’s uh..” she cleared her throat and you got the hint.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to assume—” She cut you off with a gentle shake of her head, looking out to the lake awkwardly. Your assumption was quite dumb anyway, Lori and Shane wouldn’t be so secretive about their relationship if they were married…

You looked down at your lap and sighed gently, the silence was making you think again. Especially about that dumbass… Daryl. How arrogant of him to blame you for missing that shot when really, it was his fault for jumping you. And the fact he got so heated over it? Absolutely infuriating.

Lori tapped your knee gently and your head snapped up to meet her gaze. She nodded behind you and when you turned, the man you were just fuming over was standing there. Daryl was still tense but you could tell he felt guilty, or at least sorry for blowing up. He didn’t have to say anything before you got up and followed him back into the forest, the silence deafening.

“Look…” Daryl started slowly, halting in place and turning to look at you. “’m sorry fer yellin’ at you, but ya gotta admit tha’ was a shit shot comin’ from you.” All feeling of relief was taken from you at that moment, rolling your eyes as annoyance flooded through you.

You turned away from him but he caught your arm, turning you back to face him. He took a deep breath before glancing down at your legs, pointing to your daggers.

“Ya know how ta use those?” You narrowed your eyes at his question before responding in confusion.

“Yeah…? You just stab… whatever it is… you’re trying to, I don’t know, kill??” You shook your head and looked at him as if he just asked a really obvious question, which he did.

“No—” He groaned, placing his hand over his eyes as if trying to ground himself. “No, like. Can ya throw ‘em?”

Good point, you didn’t.

He took your silence and awkward expression as your answer and started to walk again, waving you to follow. This back and forth walking was really taking it out of you.

“’kay, then ‘m gonna teach ya because I do not trust you with my baby.” You snorted softly as he referred to his crossbow as “his baby.” You found it slightly endearing.

You just hoped this lesson would go well this time because you did not want to deal with a frustrated Dixon twice in one day.

taglist (comment on masterlist to be added!) @arson1893 @ryoujoking @abi67sblog @sm4-rty @skunk-dude @dontsassmecastiel @scudslut @xmaeyonaiise @welcumetomyescape @duckybird101

[sheepiemc]

If it’s canon in the sheepiemc verse that Diavolo develops new ideas for RAD through human movies, how do you think he’d react to watching bring it on, or something cheerleading adjacent?

i've been thinking about this since i got it yesterday but i wanted to finish the next chapter's draft bc i was on a roll this is SO FUN

i had it in my head that RAD had cheerleaders for fangol but i think i absorbed that from some fics bc there is no mention of them on the wiki SO WE GOT FREE REIGN BAYBEE (also forgive me i haven't seen the movie in a hot minute)

SO YOU SHOWED DIAVOLO BRING IT ON

📣 now obviously there's gonna be a RAD cheer competition

📣 sure no one really knows how to put on a cheer routine but that doesn't really matter when you have magic and a dream

📣 so Diavolo obviously can't participate himself so he judges alongside Barbados and MC

📣 also obviously the little cheerleading outfit is a HUGE part of the appeal of this idea so i made a chart

📣 OBVIOUSLY asmo would have no problem gettin in that cheerleading outfit (he probably would design them), i feel like solomon and simeon would have a good attitude about it, and i know i said Diavolo is a judge but you cannot stop this demon from wearing a cute outfit and he deserves it.

📣 in the middle tier, they would all take varying levels of conviction to put on the outfit, but the initial instinct isn't there, right?

📣 and of course, OF COURSE the avatar of pride wouldn't subject himself to the "embarrassment" bc he's a fucking killjoy 😆 he would rock it and he won't even give it a chance

📣 anyway the rest of the school would have to participate too otherwise there would be no competition but who really cares about them

📣 oh my god wait i was thinking they would all be on one team but could you imagine the chaos if they were all captains of their own teams comprised of other demons of their sin 😳 oh my god the DRaMA

📣 now THAT would be juicy... team lust and team pride would be the definite frontrunners, mammon would probably try to cheat thinking there was a cash prize, levi's experience with idol dances actually get him pretty far... can't see team sloth getting very far so maybe belphie would just be on team gluttony by default... team wrath in the running just to beat lucifer... huh... maybe i'll come back to this 🤔

📣 oh no now i wanna design all their uniforms......

📣 what could the prize possibly be that would make all these demons participate in this foolishness? honestly i have no idea 😆 i thought it might be the non-prize of being the official RAD cheerleading team but who of the brothers would actually want that except asmo? maybe dia will grant the winner a wish or smth

thanks for the suggestion!!! this was really fun to think about 😄

[cosmicriff]

Things r gettin juicy

[partyinthemysterymachine]

yelling crying beating my face in

ch68 is gonna be A Late One, ghouls and gals; i have been working LITERALLY every day this month (ok. minus one day. but that's IT) on this absolutely wild child bastard chapter, and. drags hands down face and buries in hands. i cannot even beGIN to tell u abt the rewrites. the musical chairs. the scrapped material. the SAVED material. It's So Much.

but what i CAN tell u....... is that this one's A Doozy™️. yep, ur gettin another LOOOONG chapter lads, but i can PROMISE u, it's a Juicy One >:3c cuz i dunno about YOU all, but I'M sure looking forward to The Chapter After That because heehee hoho It's The (whispers) Sex (!!!) Number, and. claps hands together. rubs like dirty little fly. hehehehe. >:3c

so that's my story and my excuse and i'm stickin' to it, lucky enough i THINK (knock on wood) that i should be able to get chSexy Number out on time (read: by the end of the month, since i'm (WAS) shooting for a chapter a month here) and that one WILL be shorter. but Due To The Nature Of Character Development And Lore™️©️, ch68 will be Slightly™️ Delayed. 😔 gomen nasai 😩🙏🙏😭😭🙏🙏

anyway. TO THE STAAAAAARS

[ember-restored]

yo, Smiling Dead readers!

I am still writing, the chapter is about halfway? done (and atm, is roughly the size of previous chapters).

it's been slower going than expected bc my body kinda shit out on me. Sitting upright has been rough and that's really cut into my writing ability. I'll be fine, but wanted to offer an update since it's taking longer than I expected.

Anyways, thanks for sticking around!! I promise it's gettin juicy..

[xnadercrownboiofnorhb]

Of Knights and Dragons: Chapter 6, Alliances Part 2

<Previous | xxx | Next>

Hey pals! Sorry I am so late I have had to exams and many long shifts over the last week, but here is the second installation of Chapter 6! (There are 3 parts in all) More drama ensues!

As always, I hope you enjoy! 

Much Love

    The deep violet of night washed over the vast mountains surrounding the quiet kingdom of Mithia. The entire kingdom was illuminated with soft lanterns shimmering throughout the city. The castle was clamoring with the din of esteemed Mithial nobles, mingling and loitering about the courtyard and the main hall, eagerly awaiting the presentation of the Nohrian princesses. Amidst the gossiping aristocrats, diligent attendants served delicate pastries and fragrant berry tea. Charming melodies filled the night sky as a small Mithial orchestra performed with skillful fingers.

   The Nohrian retainers peppered the scene, keeping a watchful eye out for any potential foul play. While most of the nobles accepted the alliance with open arms, seeing the powerful symbiotic relationship that could blossom from this union, several Mithial influencers made it very clear they wanted nothing to do with Nohr and its everlasting squabble with Hoshido. Flora and Gunter stood on either side of the grand stairwell from which the princesses would descend when they finally made their entrance. They stood proud as magnificent beacons, shining in their formal attire, the very epitome of Nohrian excellence.

   The haze of noise that filled the atmosphere dissolved at the sight of the Prince of Mithia descending the long stairwell. Truly a vision in his deep navy doublet embellished with the finest silver. His thick, luxurious hair was swept back beneath a thin, regal crown.

  “Dear friends and distinguished guests,” The prince spoke with a winning smile, the glistening gauntlets on his hands outstretched in a benevolent welcome, “I am truly overjoyed to have all of you here tonight as we write history together. As you may know, Xander, the Crown Prince of Nohr and I have officially established an exciting alliance between Nohr and Mithia.” The prince continued his descent until he was at the center of the ballroom. “Tonight, we are not only graced with the lovely Princess Camilla and sweet Princess Elise, but illusive Princess Corrin herself. Lady Corrin comes as a representation of our new partnership” Small excited whispers bounced about the crowd in anticipation for the reception of the unknown Princess. Her first formal appearance beyond the confines of Nohr.

    “I would like to take a moment to thank our royal attendants, without their hard work, this lovely feast simply could not be.” He gestured to Tobias and the line of Mithial servants who bowed with rosy cheeks in response to his gratitude. Effie raised a goblet in agreement, mouth full of food, her other hand holding a silver platter filled to the brim with various entrees.

   “Now, you haven’t congregated here to listen to me ramble on,” The prince was met with the soft laughter of his people, “I am so very privileged to introduce to you, the ethereal Nohrian Princesses.”

  The crowd hushed as the orchestra reduced to a romantic melody in minor; a lovely duet of piano and cello. Descending from the stairwell first was Elise, her voluminous blonde hair woven back with ribbon into a wreath of braids. Like a charming porcelain doll, the ruffles of her black Norhian ball gown swaying as she bounded down the stairs with perhaps a little more excitement than what was proper. Elise immediately won the crowd over with her endearing nature as she gleefully met the prince that bowed before her. With a sweet curtsy, she stood beside him and turned to watch Camilla make her way down to the ballroom.

    She was a true beauty in her enchanting trumpet gown. Her luxurious lavender hair was braided off to the side, cascading down her shoulder and over the sweetheart cut of her snug gown. Much like Elise, her gown was also an ode to Nohr, a shadowy black with subtle sparkling gold details. To absolutely no one's surprise there wasn’t a single set of eyes in the attendance that didn’t admire the voluptuous eldest Princess. She moved intentionally with her bare, regal shoulders held high and slowly sauntered over to be greeted by the handsome prince and join her younger sister. There was a complete stillness in the air as the final Princess appeared from behind the Mythril pillars at the top of the marble stairwell.

    Corrin was extraordinarily nervous, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She moved timidly, feeling vulnerable in the eyes of so many noble strangers. As she apprehensively made herself visible, she met the warm, admiring eyes of Flora. The gaze of her dearly beloved maid comforted the Princess. Flora beamed with pride, tears bubbling in the corners of her eyes as she held a hand to her lips. Noting Flora’s powerful reaction, the Veteran Knight who stood parallel to her turned to see for himself. His heart seized in his chest, his lungs unable to fill with air.

   Princess Corrin descended the stairs, encased in the light of chandeliers that enveloped her like a halo. Her short raven hair was swept back and pinned in place by a single Mithial Poppy. Her dress moved like the darkest night sky, shining stars of golden embellishments twinkled in the trail that shadowed her. A form fitting shoulder-less bodice with an open back lay beneath a sheer high-neck overlay that modestly covered her chest and extended out into sleeves upon her soft, fair arms. Only now did it dawn on Gunter that in all of his years in service to the woman, he had never seen her properly outfitted as the Princess she truly was. His heart could barely endure it.

    The moment their eyes met, time came to a halt, the somber song of the cello melted to silence and the crowds of people faded away into oblivion. It was just the two of them. The Princess and her dashing Knight. He could see his infatuation reflecting in her eyes as she admired him for a precious moment. She felt as though she could stare at him for an eternity. She reluctantly pried her eyes away before her gaze upon her handsome Knight became perceptibly inappropriate to the crowd before them. Instead, with a false smile, her eyes fell to the Mithial prince, whom to her... sorely paled in comparison.

    “My eyes are truly privileged to gaze upon such a vision.” Prince Giovanni smiled, respectfully bowing to Princess Corrin.

   “You flatter me, Lord Giovanni.” Corrin smiled mirroring his polite gesture.

  “May I have the honor?” He lifted his open palm to her, an invitation to initiate the ball. With pins and needles in her stomach, she promptly accepted; lest she hesitate and cause a spectacle. The moment their hands connected the union of the Nohrian-Mithial alliance was publicly solidified. The Mithial Prince drew Corrin close, driving a dagger into the center of Gunter’s chest.

    The Knight was suffering, standing stationary at the base of the stairwell forced to watch as Prince Giovanni’s hand fell to the small of Corrin’s exposed back. Gunter maintained his stern stoicism, but beneath his rough exterior, he ached. He tried to soothe himself through rationalization; this was simply political, and even if it were not, Corrin is a woman - not his possession. Yet, no amount of logic, no matter how much he told himself he had no right to feel envious… He still did. He had never been a particularly jealous man - but perhaps that was only because for too long he had nothing of value to be taken away from him.

   Flora watched Gunter with sympathy. She too, was greatly uncomfortable watching her dear Corrin slowly sway in circles around the ballroom. Anyone who truly knew Corrin could see how artificial this display was. Flora knew the Princess to be altruistic and courageous, gentle and ferocious, an incredible woman, a leader, a friend. This bizarre union, over which noble onlookers swooned, was... fake. It wasn’t who Corrin truly was. Yes, the Princess was a marvel, but she gracefully moved with concealed anxiety. She was scared and uncomfortable, yet she remained composed. Flora wanted nothing more to dash over to her rescue and swat the Prince away.

    Corrin moved seamlessly over the shining ocean of the mythril ballroom floor. She allowed herself to breath and relax as Giovanni gently lead her around the extravagant room.

   “You’re a natural.” the Mithial Prince spoke softly, presenting her with a brilliant smile.

   “I had a lot of time to practice.” Corrin laughed.

    “What crime of King Garon to keep such a treasure locked away for so long.” Corrin’s stomach churned, she had no idea how to respond, her heart began to pound in her chest. She smiled weakly in attempt to mask her panic, a silent cry for help. Surely the universe was listening, as before she could form a response, the orchestra gently subsided and the royal Prince withdrew from her with a final polite bow. With the soft curtsy she gave in response, the first dance was complete and the ball was initiated. Mithial nobles crossed the threshold onto the ballroom floor and moved together gracefully in celebration of the newly forged alliance.

   The veteran Knight watched the Princess as she politely entertained the snobbish nobles that violated her with their prying eyes. Like Flora, he could see so clearly how unnatural this was for Corrin. He knew she was uncomfortable and there was absolutely nothing he could do to relieve her. Gunter squirmed in his skin, suffocating in his helplessness. He observed the scene carefully, eagerly awaiting an opportunity to flee without notice. The moment the opportunity presented itself, he eagerly took advantage of it and excused himself to an off-branching corridor.

   Princess Corrin may have been deep in frivolous conversation with several nobles, but she sensed the moment her Knight departed from the ballroom. She could feel the vacancy he left in the room even before she glanced over to the lonely stairwell where he once stood. A lump formed in her throat; she wanted to chase after him but she couldn’t break free from the chains of her social obligation.

   Murmurs of admiration sprouted about the room as Princess Camilla swayed onto the ballroom floor hand in hand with Prince Giovanni. The contrast between her performance and that of Corrin’s was uncanny. The eldest princess moved with confidence and unmatched grace. A genuine display of Nohrian royalty that only stoked the fire of Corrin’s feelings of fraudulence. All eyes were on the curvaceous Princess, granting Corrin a moment to catch her breath.

         “Are you enjoying yourself, my Lady?” A kind voice quietly chirped, that of the handsome young butler, Tobias.

    “Of course.” Corrin tried her very best to sound convincing, but Tobias knew better.

    “Truly? It is entirely acceptable to feel a little overwhelmed, Princess. I do not believe a single soul in this room would blame you if you needed a moment to yourself.”

“Do you truly mean that?” she spoke quietly and with hesitation.

“Yes. I remember Prince Giovanni’s first royal engagement. His poor mother had to coax him out a nervous breakdown in from of the entire kingdom.” Tobias placed a reassuring hand upon her bare shoulder, “I will personally see to it that no one gives you any grief.” Corrin nodded politely to dismiss herself, earning an encouraging smile from the butler.

     Quietly and slowly, she made her way around the mezmorized crowd and slipped into the dim corridor just beyond the grand stairwell. It was as if she passed into an entirely different world as the large ebony doors quietly closed behind her; silence and candlelight. Immaculately polished suits of armor lined the ornate walls, royal mythril armor nobly posed. Planted at the end of the corridor, stoic and still, was Gunter. With his proud, impeccable posture, he fit in well among the armored figures surrounding him.

   “Sir Gunter…” The princess moved softly and intentionally towards the Veteran Knight who greeted her with a fractured smile.

   “Lady Corrin…” His smile soon faded as he looked towards the dark doors from which she emerged, “You should not be here, your Majesty, surely someone will come looking for you.”

  “We shouldn’t be alone together long, but the Prince’s attendant gave me time. Camilla of course is a helpful distraction, all eyes are on her.”

  “Certainly not all eyes, Princess.” Gunter hesitated for a brief moment before affectionately brushing back a rebellious tuft of raven hair from her cheek. “In all of my years,” his voice was hushed and tender, “never have I laid my eyes upon a more beautiful sight.”

   “Gunter…” Corrin’s cheeks blossomed into a deep blush, “You made it difficult to focus on anything in there. It was painful to try and keep my eyes off of you.” Gunter chuckled warmly at her flattery, his hand fell to claim hers, his thumb gently tracing circles in her palm.

   “I would give anything to escape all of this, to run away and be alone with you.” Corrin spoke with such conviction, catching Gunter off guard.

   “Corrin…” her name escaped his lips in a gentle whisper.

   “I mean that. Every word.”

    The bright laughter of Elise could be heard emanating from beyond the doors, reminding the two of the rambunctious, demanding world that lay beyond. Gunter sighed, and raised Corrin’s hand to meet his lips. It was a delightful fantasy to entertain, running away to some far off place together; away from Mithia, away from Nohr, away from all of the chaos. Yet, they knew the weight of the burden on their shoulders, they simply could not defect from a country that truly needed them.

   “We will get through this night,” he reassured her, fingers tenderly interlocked they made their way towards the door, “together.” Corrin pushed up onto her toes to press a gentle kiss to Gunter’s cheek. They lingered, sharing a mutual smile before releasing their hands from one another and returning to the ballroom.

  In the heart of the dance floor, Elise was twirling in circles with her charming, if a little clumsy, retainer, Arthur. There was a light, cheerful air about the room as the man beamed with laughter. Weaving about the dancing aristocrats was another unlikely pair, Camilla spun around the room with a very unamused, disgruntled Beruka pressed into her bust. At the sight of this display, without hesitation Corrin clasped her hand around Gunter’s wrist. Oh no, a pang of fear hit the Knight’s stomach as he felt a tug at his arm. He shot Corrin anxious glance, shaking his head in protest, but it only encouraged the grinning Princess to grasp onto the Veteran with both hands and pull him out onto the ballroom floor. He tried so hard to collect himself, with his poor heart pounding in his chest; but when he felt Corrin’s gentle, reassuring hand upon his shoulder, he felt grounded. From beneath her hand, a warmth spread from his shoulder, across his chest and stilled his anxious heart.

    Under the curious eyes of the crowd surrounding them, he was very careful about the placement of his hands, very conscious of maintaining an appropriate distance between the two. It didn’t take long for Corrin’s contagious smile to spread to the Knight’s lips. His confidence returned to him as his strong arms lead the Princess in seamless turns and steps. Corrin found herself impressed by the Kight’s unexpected grace. There was something so indulgent about being so close to one another, to be touching one another so openly. Amidst her sisters, the pair didn’t raise a single eyebrow. No, it was just a charming princess and her stoic, noble retainer.

   “Every man in this room wishes he were me right now, you know that?.” Gunter whispered into Corrin’s ear.

    “Whatever for?” Corrin teased, “Your charm? Your dashing good looks?” She earned a smooth chuckle from the Knight.

  “I am so… happy.” Gunter struggled to find words that could properly describe the tremendous warmth that enveloped his heart. “Thank you, Corrin.”

  The Princess gazed into his eyes, her hands grasping onto him a little tighter. She drew just a little closer to him as they swayed; harmless, as they were hidden amidst the other pairs. For just a moment, they felt alone together. Moving in time with the romantic cello, Gunter felt young again, invigorated. He was no longer a war-hardened soldier, a stern Knight Commander, he was simply a man, dancing with a woman. He wasn’t prepared for the moment to pass, as the orchestra’s ballad slowed to an end. He didn’t want to let go, he wanted to live in this moment. Corrin released herself with a gentle smile and reluctantly withdrew from him, taking his breath with her as she retreated.

  “Sir Gunter!! Dance with me next!!” Elise grasped onto the Knight, shocking him out of his daydream. He shot a frightened look to Corrin as silent cry for help. Corrin dismissed him with a smile, watching with amusement as Elise excitedly dragged him away. Corrin chuckled and stepped away from the dancing pairs before she too was claimed by another partner.

  She made her was over to the impressive, elaborate banquet spread for a glass of wine. Nodding happily to Effie who enthusiastically filled up a third or fourth plate. With a silver goblet of red wine in her palm, Corrin made her way to a balcony overlooking the ethereal castle courtyard. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before someone approached her, this time a young Mithial maid with whom Corrin hadn’t previously spoken with.

   “My Lady.” She bowed her head respectfully as she extended a small envelope with the same wax stamp that imprinted Corrin’s invitation letter. “From Prince Giovanni.”

  “Thank you.” Corrin accepted the envelope and examined it in her hand, she looked up to inquire about its contents, but the maid had vanished.

  With care, Corrin slipped her thumb beneath the seal of wax, allowing the letter gently unfold. It wasn’t a particularly long letter, but as Corrin’s eyes scanned over the delicate calligraphy, her face grew pale and a knot twisted in her stomach. With those few words, the goblet fell from Corrin’s hand with a crash, spraying red wine across balcony floor.

No.

[mirabelthemiracle]

love it when the characters take control and create more pain for themselves than i ever planned on 😈

[beskarberry]

Red in Morning

Solisequious, Chapter 3

(Cyborg!Ezra x F!Reader with last name) [+18]

You glanced at them briefly, your eyes flicking between his mouth and his eyes, trying not to think too hard about what it would be like to kiss him. Your imagination would have done little justice anyway, because Ezra was thinking the same thing, and decided to lean in and make it a reality.

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.5k

Content warnings: EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN SINK! Pining, food play if you really squint, gentlemanly Ezra, the best kiss scene I think I've ever written, original scenes, monster fights, KAIJU, death of a side character (sorry), nefarious intentions, SMUT! rushed, rough sex, inappropriate use of a prosthetic, biting, dirty talk, oh it is juicy.

A/N: Thank you guys for your patience with this slow burn! Sorry it came out longer than I wanted it to, but it's pretty juicy, so I hope that makes up for the word count. Special thanks to @thepoisonofgod for the gif help!

The Etherium’s endlessness felt overwhelming, but it was absolutely the most breathtaking thing you’d ever seen; even the most wild, fantastical tales your grandpa had spun about it didn’t do the celestial expanse justice. With nothing to obstruct the stars, save for the curling plumes of cosmic dust, seemingly softer even than spun sugar, the infinite had never been more clear to the naked eye. There’s so… much, and the innumerable twinkling lights of far-off suns seemed almost bright enough to reach out and touch.

Your hands had long since calloused over from a hard-working life, but even your strong palms had started to chafe from the poorly sanded mop handle. The deck looked immaculate, but you suspected that come next watch all your hard work would be erased by a multitude of various shaped boots, and you groaned at the thought. Though you knew this wasn’t exactly going to be a pleasure cruise, the first shadowy tinges of regret were already creeping into the corners of your mind. I hope Sarah wasn’t right about this, I’ll never live it down.

The mental pity party you wanted to spiral into was cut short by the uneven footsteps you were becoming familiar with. “Glad to see you’re still alive and kickin’, staying out of trouble I hope?” Ezra hollered as he ascended the steps to the forecastle deck, a bucket of kitchen leftovers sloshing around disgustingly in his arms.

“If you mess my damn deck up with that nastyass shit I’ll toss you overboard myself!” You spat, aiming the mop at him like a sword. “And I mean it.”

Ezra, always carrying a laugh in his pocket, chuckled to himself as he tossed the chum off the side of the boat; to where, you would never know. “Don’t worry your pretty head, my dear, I promise not to mar your diligence. Scouts honor.” He said, crossing his heart. He slid the empty bucket up his human elbow, adding a handful of fresh stains to his food-soiled apron when he leaned casually against the bulwark; but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Feisty thing, aren’t you?”

A retort bubbled in your throat, but you were tired, and Ezra smelled enough like food to make your stomach groan. When did you miss dinner? You sighed and shrugged, abandoning your weapon to lean against the rail too. “A girl’s gotta be, ‘specially when there’s giant crabheaded lunatics roaming around.”

“Heh, crabheaded lunatic. I’ll have to remember that for the next time he’s gettin’ ornery.” He took a deep breath of the cool Etherium breeze, letting the cosmic miracle fill his ribs fully before letting it go. Elbows draped over the short wooden wall, he turned to look at you with his good eye, the dark chocolate of it glittering with faint starlight from the other side of his well-defined nose. “I, uh, I actually came up here to apologize. You’ve not been aboard a starship before, it wasn’t fair of me to berate you like that, but if the crew saw me showin’ you kindness they’d think I’d gone soft.”

“It’s… alright.” You shrugged, trying not to get too caught up in the sentiment. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for a fight all evening, but Ezra took the hot air right out of your sails. “I mean, you weren’t wrong, I did nearly get myself killed. So, uh, thanks, actually.”

“Of course, us meat bags’ve gotta stick together, right?” He chided softly, flashing you that sweet smile of his. “Oh, speaking of-” He patted himself down, trying to find his pocket to dig out a shiny purple fruit. “Here, you missed supper.”

You caught the treat being softly tossed to you and bit into it eagerly, coaxing an excited rumble from your guts. The skin of it was taut and your teeth punctured it easily with a soft, rewarding -pop-; the juicy flesh on the inside sweet and rich, not a single day past its ripeness. Wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand, you caught Ezra watching you intently, and you couldn’t help the heat that singed your cheeks. “Uh… thank you.”

The tips of his metal fingers drummed a cadence against the bulwark, giving you insight to the gears turning in places besides his arm. “Bein’ the cook has its privileges, rewards for all the labour that goes into it, which you’ll soon be familiar with enough, cabin girl.” The corners of his mustachioed lips curled into a playful sneer when you glared at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh, making the swells of his cheeks roll right up into his eyes. “I’m going to have to teach you a thing or two about being starborne, starling, whether you like it or not. Captain’s orders and all. What do you say, fellow meat bag, do you wanna be a spacer?”

Ezra extended his metal arm to you again, but this time there wasn’t a blade to be seen, just the riveted fingers attached to a heavily articulated palm. You eyed it suspiciously, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of fruit. Not much of a choice. “Alright, Ez, show me what it takes.” You said, taking his hand in yours. You were expecting the galvanized joints to snap and bite you, to pinch your delicate skin in between their iron teeth, but Ezra’s grip was gentle, the little rubber pads on his fingertips soft and somewhat warm.

“It will be my pleasure.” He said, clasping your forearm with his human hand. The heat from his calloused palm was strong in the cool night-cycle air, and you were surprised to find warmth surging through your veins to pool in your core at the way the word pleasure seemed to drip from his lips, rising several thousand degrees when he dragged the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin at the inside of your elbow. You hoped it wasn’t just because he was the only human man you’d seen in a long, long time, but the way the light of the stars shined over his genuine, charming grin made you ache in ways you thought your body had forgotten how to do.

The devilish smile on his face didn’t help either, becoming even more of a detriment when he tilted his head slightly, giving you more of his human side to take in. “Now, lesson one.” he mused, pulling his prosthetic from your grip without taking his eyes off of yours. For a moment you wondered how handsome he had been with both eyes, but the thought was quickly dashed from your skull when you felt a cold iron bucket handle slide off his arm and onto yours. Sneaky bastard! “If you let that sit in the bucket too long you’ll never be able to wash it out, so get scrubbing, cabin girl, Kevva waits!”

It took a lot of fucking work to keep the ship so ship-shape, a fact that you were unfortunately going to be familiarizing yourself with the hard way. Working for Mr. Green wasn’t all that much different than working at the Benbow, but when the other crewmates weren’t looking he tried to make it somewhat fun; well, bearable, at least. Some tasks he was willing to help you with -many hands, he would say, gesturing sarcastically with his prosthetic- but others, especially those in full view of the crew, he would leave you to deal with on your own.

Cleaning house you were used to, but your first real challenge was found on the underside of the Dawnbreaker. Her keel was encrusted with horrible barnacles; big, smelly things that were so stuck to her belly that they’d practically fused with the wood, and you got the lucky job of getting to scrape them off. You tried not to think too much about the consequences of getting out of range of the ships’ artificial gravity as you and Ezra lowered a platform down to the keel. Even harder than trying not to imagine floating away into space was not looking down at the infinite abyss spiralling away on every side, eager to swallow you whole.

“Put your back into it!” He roared, being sure that he was loud enough anyone on deck could hear him bossing you around, but his magnificent multitool had already swapped over to something akin to a spade. “Bet I can get more of them off than you can.” He poked softly, just enough for you alone to hear, followed by a mischievous wink.

“Fat chance, robo-butt.”

The keel never looked so good by the time you were done, but once you were hoisting yourselves back up to the deck, you were both so covered in icky barnacles that even Mr. Skarn couldn’t get far enough away; but Tillie demanded that you give her a sample to study. Dr. Doppler had been managing to keep herself busy cataloging and describing the various spaceborne critters that coasted through the Etherium, running full bore across the deck to snap a photograph before they inevitably got away. You would frequently find her spellbound by one of Captain Fiona’s tales of adventure, the seasoned veteran having run into more wild things than Tillie could hope to write down, and the two of them made for an odd sort of friends; coming together over stories of leviathans and voidworms, the likes of which you hoped to never see.

You tackled most of your tasks with gusto, a feat that even Ezra had to admit he was impressed with. The deck was swabbed, sails were mended, and ropes were tended to on the regular; all according to his guidance. Ezra would parade past you, looking for all the world like the most backbreaking of taskmasters, but the moment the crew wasn’t looking he would slip a fresh baked treat into your pocket with a wink and a nod. “Lookin’ good.” He’d whisper, flashing you that roguish grin. “When you’re finished, there’s more of those in the galley. I’m tryin’ a new recipe and I must know how you like them.”

The food that came from his kitchen was surprisingly good, much better than you expected to eat on a months-long journey between worlds, but you had Ezra to thank for that. The cyborg refused to let you touch his cooking, but he insisted that you sample each and every single thing that he made. The theatrics he’d put on for you on that first day carried into everything he did, and you wondered if he did so naturally or if he was doing it to impress you. Either way, though he wouldn’t let you handle the food itself, he absolutely demanded that you handle everything else.

As his cabin girl -oh how he loved to lord that over you- you got the fun job of doling out grub at meal times, as well as taking care of the dishes and cookware. Not even the Benbow’s kitchen used as many pots and pans as Ezra did, and the stacks upon stacks of dirty dishes made you want to fucking scream; but at least you weren’t lonely. Ez cooked while you cleaned, and his incessant chattering slowly started to grow on you.

“Tit for tat, starling.” He’d demand after regaling you with the most whimsical of tales. “I told you one, now I must hear one of yours.” Try as you might to inform him you had nothing of interest to tell -and certainly nothing as wild as what he’d come up with- he refused to let your conversations be one-sided.

So you told him all you had. You told him about the Benbow and your dumb sister, and all the annoying customers that came through the tavern’s doors. Ezra took a curiously keener interest when you brought up your father, but was respectful enough not to pry when you told him you’d rather not talk about it. He was, however, unbelievably adamant in hearing more about your run-ins with the law, and nearly blown away by your solarboarding flights of fancy.

After about a month of getting to know one another, you started to feel like his stories weren’t the only things you were becoming enamoured with, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. Try as you might to wash your thoughts away with the dirty dish water, the charming cyborg’s husky baritone and sweet southern drawl curled through your ears and down your spine like a sinful serpent with that mischievous grin of his in place of fangs. His broad-shouldered swagger didn’t help matters either, dancing around you with lithe, graceful steps that belied the fact that almost half of him was made of gears and circuits instead of meat and bone, but the parts of him that were still organic you were longing to touch.

You were finally given some sort of a hint the night you were so buried by pots and pans and plates to clean that by the time you’d gotten to the very last pot, your eyes could no longer keep themselves open, and you dozed off on top of your work; somehow managing not to fall off your stool in the process. The dream you were having about your scrub brush getting up and doing your job for you was softly interrupted by a heavy weight being draped gently over your shoulders.

Groggily, you stirred yourself awake to find Ezra’s heavy, single-sleeved waistcoat blanketing your back, the oversized garment warm and snuggly and smelling strongly of its owner. Glancing behind you, you just barely caught the bottom of his boot as he ascended the stairs out of the galley without a single word, and the fact that he hadn’t wanted to disturb your sleep made a strange new warmth bloom in your chest.

Devious thoughts itched in the back of your mind when Ezra called you down to the longboat hold, intent on showing you the emergency lowering mechanisms should the situation call for it. Eager to prove yourself a spacer, you followed Ezra’s instructions to a tee, crossing the gangplank over the open exit hole in the Dawnbreaker’s keel to unfasten the last of the knots anchoring the longboat to the ship, but once all the ropes were freed and the little vessel was floating out the door, you watched, sullen and despondent, as Ezra went out with it.

He’s leaving. You heard the voice of your sister whisper from the back of your mind. He’s leaving and he’s never coming back! She was a mess, and you could barely get a clear word out of her, thinking it was some shitty boyfriend of hers again, but once she’d stumbled through the fact that it was your dad, you’d nearly bulldozed her over trying to get to the door. You’d been in bed all morning, hungover from a night of partying that had gotten you dragged home by cop-bots again, and the blinding Montressan noon was almost enough to keep you contained.

Almost.

You saw him then, a man you loved but barely knew, untying his ship from the pier so far down from the tavern. Nauseous and heartbroken, you ran for him, tripping over your own feet, slipping and sliding down the gravelly driveway to where the men in your family so often were dragged away, called to chase a higher purpose beyond the stars. He was gone before you reached the pier, fading away quickly, most likely never to be seen again. But that’s just what men did, you’d started to learn, they left. They left and they never-

“Are you comin’ or what?”

The call snapped you out of your trip down memory lane, drawing your bewildered gaze out the open cargo hold to where Ezra was beckoning you down, imploring you to jump. Realizing you weren’t getting ditched after all, you rolled your shoulders and leapt the fair distance down to the longboat, stumbling into the cyborgs' open arms. You hadn’t expected him to catch you, and the sudden closeness made your guts flip more than the hail-Kevva jump you just made. “You want me to come with you?”

“‘Course I do, you need to learn how to pilot one of these cantankerous contraptions, right?” He said sweetly, patting your shoulders and quickly breaking the physical contact. He took his seat on the passenger side, pointing with an artificial digit at your place in the driver’s seat. “So, here’s your rudder controls and your ionizer thrust adjustment -that dictates your speed-” Ezra began, already prattling away, but you weren’t entirely listening. Instead you were watching the cyborg’s scruffy face and the genuine excitement in his eyes at getting to spend this time with you. However, you’d built and rebuilt enough machines on Montressor to already have more than enough mechanical know-how, and you decided that you’d rather show off than get shown up. “-This rope is for your sail and- wait, what are you- starling wait. Wait!”

You did not wait.

Punching a handful of buttons on the engine controls, you swivelled the steering yoke around into your lap and gunned it, blasting off from under the Dawnbreaker with ludicrous speed. Ezra barely managed to catch his hat before it was ripped from his curly head, his metal fingers digging into the longboat’s rails to keep himself from being blown away as well. The boat’s sail caught the solar winds eagerly, fueling the fire of the heavens into your aft jets and casting you swiftly away into the Ethereal expanse.

There, in the distance, you saw the glacial-blue tail of a comet streaking through the void, burning its way brightly through the cosmic pseudosphere. It’s small, but as you blasted towards it it grew in size until it consumed all you saw, the first flakes of ice already dusting your hair. You stole a glance at Ezra, and were delighted to find him absolutely terrified. He looked your way, shaking his head and mouthing ‘no no no!’ but disobeying orders was what you did best.

The sail snapped shut, almost flush with the boom, streamlining your little skiff. You drove the prow into the luminous tail of the comet, the celestial rapids threatening to toss you back into the abyss. Sub-zero frost burned against your cheeks and made your eyes water, but you were undaunted by the way your tears froze in the corners of your eyes. Your blood was molten, adrenaline searing through your veins, rising volcanically when a wave of ionized gas slapped the bottom of your keel and sent you spinning, but you conquered it with hellbent aggression, spiralling through the radiant wake.

The longboat exploded out the side of the comet’s tail like a phoenix reborn, trailing ice crystals behind it in a wake of glittering stars. Your teeth hurt from the cold of it, and you realized you’d been smiling the whole time, perhaps a little maniacally. Figuring Ezra had probably fainted, you looked over at him, a slew of snide remarks dying on your lips when you saw him staring. His eyes were big, the brown one matched in intensity by his cyberoptic, but the starstruck look on his face was distinctly and undeniably human.

Suddenly warm -and embarrassed- you focused on getting the longboat back into the Dawnbreaker’s hold. Hand over hand the two of you hoisted the little ship up into her rack, anchoring her in place with the knots Ezra taught you how to tie. The second the boat was secure, the adrenaline in your veins took its toll, and you felt your knees gloriously give out. “Whew!” you panted, flopping down onto the boat’s bench seat. “Still in one piece, Ez?”

“I-I think so. Seven fucking hells, girl, you never told me you could fly like that.” He wheezed, readjusting his hat before dropping gracelessly onto the seat next to you. Before you could politely inform him that there was another seat with plenty of room on it, he threw his left arm over your shoulders, the heat of his body cutting through your frosty clothes. “That was amazing, starling! Stupendous! Spectacular! Sensational! ” He cried with a dramatic wave of his free hand. “I was certain we were hurtling to our deaths, but you-” His human arm tightened around your shoulders, drawing you into poking range so he could tap an iron digit against your sternum. “The moment I saw the light in your eyes, I knew there’d be nobody else I’d rather trust at the helm.”

“It was nothing, really! Not all that much crazier than flying on Montressor. Done it loads of times...” You tried to deflect, but he scoffed at you in disbelief and drew you closer to him.

“Bullshit! You know how to fly like that and yet you continue to wait tables? If I’d witnessed you pulling such stunts as those before now I’d have whisked you off to the Etherium myself! The company you keep must be blinder than cave fish, watchin’ you tear off like that and still keepin’ you cooped up. Why, I’d sell myself for scrap if it meant gettin’ to partake in your aeronautical acrobatics. I’d even steal the stars themselves for you if it meant you could fly amongst them, because it’s clearer to me than a crystalline chrysalis that you, little bird, are truly meant to fly! ”

Face hot, you coughed slightly to ease the tension, trying not to get distracted too much by the heat of his body radiating against your side. “What are you saying, Ez? That you’d want to sweep me off my feet?”

“That’s quite a poetic way’a puttin’ it, my dear. But yes, there is nothing that I would like to do more…”

Ezra was close now, really close, his face only a few inches from yours, the wind-blown grin on his face showing off his pearly whites behind plush pink lips. You glanced at them briefly, your eyes flicking between his mouth and his eyes, trying not to think too hard about what it would be like to kiss him. Your imagination would have done little justice anyway, because Ezra was thinking the same thing, and decided to lean in and make it a reality.

The first touch of his lips against yours was feather-light, but electric all the same, and the soft little gasps you both made only furthered the shockwaves crackling through your system like live wires. Warmer and softer than you could have ever fantasized, Ezra’s perfect lips moulded to yours, his bristles tickling slightly under your nose, but the moment you turned your head to chase the kiss deeper, he pulled away. “I-I’m sorry,” He stammered, suddenly sheepish. “I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“What? Why not?” You asked, feeling like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?

“It’s not right for me to force my desires on you, and to kiss you without even asking-” Ezra whined, looking distressed, and you felt him try to tug his arm free of your shoulders.

Oh. You sighed at him and all his foolishness, leaning back to trap his muscular arm against the seatback. His distress turned to confusion when he found himself unable to retreat.

“Then ask.”

Realization dawned on him slowly, and he let himself relax around your body, his thumb tracing a tentative circle where it rested against your arm. His prosthetic hissed slightly when he brought it up to tug on his collar, trying to allow some of the heat to escape that was building in his chest. “Um, alright.” He nearly whispered, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “M-may I kiss you, beautiful?”

You managed a half-muttered ‘yes’ before pressing your lips to his again. He hummed with surprise and excitement, delighted that you had accepted his utterance of affection. The soft noise he made curled your lips into a cheeky grin, making it all that more difficult to kiss him, but he was steadfast in chasing the sensation. He shifted in his seat so as to better slot his mouth to yours, and you felt the sudden strangeness of his metal hand brush lightly against your cheek.

The coolness of it made you gasp, but his synthetic touch was gentle, the pad of his thumb tracing your cheekbone, fingers wrapping around the back of your head to pull you into him. He kissed you slowly, nervously, as if at any moment the dream would dissipate like smoke on the wind, and he would be forced to face the waking world without you in his arms.

But no, you were real, real and really here, kissing him, of all people. The most cautious tip of a tongue lapped against your lower lip, and you rewarded him by bringing out your own to taste him back. Everything about Ezra was more intoxicating than you thought possible; the scent of fresh-cut fruit and warm solar breezes, the faint, smokey remnants of tobacco and the sweat of a hard working man, pairing like a fine wine with the flavor of his kiss.

You brought your hand up to comb your fingers through the blond patch above his cybernetic eye, pushing his triangular hat back as you did to card through his curls til it sat haphazardly on his head. He groaned at the sensation of you teasing his locks, unused to being touched in such a way, but he was unable to resist surrendering to your tender administrations.

“My little starling…” he sighed, turning to kiss the inside of your palm. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep my hands from you. These last few weeks in your presence have bordered nigh on torturous.” He carefully wrapped his broad hands around the underside of your knees, dragging you into his lap so you straddled his narrow waist. “C-can I touch more of you?”

“Please, Ezra.” you pleaded, anchoring your knees to the longboat’s seat, giving you better leverage against his lap. Looking down on him from your perch, you had the most delightful view of his face. The starstruck look you’d seen earlier had returned, and the most sheepish little smile turned his cheeks upwards right before he kissed you again.

With his lips pressed to yours, he let his hands roam over your body, trailing from your spread thighs to your hips, digging his fingers longingly into the soft flesh. You held onto his shoulders for support, becoming slightly distracted by the feeling of where his prosthetic met his body, thick muscle giving way to hard iron, but another hardness drew your attention even quicker.

Grinding your hips against him rewarded you with the feeling of his cock hardening under you, the length of it trapped by his pant leg. It twitched when you dragged your core against it, making Ezra moan against your lips. He pulled himself from your kiss with a gasp, his sweaty brow arched pleadingly. “If you keep doin’ that I’m certain not to last, and what a shame that would be if I’d not pleasured you prior. Contrary to what the captain thinks, it’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt the touch of another, especially since… this.”

The gears in his arm whirred faintly when he brought it up between you, turning it over to look at his palm. There was pain in his eyes, made worse by the flicker-flick of his glowing laser sight, but that pain seemed to melt away when you cradled his face in your hand, tracing the stubble along the razor-sharp edge of his jaw. “How did it happen? If you don’t mind me asking?”

He sighed, nuzzling into the warmth of your palm, cupping the back of your hand with his own. “You give up a few things, chasing a dream.”

“Was it worth it?”

Ezra furrowed his brow, deep in thought for a moment, but when he came out of his own head, he did so with a smirk so insidious you felt yourself clench around nothing. “It’s about to be.”

You knew right away by the glint in his eye that he was going to rock your world, but only if the world didn’t try to rock you first.

-*SccrRRREAAAAAAAAAAAACHH*-

Something monstrous slammed against the outside of the ship, the noise of it deafening in the quaking hold. The longboat lurched and flailed in its anchorings, nearly tossing you and Ezra out of it as it thrashed, but the cyborg’s iron grip kept you safe in his embrace. Emergency lights and sirens started going off all at once, tearing you both from your moment of intimacy. The Dawnbreaker shuddered and groaned underfoot as you both tore up the steps, Ezra working to adjust himself before stumbling up to the deck.

You flew ahead of him, bursting out of the longboat hold and into a flurry of panicked activity. A horrifying, gut wrenching roar drowned out the sound of the captain bellowing orders, and when you turned to see the source of the noise, you immediately wished you hadn’t.

Where the Etherium had once been now stretched a black, shimmering wall of undulating flesh that made even orcus galacticus look like nothing more than a flea. The creature’s skin blinked intermittently with a trail of pulsating lights -a bastardized mirror of the stars themselves- leading your eyes up a grotesque pathway towards a horrible, gaping maw, filled to the brim with razor sharp teeth.

Void worm.

“EVASIVE ACTION MR. ARBUCKLE!” You heard the captain scream as she hauled ass across the deck. The Dawnbreaker obeyed her command, veering sickeningly to the side just as the leviathan’s colossal jaws snapped mere inches away from the ships’ hull. “Mr. Bolt! Secure all solar sails!”

“You ‘eard ‘er, lads!” The croc roared, finding himself a lifeline to tie around his waist. “Bring ‘em in!” You and Ezra followed suit, securing your lines before rushing to the bowsprit on the front of the ship, flying with surefooted steps along the narrow catwalk towards the jib lines, far, far out over the living abyss. The worm’s seemingly endless body coiled and slithered around the ship, attempting to confuse its prey with a cosmic firestorm of bioluminescence before it struck again.

Side by side, you and Ezra hauled on the lines, your muscles straining in tandem with his steaming prosthetic as if you were in sync. The electric-blue washed sails flickered as they furled, the eyes of the ship closing for what you hoped wouldn’t be the last time, but just as you secured the canvas the creature slammed its voluminous body against the ship’s hull.

“Fuck!” Ezra screamed, his arms windmilling, striving to keep himself upright, but it was too late.

“Ezra!!” He fell before your very eyes, and were it not for your selfless reflexes you wouldn’t have caught his life-line in time. The rope burned your palms as it tried to slip through your grasp, but you -strong and stubborn as you are- hauled him up with all your might. His iron hand dug viciously into the bowsprit where he caught himself, leaving furrows in the wood as he pulled himself up.

“Starling!” he cried, stumbling on his knees into your arms. “Thank you!” You almost let yourself get caught up in the genuine gratitude shining like the radiant dawn on his face, but before you could, the worm had other ideas.

Its massive bulk had coiled around to strike again, colossal jaws spread wide and covered in thousands of glistening teeth; the gates of Tartarus brought alive and intent on ferrying you straight to hell. You watched in horror as it closed the distance to the fleeing ship, oblivious to the canonfire peppering its flesh, but before it could crush your little toy boat to splinters, it screamed, an unholy noise so horrible and deafening you could do nothing more than cover your ears.

You hoped that the canonfire had gotten a lucky shot in, but oh no, you would not be so fortunate. Instead, you were going to learn that no matter whether you sailed the sea or stars,

There would always be a bigger fish.

The Dawnbreaker narrowly missed being caught in the worms constricting coils as it flailed in the grip of an even more monstrous beast. Seemingly dozens of enormous, sucker-covered tentacles wrapped around the squirming worm, hauling it backwards towards an even bigger maw and a horrible, painful death.

“Cephalopoda macrocosmus?!” Tillie screamed from the deck, watching in abject horror as the leviathans grappled for dominance in the ships’ wake. “Those aren’t supposed to be real!!”

“Well it looks real enough to me, Doctor!” Shouted the captain from where she was white-knuckling the wheel, her four eyes narrowed nearly to slits. “Keep firing, men! Blast that calamari cunt to smithereens!” Canon blasts roared from the ships deck at her command, carpeting the flesh of both monsters in glorious hellfire, but neither of them gave a flying fuck, too intent on killing or being killed. “Hawkins!” Fiona roared the moment your boots hit the deck. “Secure those lifelines!”

“Aye captain!” The ropeburns -yank- on your palms went unnoticed as you tightened -yank- all the knots on the mast hitch -yank- the lives of your crewmates -yank- literally in your hands. Your shoulders -yank- burned and your joints -yank- cracked with each -yank- but none would -yank- die on your watch if you had -yank- anything to say about it. “All secured, captain!”

And just in time, too, for right as the very last knot left your fingers, Captain Fiona drove the ship into a barrel roll, skimming the keel over some horrific fleshy appendage and sending crewmates sliding across the deck with the inertia. The Dawnbreaker, with her sails tightly tucked, snaked and weaved more nimbly than a ship of her size should have between the clashing titans, sending the stars streaking by sickeningly overhead.

~

High above where you were holding onto the mast for dear life, Mr. Bolt was losing his grip on the ropes. The Dawnbreaker practically bounced when it struck the worms’ flank, the force of it ripping the heavy croc from his place on the topyard. He went flying, sailing out over the squirming void until his life-line snapped around his waist. It hurt, but it was better than being flung off into space.

Claw over claw, he urgently towed himself in, but when he looked to his ship -his salvation- what he saw instead was the devil himself; with his yellow compound eyes and sneering, bloodthirsty grin, matched only in wickedness by his razor sharp claws.

-snip!-

Mr. Skarn, ever the opportunist, watched in malevolent delight as Mr. Bolt’s horrified face disappeared into the writhing dark, his severed life-line still locked in his hands, never to be seen again.

~

Trying to stop the universe from spinning, you narrowly missed being bulldozed by Tillie as she ran screaming past you. “CAPTAIN!! STOP SHOOTING STOP SHOOTING!” She screeched, stumbling across the deck like a drunk in the Dawnbreaker’s valkyrian flight.

All of you instictivly ducked when some meaty appendage sailed by, but Fiona’s skills at the wheel were unparalleled by any. “It’s us or it, doctor!” She nearly howled, the plumage on her head crested high in defiance. “Don’t let up!”

“No! Captain! You don’t understand! The -fucking shit!!- Cephalopoda are extremely territorial! We need to get away from it before-”

-*CCUuuurRUNCH!!!*-

The annihilation of the voidworm’s spine sent a monumental shockwave across the Etherium, striking your ship with the full force of the creature’s demise. Brilliant blue viscera sprayed from the titan’s broken body, its horrible screams suddenly silenced as it disappeared into the kraken’s maw.

“B-before it runs out of things to eat…”

The tentacled beast slurped the rest of the worm up like overcooked pasta, crunching and gnawing on its colossal bones while shot upon shot of plasma carpeted its writhing flesh; and the moment its meal had vanished completely, the kraken turned its beady eyes on you.

Spreading its arms wide, the monster's tentacles made short work of all the distance the ship had put between it, seemingly stretching to infinity and beyond; all consuming in its presence. In the center of the horrible beast, its cavernous jaws pulsated horrifically, the remains of the voidworm stuck between its innumerable teeth.

“If we can’t fucking shoot and we can’t outrun it then what can we do?!”

“It only has one weakpoint, but it’s not even supposed to be real, so I don’t know how accurate this myth-”

“Spit it out, Doctor!!”

“The uvula! Focus all your fire on the uvula!”

Fiona looked somehow both perplexed and disgusted. “The what?!”

Tillie dangled her finger downwards. “The hangy thingy in the back of its throat!”

Would it have been a less harrowing scenario, the captain probably would have laughed, but over her shoulder the kraken was almost upon the ship. Her multitudinous eyes narrowed in on the squishy pink thing far, far in the back of the monster's throat. None of the canons pointed aft, and the creature was gaining fast. That left only one weapon at her disposal:

The ship itself.

“Everyone hang on! This is gonna be a bumpy fucking ride!” Captain Fiona bellowed before cutting off the rear propulsion jets. “Ceasefire! Divert all power to the main thrusters, on my signal!” The kraken’s monumental bulk overtook the ship in seconds, erasing the stars from sight as the Dawnbreaker seemingly slid backwards into its mouth.

You did as the captain ordered, hugging the mast for dear life and trying not to look up as the Etherium was replaced by a pulsating wall of teeth. Squeezing your eyes closed, you awaited the inevitability of your death, and were surprised when it felt like you were being embraced.

You were expecting a crunch, or a squish, maybe even a pop, bones and guts torn asunder along with the worm; not the warm, enveloping comfort smothering your backside like a protective fortress. Never in any story or legend that you’d read had you ever know the finality of death to feel so much like a warm hug.

“NOW!!!”

In the dark behind your eyes you felt the ships’ engines explode back to life, all her firepower channeled into a final burst of energy. The kraken roared in pain, so loud you swore the ship would be rattled apart just from the sound alone. But then she was soaring, regurgitated violently from the precipice of death and plowing headlong towards the open stars again; and with its throat scorched raw, the kraken took its leave.

You didn’t open your eyes again until you heard cheering, the crew celebrating their captain’s victory. Blinking, you let your breath go, unaware you had been holding it, but the strange bulk against your back was still there, pressing you hard against the mast. You turned your face from where you were smushed against the pillar, looking down at your side to find what was caging you in.

Ezra.

Using his body as a shield, he had you pinned to the mast, his cybernetic arm digging hard into the wood; but his other one was wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping his broad chest flush with your spine. “Are you alright, starling?” He asked right in your ear, his chin grazing your cheek briefly as he finally backed up a bit to let you breathe. You nodded, smiling big when he let his own tense shoulders drop.

The two of you turned to where the captain was receiving her well-deserved praise, joining the crew in cheering her on. Fiona looked for all the world entirely cool and composed, smoothing down her headfeathers with a proud grin on her face. Beside her, Tillie was looking exceptionally green around the gills, nauseous and terrified beyond belief.

“C-c-captain, that was marvelous! How did you -hurk- how did you know how to do that?”

“Was nothing, really. Had to out-maneuver some pirates once, did the same thing.” Fiona huffed, checking the ship’s position with a sextant. “Actually doctor, I should thank you. Without your know-how about the creature’s weakness we’d all be fish food.”

“Please don’t mention food.”

“If you insist. Mr. Bolt, all crewmates present and accounted for?” Fiona clacked, cocking a handful of eyes towards the congregation, but received no answer from her first mate. “...Mr. Bolt?”

Her inquiry was answered, not with the rough, grating voice of the croc she knew, but with the tack-tack-tack of many jointed legs walking across the deck towards her. Mr. Skarn glided solemnly through the crowd towards the captain, someone else's hat held delicately between his claws.

“Missster Bolt hasss been lossst, captain. Hisss life-line wasss not sssecure…” Skarn passed the dead man’s hat to the captain, who took it as if she was being handed Mr. Bolt’s own corpse. She looked to you, the one she had charged -trusted- to secure the lines, with twice as much sadness in her four eyes.

“N-no! I checked them! I know I did!” You balked, feeling the bile rise in the back of your throat at the accusation. Running back for the mast hitch, you felt all your blood drain from your body at the single empty peg where Mr. Bolt’s rope should have been. “I… I know I did.” You whispered to the mast alone, tears stinging in the backs of your eyes.

Blinded by the heartbreak of your own failure, you missed the quick exchange behind you between Mr. Skarn and Mr. Green. Ezra took one look at the smug, vile smirk on the arachnids’ face and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Bolt’s death had not been an accident.

Fiona didn’t see it either, her gaze locked to all that remained of her friend. Her big black eyes threatened to mist over, and would have were she not such a resilient captain. She gently swiped her thumb over the felt of Mr. Bolt’s standard-issue tricorn hat, picking slightly at the gold filaments embroidered along the edge. He always thought it was so tacky.

“Mr. Bolt was an excellent spacer.” She started, not even clearing her throat. “And though he was a salty old crocodile, he was my friend, and he will be severely missed. But he knew the risks, as do we all. Return to your posts, we carry on.”

Ezra didn’t know why he was so… angry.

He should have been delighted, overjoyed, even, but instead he was seething to himself behind a deadpan scowl, gnawing away on the end of a lit tobacco pipe while he watched the stars go by. Not only had he and his crew survived a run-in with a fucking kraken, but Mr. Skarn had done away with the first mate, the big scalie no longer posing an obstacle in the coming takeover.

But Skarn had disobeyed Ezra’s direct order not to shed blood on this ship until it was time, and, worse yet, he had branded you -his cabin girl, his starling- as the culprit. He took a long, thoughtful drag on his pipe, the embers in the bowl glowing faintly, mimicking the orangy-red glow of his false eye while he mentally chewed on his thoughts.

‘My’ starling? When did I start referring to her as mine?

Ezra’s efforts of manipulation were working far better than he had anticipated, winding you right around his little finger with sweets and serenades and seduction. He was playing the long con with you, earning your trust, luring you into a false sense of security, and it was working like a charm. Soon enough all he would have to do is ask you about aurelac, and you would divulge all you knew gladly, just to hear him shower you with praise. He really shouldn’t care what happened to you, an inevitable casualty in the coming mutiny, and someone he certainly shouldn’t get attached to.

And yet.

White-grey smoke billowed around the cyborg when he exhaled, savoring the tobacco one last time before he extinguished the pipe and set off to go find you. He hadn’t seen you since… the incident, feeling that he needed to give you time to breathe after experiencing such a tragedy, but he couldn’t refrain himself any longer from checking in with… his cabin girl.

Ezra heard your furious sweeping even before he began the descent down the galley steps, taking a moment to close the trap hatch behind him as he did. You didn’t seem to hear his cattywampus steps, too intent on sweeping every nook and cranny you could get your broom into, the bristles scratch scratch scratching against the hardwood floor. Your brow was furrowed over your thousand-yard stare, and Ezra couldn’t help but interrupt.

“Starling?”

“I’m busy, Ezra.”

The tone of your voice shouldn’t have hurt his heart as much as it did, the pain seeping into so few words drew him closer until he was reaching out to you with his remaining arm. You jumped hard when he found your shoulder, reluctantly being yanked from your work to glare at him and oh your face!

“You’ve been crying?” He whispered softly, soothingly, his face just as distraught as yours was red and blotchy; but you reacted to his kindness with venom, immediately swatting his hand away.

“I said I’m busy, Ez! Take a fucking hint!” You furiously began sweeping again, but the cyborg stole the broom away from you and cast it across the kitchen. “Hey!”

“Stop sweepin’ and start talkin’.” Ezra demanded, crowding you in with his broad body until the nearest countertop bumped against your back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You crossed your arms, trying vigilantly to ward him off, but his amberdark eye cut your defences to the quick, and they fell away entirely when his warm hand came up to caress your cheek. “I… I shoulda stayed on Montressor. Shoulda stayed where I belonged, where I couldn’t hurt anyone but myself! It’s all my fault Mr. Bolt is dead!”

The crack in your voice made everything inside Ezra’s chest feel like it was breaking, and he wanted so, so badly to tell you that it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t your fault, starling, it was that damn crabheaded lunatic. You did nothing wrong.

But, telling you that would ruin everything he’d worked so hard for. Not only would that give the entire sabotage mission away, but it would practically write his death certificate for him once you knew there were pirates afoot. No, there’s too much at stake. He didn’t want to keep lying to you, a fact that he was rapidly becoming distraught with, but seeing you suffering was somehow even worse.

“Starling…” he began, wiping at your eyes with his good thumb. “Listen, what you did out there today, keepin’ your head while the heavens were fallin’ down around you, that was astounding! You could’ve run an’ hid, but you scaled the riggin’ like a real spacer. And, not only were you fearless out there, but you rescued me from certain death! I’m standin’ here, in all my mechanical glory, alive’n well because of you!”

Ezra’s face lit up with a smile so big and wide when you finally met his eyes, though you yourself were nearly in tears again, clearly not having considered that you might have saved a life today as well. He curled his hands around your shoulders, a knowing glint in his remaining eye that matched the spark of his optic’s glow. “Kevva’s light has never shined so brightly until you graced her humble realm, and oh, how lucky I am to be witness to it! Truely, never has there been a wretched creature more fortunate than I, because when the stars called for a champion, you were the one to answer. If’n you asked me where I thought you ‘belonged’, why I’d say that you, starling mine, are right where you’re meant to be. ”

Try as he might to tell you falsehoods that would ease your spirits, not even he knew how much of what had rolled off his silver tongue wasn’t true. It flowed too easily, and landed just as well, making your breath heave and your eyes scrunch from his words alone. His kindness drew you in, and you found yourself wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his warm chest.

“Thanks, Ez..”

Surprised by your sudden embrace, Ezra’s hands floated briefly behind you, unsure of what to do; but when you sighed contentedly into his linen shirt, he held back no longer, wrapping himself around you as well. “Of course, sweet thing.” He murmured against the side of your head, carefully dragging his human arm up and down your spine and keeping the mechanical one tightly around your middle.

He was beginning to worry that he was falling for his own game of deception, enjoying much too much the feeling of you in his arms, but he found himself unable to dwell on it in the slightest when he felt your lips against the side of his neck. He couldn’t even chide you for not asking permission to do so, his mouth too busy groaning at the gentle sensation of you trailing up his throat, pressing careful kisses to the underside of his bristly jaw. “S-starling...?”

“Ezra…” The way you purred his name against his flesh nearly fried his circuits, causing his optic to flicker along with his fluttering eye. It didn’t take him long to cave, tilting his own face down to kiss at your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips, savoring the sweetness of your kiss for himself.

He leaned his weight against you, forcing you harder against the countertop with every inch of his body that he could press to you, only backing slightly when he felt you try to shimmy onto the granite. Ezra lifted you up with ease, his iron digits digging more pointedly into the undersides of your thigh than his broad, calloused palm. The moment you were seated you wrapped your legs around his hips, spurring your heels into his thighs, encouraging him to rut against your core.

The passionate moment you had been building to before you had been so rudely interrupted came surging back, igniting between your pressed bodies with survivor’s desperation. Ezra practically clawed at your leather jacket, pushing it from your shoulders and shirking his own overcoat off quickly before the heat became unbearable.

Free of the stifling outwear, Ezra’s kisses turned from diligent to sloppy, his hands digging under your shirt, roving over the soft skin of your tummy and upwards to your breasts, catching them in his mismatched hands. His breath caught in his throat, a whimpering moan hissing against your lips. “Fucking hell you’re so soft… Stars how I wish I could feel them with both hands.”

“‘S’ok, Ez, f-feels good.” The heat of his left hand contradicted gloriously against the cool metal of his right, but both were well suited to groping at the pillowy flesh, squeezing you gently while pinching the sensitive tips. You arched your back into his touch, grinding your hips into his in time with the rolling of his fingers, your desperate breath getting lost against his lips.

“T-tell me you want this, starling?” He pleaded, nipping slightly at your lower lip. “Tell me you want me?”

Such a gentleman. You fluttered your eyes at him, dragging your hands down the broad expanse of his chest towards his belt, and plunged your hand into his pants. He keened when you palmed his hard length, desperate to keep from making too much noise but oh fuck your hand felt so good.

“Does this answer your question, Ez?” You purred, relishing in the starstruck look on his face that you were becoming an expert in conjuring. “Almost lost you today, might not get another chance.”

“S-still need...oh stars above… still need to hear you s-aaah~ say it, you little vixen.” His thighs shook between your legs when you tugged gently on his cock, the velvety thing twitching excitedly at your touch. You swirled your thumb against his weeping slit, dragging warm precum down his throbbing member.

“Ezra~” you cooed, dragging your teeth along the column of his throat. “I want you. I… need you… Please, Ez?”

The cyborg practically growled his excitement, the vents on his forearm hissing in anticipation at the debauchery of your words. “As you wish, starling, but I warn you, I will not be gentle.” You managed a nod, the affirming gesture swallowed by his hungry kiss. Deft fingers made short work of belts and boots, leaving you sitting on the countertop with your shirt hiked up over your breasts and your pants dangling from an ankle.

In the low light of the galley, you watched Ezra free himself, unbuckling his belt and pushing the hem of his trousers down to let his cock spring out. You licked your lips unconsciously at the sight of him, your cunt clenching at his size. He’s thick, the girth of it throbbing in time with the rapid beating of his heart and drooling with glimmering slick.

You spread your legs wide for him, whining into the crook of his neck when he rubbed the leaking head of his cock against your sensitive little pearl, sliding temptingly against your puffy slit with a feral look in his eyes. “Need to feel you first, beautiful, then I’ll show you what this hunk of hardware can really do.” He didn’t give you a chance to ask him exactly what he meant by that, all your vocabulary knocked from your skull by his cock notching at your entrance and slowly, deliberately splitting you open.

“Ezr-umph!” You tried to cry out from the near-painful stretch of him, but he clamped his good hand over your mouth, shushing you soothingly.

“Shhh, babygirl. Can’t let anyone hear us now, can we? Don’t want to get caught before I get a chance to really fuck you right.” He pulled his hips back achingly slow, making sure you felt every inch of his length before he was slamming into you again. “Oh fuck, pretty girl, you feel exquisite.” He snapped his hips against yours, thrusting himself as deeply into your cunt as he could, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning aloud at the silky slickness of your walls.

Ezra dove to slot his mouth to yours again, snuffing out your cries with his lips and tongue. Distracted by his aggressive kiss, you weren’t aware of his mechanical arm sliding out from behind you to snake in between your bodies, trailing along the inside of your thigh towards where you were joined. His messy thrusts slowed, and a low, villainous laugh rumbled from the back of his throat, catching your attention briefly before a new sensation drew your focus.

He pushed the nubby tip of his thumb against your clit, flashing you that wolfish grin when you convulsed. “Easy, love, let me take care of you. Make you feel good.” He rested his forehead against yours, watching you watch him draw circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves with his robotic hand, grinning like a fox at the desperation on your face. “You like that, beautiful? That’s not all it can do.” He kissed you preemptively to muffle your mewls, but you lost all ability to speak when the damn thing started vibrating.

Every muscle in your body went tight, curling you into a shaking, quivering ball in his arm. Your legs shook and your back arched, your throat nearly closing off from the pleasure of it, slingshotting you towards the edge of ecstasy with blinding speed. Ezra circled his little toy around your nub, and you lost it, cumming so hard you squelched obscenely around his length, soaking everything from his cock to his wrist.

Ezra tore himself from your lips and sank his teeth into your neck, growling from the strength of your walls bearing down on him. He managed to shake his arm out before fucking into you with abandon, your soaking wet hole taking him easily, but he wasn’t kidding about not being gentle.

He fucked you rough, slamming into you again and again, making your whole body scoot across the counter while he carved a space for himself in your core. He coiled his arms around your waist, driving the heel he had left into the floorboards and plowing into you like it was the last thing he would ever do. All efforts to keep quiet went out the window, the steady slap slap slap of skin on skin echoing sinnfully through the galley.

Arms around his neck, you held onto him for all your worth, lost in his all-consuming embrace while he chased his own high. You felt it build in him, his breath heaving, muscles straining and teeth bared, desperate to claim your body in the way only he could. “Gonna… gonna cum, love, c-can I...?”

“Yes!” was all you managed before his hips stuttered, driving himself as deeply into you as he could and letting loose. He snarled as he came, his gorgeous, scruffy face twisted in ecstasy as he unloaded everything he had into you, painting your womb in his pearly conquest. Your fluttering walls squeezed around him, making your combined juices dribble down your ass into a puddle on the floor. I just swept that damn floor.

“My starling,” Ezra panted, kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach. “Beautiful, gorgeous, celestial creature of the stars, I must apologize for my hurried pace-”

“Ez…”

“-but were I destined to meet my death come the morrow, I would do so without an ounce of regret-”

“Ezra…”

“Because I have been blessed with the knowledge, nay, the divinity of your heavenly body, yet I am nothing but a mortal man-”

“EZRA!” You snapped playfully, catching his flush, sweaty face between your hands. “Stop apologizing.”

He sucked a breath in, held it, and sighed, letting himself relax in your hold. “Sorry.” he whispered with a sweet kiss, tugging his softening cock free of your cunt with a groan. “Next time that I am permitted to indulge in your sacred wellspring I will certainly be takin’ my time. I want to pick you apart, starling, I want to know every part of you. Want to make you sing for me.”

“I’d like that too, Ez.” You kissed him deeply, slowly, savoring him one last time before the inevitable tolling of the watch bell. The brassy gonging chimed the hour from high above, signaling the changing of the watch.

“Fucksake, is it that time already?” He hissed, hurrying to put himself back together. “I have to get to my watch, darlin’, before they come lookin’ for me. Forgive me, beautiful.” He threw his overcoat back on and smoothed himself down, making sure everything was tucked out of sight. “Get some sleep, alright gorgeous? I’ll be thinkin’ of you all night.”

Ezra adored the way you giggled and nodded, unable to resist stealing one more kiss from you before dashing up the galley steps to take his place on watch rotation. He felt a little bad for leaving you to clean up after yourself, but the high he was riding buzzed delightfully though his synapses, and he couldn’t help the slight skip in his step as he patrolled the deck, breathing deeply the scent of you that clung to his body like a fine perfume.

Maybe if he had been paying more attention, he would have heard the tack tack tack of many-jointed steps coming from high above, the sound of pointed claws scurrying across the yard. If he’d looked up instead of out across the expanse, he would have seen the enormous yellow eyes and sinister smirk that infuriated him so much; and maybe if he wasn’t humming an odd little tune to himself, he might have heard the venomous hissing of a sneaky eavesdropper laughing secretly to themself as they stole away into the night, suddenly in the possession of a treasure more valuable than gold:

Blackmail.

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[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

come on in, folks, i got some kind of goof ass Beetlejuice/Evil Dead crossover for you to enjoy.

He’s eighteen, and it’s Saturday, which means that he and Lydia are wandering around Manhattan, looking for trouble to get into. Lydia, eleven and ever his little shadow, is standing next to him, as they take a moment, on the busy New York street corner, to sip their boba and think about their next move. They were meant to be watching some horror movie that had looked alright from the previews, but ended up being so stupid, it wasn’t even fun, and the Deetz siblings had found themselves walking out, one hour poorer but a bucket of overly butter saturated movie popcorn richer. “I still can’t believe how bad that was,” Lydia says, again, huffing, because they’d actually paid money to see that stinker, instead of sneaking in, which is their usual habit. “Ya get one big name attached an’ everyone apparently stops givin’ a shit. Musta figured th’ droolin’ masses would eat it up,” he agrees, and he slurps up the last of his tapioca balls, and then proceeds to eat the plastic straw. “Is it too much to ask that characters actually be interesting, and, I don’t know, behave like normal human people?” Lyds bitches, as BJ takes a bite out of his cup, too. She glances up at him, dryly. “I mean, I guess maybe my standards for normality are low, but still.”

He grins at her. “Whatever could you possibly mean, sister dearest?” he puts on a posh, almost transatlantic accent, and she rolls her eyes, and sucks boba up in her straw, then shoots the pearls at him like a pea shooter. He snorts and laughs.

It’s a good day, despite the letdown at the movies. It’s nearly that time of year, just about the start of his seasonal depression, as the sun becomes shy and things go cold and gray. Still, there’s some time left with the sunshine, so he’s drinking it up, savoring it, and it feels good, to stand here with Lyds, and talk about nothing. “Alright, come on, let’s second act it,” he grins, and she perks up. “I think Wicked’s playing!” “Wicked’s always playin’.” “Well, I’m not sitting through Hamilton, it’s a Saturday. I’m not learning if I don’t have to.” “Totally fuckin’ fair. Music Man, maybe?” “Hugh Jackman’s weirdly brick shaped head freaks me out.” “There’s gotta be a show we can sneak into,” BJ frowns, scratching at the scruff of his chin, and then he catches a scent he’s never smelled before, as Lydia puzzles through their remaining options. It’s like death, sort of, but not. Like death warmed over, or death, refried. He takes his sister’s hand, and leads her away from the street corner, following the smell, nose in the air, pupils blown wide, and Lydia laughs. “Great, time to go poke a dead thing. That’s more fun than The Last Four Years, at least.” She’s seen him go like this before, and thinks she knows what to expect.

Neither of them know how to react when they follow the scent down an alleyway and see the violent fight happening in front of them.

Parked at the far end of the alleyway is a car, some 70’s make that he doesn’t know enough about such things to name, and between it, and the Deetz siblings, is an one handed man absolutely going feral on a group of three refried dead smelling zombie… things. “Deadly-vu,” he hears Lydia whisper, as they watch the man perform a scissor kick that sends a zombie head flying. It bounces like a basketball against the brick wall that makes the alleyway, rolls, and lands at the Deetz sibling’s feet. There’s a beat, as they stare at it, and it stares back, before the head on the ground opens its mouth and speaks. “DEMON!” it shrieks, and then it makes the life ending choice to roll at Lydia, teeth bared, and his boot is going through it, crushing through the skull like an overly juicy bug under his heel. He takes a second to wipe the gore from his sole onto the pavement. “Maybe Wicked could be good,” he turns and says to Lydia, who responds by ducking behind him, because the body the head formerly belonged to seems to be stumbling at them, clutching something in it’s boiled and infected and puss covered arms, and it thrusts the thing at BJ, before falling down and collapsing into dust. It’s a book. Some kind of creepy old demon book, from the look of it. He wrinkles his nose in vague disgust, and then takes a sniff. If the zombie things are refried death, this thing is a whole fucking Mexican food buffet of it, and it makes his head spin in a way he’s never felt before. He kind of likes it. He’s about to give the cursed reading material a tentative lick before a boom rings out from in front of them- the one handed man has pulled a sawed off shotgun off his back, and dispatched another corpse thing. There’s one left, and it’s circling the man, who by this point is so blood covered, he looks like he was tricked into being prom queen, or something.

“Is it just me, or do you freaks just keep gettin’ uglier?” the man quips, and the corpse lunges, a stumbling move which earns it the butt of the shotgun to the jaw, which goes flying. The zombie is shot through the gut, and drops, but is a twitching, squirming mess. BJ’s seen enough horror movies to know that thing is getting back up. The stranger has apparently, too. He takes a moment to reload the shotgun, then double taps, blowing clean through the thing’s skull. He blows at the slightly smoking barrels of his sawed off, twirls it, and holsters it, re-slipping it onto his back. It’s a pretty cool move, actually, and the siblings watch in rapt attention. It takes the three remaining people (well, two people, one demon,) in the alley a moment to actually focus on each other, and there’s silence, before the stranger speaks. “Uh,” says the man, covered in blood, and Lydia peaks out from behind BJ, and stares at him, with big eyes. “Kids,” he hears the man mutter. “Great, just what I need, a coupla kids, gettin’ in my way.. Hey, kiddies,” he says, louder, with a smile, which might be really charming when he’s not soaked in rot and blood, but the effect at the moment is not as sincere and friendly as he clearly thinks it is. “Looks like you two little heroes managed to wrangle my book away from those deadites. You wanna do your pal Ash a favor, and hand it over?” He makes a “come here” motion with his stump arm, and then seems to realize that’s not so appealing, because he tucks that appendage behind his back, worried, suddenly, about scaring them. As if a man with a missing hand is the weirdest thing they've seen in the last five minutes.

“What the fuck,” Lydia says, and BJ can’t help but agree with that sentiment. Also, he feels a vague sense of sudden responsibility for this weird old tome. It doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing a human should have. Maybe those zombies… deadites? Maybe they were trying to get back what was stolen from them. Though he’s not charitable enough to assume that they’re the good guys in this feud. The stranger, Ash, takes a careful step forward. “It’s alright,” he says, like he’s talking to a wild animal he’s trying to tame, and not a teen and preteen, respectively. “I’m not gonna hurtcha. Just need to get my book back.”

A sudden screeching wind roars down the alleyway, and both living humans react, ducking, as it bellows and swirls around them, kicking up dust and trash and chunks of leftover deadite. “Demon! Aid us!” BJ feels a presence in front of his face, something he can’t see, but a great, ancient something, reaching out to him, demanding, begging, pleading, for him to assist in whatever macabre goal it wants to meet. He responds by sticking his unglamoured tongue out at it. “Ewww, gross. No.”

The thing shrieks again, and makes a beeline for Lydia, which is just about the stupidest thing it could have done, because he drops his glamour fully and snarls, gives the ancient being a psychic push back, and he sends the thing that cannot be seen flying, out of the shady darkness of this alleyway, past what he assumes to be Ash’s car, and out onto the city street, into the sun. It shrieks and moans and curses him. He flips it off, as it dissipates. The vibe in the air, however, tells him it’s not “dead,” just gone.

Ash straightens up and looks at him. BJ’s already slipped his human disguise back on, so the effect is that Ash has just seen what seems to be a slightly too pale and definitely overweight human teen somehow push back an ancient evil, totally unaffected. Now it’s his turn to let out a confused, “What the fuck?”

“Come on, BJ!” Lydia grabs her big brother’s arm and pulls him away, running from the gore and the confused zombie slayer. “Wait, kids-!” Ash rounds the corner, after them, but the Deetz siblings are already gone, disappeared into thin air, flash stepping the span of blocks in the blink of an eye, and they don’t stop until Lydia, sick from the teleportation, gives his hand a squeeze. They appear on a rooftop, confusing and traumatizing some pigeons that had been roosting.

“Wait, why did we run?’ BJ asks, and Lydia looks at him like he’s a moron. “Because that guy was clearly a monster hunter! And kind of really good at it!” she says. He mulls that over, and smiles. “Worried for your big bro?” he bats his eyelashes at her, and she responds by slugging him in the gut, which he reacts the barest amount to. “Last thing I want is to explain to mom and dad how you ended up with a shotgun blast through your skull,” she says, and crosses her arms, before leaning forward, to study the book he’s still holding. “So. What is that?” He grins. “Wanna open it an’ find out?” Read the rest of the first chapter here!

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues.... 

Word Count: 15327 

Chapter Warnings:  Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips 

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice. 

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier. 

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.”  Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now. 

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?” 

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders. 

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario. 

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party. 

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.  

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security. 

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin. 

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves. 

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL. 

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job. 

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments. 

“Dex isn’t skimping though.” 

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party… 

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up. 

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her. 

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!” 

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true. 

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.” 

“Yet somehow you always do.” 

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off,  tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore.  Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all. 

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly. 

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” 

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.” 

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.” 

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!” 

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest. 

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.” 

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts. 

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later. 

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.” 

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens. 

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.” 

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly. 

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!” 

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner’s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal. 

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms. 

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel.  The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi. 

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “ 

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start. 

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.” 

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk. 

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot. 

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold. 

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner. 

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind. 

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over,  “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.” 

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk. 

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them.  And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same. 

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod. 

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream. 

“That, uh,  won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.” 

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.” 

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door. 

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~” 

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling. 

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps. 

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat. 

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him. 

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way. 

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words. 

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.” 

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.” 

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen. 

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes. 

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict. 

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!” 

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light. 

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?” 

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.” 

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that? 

“What?” 

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.” 

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it. 

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.” 

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin. 

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?” 

“Bourbon and cherry coke.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her. 

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops  at her floor. 

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him. 

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door. 

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch. 

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.” 

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened. 

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.” 

“Sounds simple enough…” 

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her. 

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.” 

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible. 

“Found it.” 

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue. 

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda.  Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?”  She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head. 

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.” 

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?” 

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera. 

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City. 

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room.  Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection, 

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room. 

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent. 

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.” 

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path. 

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu. 

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.” 

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft. 

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them. 

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away. 

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.” 

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.” 

“Go for it.” 

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him. 

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.” 

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.” 

“Got’cha” 

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.” 

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats. 

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.” 

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out. 

“Our friend’s inside.” 

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.” 

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all. 

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?” 

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.” 

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once. 

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.” 

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing. 

“Bug?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.” 

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.” 

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it. 

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?” 

“Lapis lazuli, why?” 

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.” 

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.” 

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?” 

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?” 

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.” 

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.” 

“That how it was with you and Misty?” 

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.” 

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.” 

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.” 

“So you say.” 

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.” 

“I’m gonna pay him.” 

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?” 

“I… gave him a hug…” 

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!” 

“I may have only used one arm.” 

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….” 

“Flathead wear you out that bad?” 

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help. 

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”  

“Yeah..maybe…” 

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in. 

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed.  Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious. 

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy. 

“Who?” 

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!” 

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again.  But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved. 

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.” 

“So then why’d he come back.” 

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark. 

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?” 

“Maybe…” 

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all… 

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!” 

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden. 

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence,  “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button. 

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?” 

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator. 

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.” 

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end. 

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead. 

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room. 

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka? 

“Hey, Jackie, look!” 

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.” 

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?” 

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?” 

“Maybe?”  She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth. 

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers. 

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it. 

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him. 

“What now, Bug?” 

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.” 

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues. 

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there. 

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop. 

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind. 

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…” 

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong. 

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked. 

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!” 

“Almost got it… Done!”  The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out. 

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”  

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it. 

“Relic intact?” 

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case. 

“Good,  let’s delta.” 

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch. 

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin. 

“That pillar- try that!” 

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway. 

“No! Inside it! Now!” 

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath. 

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?” 

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than  any part of V. 

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her,  Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there. 

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands  as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?” 

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.” 

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach. 

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her. 

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm. 

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud. 

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds. 

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity. 

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.” 

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka. 

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….” 

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit. 

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English. 

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them. 

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader. 

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp. 

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-” 

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet. 

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad. 

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.” 

“Yorinobu.” 

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room.  He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this. 

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit. 

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred. 

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.” 

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg. 

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.” 

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful. 

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.” 

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again. 

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.” 

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him. 

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse. 

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?” 

“Seems so.” 

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck. 

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.” 

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened? 

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out. 

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him. 

“What?” 

“His own fuckin’ pops.” 

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can’t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything. 

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…” 

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out. 

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong. 

“Bug!?” 

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “ 

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place. 

Bug is gone, just gone… 

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now… 

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay. 

And nothing. 

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!” 

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?” 

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder. 

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet. 

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them. 

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.” 

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them. 

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out. 

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them. 

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand. 

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up. 

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter. 

“Just a bit more, I can do this!” 

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t. 

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself. 

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again. 

“Violators found.” 

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world.  Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind. 

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work. 

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet. 

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained. 

“Jackie, you’re hurt!” 

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?” 

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts. 

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!” 

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger. 

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!” 

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?” 

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!” 

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain. 

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.” 

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears. 

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones. 

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out. 

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one. 

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next. 

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door. 

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but.. 

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.  

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse. 

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards. 

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath. 

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes. 

“One more fucker dead!” 

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired. 

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut. 

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble. 

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head. 

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol. 

“Fuck!” 

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger. 

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor. 

“Orale! Got to plough through them!” 

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again,  Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor,  and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie. 

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room. 

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator. 

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did. 

“Hah-… agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be. 

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him. 

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.” 

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter.  Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard. 

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.  

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall. 

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp. 

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open. 

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night. 

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her.  The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!” 

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?” 

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right. 

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!” 

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car. 

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards. 

 “Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it. 

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear. 

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a  BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone. 

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him. 

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!” 

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no. 

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!” 

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body. 

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!” 

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…” 

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please.  She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.” 

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks. 

“Mija...  you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…” 

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.” 

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?” 

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her. 

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together. 

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart. 

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come. 

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right. 

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving. 

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her. 

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief. 

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words. 

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…  

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams… 

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then  another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka. 

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks. 

No response. 

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder. 

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away. 

“He waiting.” 

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips… 

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?” 

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port. 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!” 

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.” 

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it. 

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life… 

And how’d she repay him? 

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

If….if… if… 

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him… 

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s  fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter. 

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full. 

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him. 

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie. 

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen  from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here. 

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here. 

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here. 

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles. 

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood.  She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel. 

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.” 

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat. 

Then she’s gone. 

[lesbianashleywilliams]

i'm approaching the end of chapter three of the first witcher game and

the plot is gettin real juicy but not being used to gaming with mouse and keyboard and the clunky combat and running all over vizima in circles is wearing me out like...this aint it boo

[champion-of-thedas]

The Negative Arc of Ennio Salieri

After this past chapter of Eating Alone, I’ve thought a lot about Don Salieri and how I’m interpreting and writing him. Just a warning but this is going to be a loooong post. I actually rewrote it because I thought it was too long, and it still is lol.

I’ll start with a quick explanation of the negative arc for those not into lit analysis. Feel free to ignore this paragraph if you’re already familiar. The negative arc tells the story of a character that ends the story in a worse place than where they started. I would argue that many Mafia stories have these (Vito Scaletta being the foremost one that comes to mind). There are three kinds of basic negative character arcs: the Disillusionment arc (I’d argue this one for Vito), the Fall arc, and the Corruption arc. I feel the Salieri goes through the fall arc, which goes as follows: character believes lie, character clings to lie, rejects new truth, believes stronger or worse lie.

Let’s talk about the truth and the lie of this tale. The lie that Salieri believes is that he is better than Morello, which he has three reasons for. Those qualifiers that he sets up for being ‘better than Morello’ are being a competent business man, a father to his men, and a pillar of the community. We, of course, know he is exactly like Morello when the chips come down to it, but this is the lie Ennio convinces himself with (and does so for others as well). There is a slow decline over the chapters where his humanity hinges on two touchstones: Frank Coletti and Marcu Morello. These events are what challenge the lie.

Let’s look at how the lie is established and how he is presented in the first part (referring to the five groups of four chapters between the diner book ends). He wants to help out Tommy by giving him a loan and tell Morello that he can’t hurt the regular people in Little Italy, projecting a certain ideology to Tommy and the rest of the trio gathered. After Tommy and Paulie burn down the parking lot, Salieri talks about how Morello’s anger will burn out his brain (words implying that he’s like a child). Then, Salieri gives his rules for the neighborhood: no swearing (a very parent like guideline), no drugs (pillar of the community), and be careful with the police (trying to show caution instead of aggression; also gives the impression of ‘local, mom and pop’ compared to big shot Morello).  Next chapter he has Paulie and Sam show Tommy the ropes and gives explicit instructions not to be rough with anybody, although he probably was well aware that would happen anyway. Plausible deniability and showing how he “cares” for his community. Because we, the player, have very little evidence to contradict this notion, we are not aware of the lie that Salieri believes, but we do get to see the conviction with which he believes it.

The lie gets fleshed out with fair play. He is still concerned with his lie considering his conundrum with how to treat the other driver (Morello didn’t have the same concern and faced no consequences so either he has friends at the track too or that was never actually a problem), and he mentions how a lot of people in the neighborhood come to him for financial advice. The fact that he does this is meant to illustrate both his competency as a business man and the fact that the community trusts him. We skip ahead at to Better Get Used To It, and he is full of apparently righteous fury at the treatment of Sarah. He talks about how she is a daughter to him (father) and how people won’t protected by them and they’ll lose business, but if you stick around a minute you hear his rant about the hotel and how he feels like certain things are falling apart. Here and when they find out about Ghilotti in the next chapter, Salieri is furious, but it comes from his business sense. He is still concerned about the health of his organization, but it does foreshadow Salieri’s temper and ruthlessness when things don’t go his way. His behavior, especially when it comes to the hotel, indicates that he can be vengeful when the chips are down. Ultimately, this is still reinforcing the lie, but it allows us to see the cracks in it.

Here is when things start to get juicy and where Salieri chooses to cling to the truth. At the very beginning of part three, we get a long conversation with Frank. This is a meaty conversation, especially for the insight it gives into Salieri. Up until now, this kind of behavior has only been hinted at, never confirmed. We start off the next chapter with Frank mentioning that Salieri has been going over the books with him AGAIN. It’s a throwaway but becomes important later as it hints that Frank isn’t the person that botched that chapter’s job. His calm demeanor during the conversation is him still staying calm and business like but reflective. It is the opposite of the way someone would be expected to behave when they find out they’ve been betrayed. His contemplative nature and reflection on the dog, then calling his child self stupid, is him clinging to the truth. He’s saying, “I’m not that person anymore. I’ve grown.” Considering how Salieri (and even Tommy during the conversation with Norman) portray Morello as childish during conversations, establishing his maturity is important to Salieri. Tommy’s conversation with Frank has him talking about he is tired of waiting for Salieri to kill him, telling the player that if Salieri’s most trusted feels this way. The rest of part 3 is largely him continuing businesslike behavior (introducing Tommy to the safe cracker and the whole thing with Paulie and the whiskey deal), which is him trying to return to normal, like the whole thing with Frank never happened.

Then, the third intermezzo happens. So, a huge aspect of negative arcs is the fact that the character will have the opportunity to see the truth on multiple occasions and cling to their lie until the turning point occurs (which is different depending on the type of arc). Intermezzo 3 actually shows hints of it when we hear a very important line from Tommy: “And Salieri, he finally start talkin’ about gettin’ outta Morello’s shadow. Maybe buyin’ our own cops, our own politicians.” Salieri at this point, is continuing to act on the idea that he is better than Morello, but he’s moving himself to the point where he’ll be forced to see the truth. I won’t go further with this too much, but part four is just riddled with Salieri clinging to this idea that he’s better than Morello as time and time again things go wrong or they go right. His opportunities to see the truth come in the form of the violence he or his men inflict (in particular the occasion with Carlo) and the sheer amount of destruction that he orders. Note that the sheer violence of the war is staggering, and it starts because Salieri makes arguably a reckless move by putting a judge on the take without checking (at least checking well) if this person is on Morello’s take. Whether or not this would have happened with Frank, we wouldn’t know, but Salieri’s ambition starts one thing. Salieri might still not see the truth, but, if they couldn’t before, the player can. The biggest piece of foreshadowing in this part is the last line. “See you on the other side Marcu.”

The seeing the truth and rejecting it happens off screen. I’ve talked about what I think the turning point for Salieri and Tommy’s relationship is, and I feel like the rejection of the truth comes when Salieri finds out about Frank. In great contrast to all conceived previous behavior, Salieri has Frank and his entire family killed. During the first conversation with Frank, Salieri only specifies something should happen to Frank (and this is in contrast to the original game where he wanted to provide for the Collettis after Frank’s death). He has a moment where he could show mercy, leave Frank alone or just leave his family alone, and this is a direct hit to his lie, that he is better than Morello. At this point... Who does he have to be better than with Morello gone? He doesn’t have a person to compare himself to that makes him question his anger and he directs his wrath from there. Frank is a traitor, Morello is dead, Tommy is a traitor, Paulie is useless, and Sam is a soldier. He has no equal and no protégé. His lie is no longer that he is better than Morello. His new, worse like is that he is better than everyone, and this time it is not morally. He is in charge. Tommy talks about how Salieri acted like they “owned the whole damn town”, but it was really that he owned it. He didn’t have to bother with putting on airs after this. This is why the three stipulations dissolve. After election campaign, he loses some of the father to his men by deliberately leaving out information about the job and not worrying about the health of “his boys”. He’s bringing dope into the community, not worrying about his position as a pillar of it. The business sense stays only because it is his business that makes him better than other people. Even then, that goes a little bit out of the window when vengeance (because Sam never got information that Tommy and Paulie weren’t planning on cutting them in after the fact, either Sam or Salieri assumed) became more important and he decided to get rid of some of his most successful soldiers. We still see the truth in the end, that Ennio Salieri is exactly like Morello, but he was ultimately blind to it.

[goatsandgangsters]

Hunger Games: The Boardwalk, Chapter 11

(ao3)

Wood splintered and broke.

Charlie shot upright, frozen. Silently, he palmed the ground until he found the broken bottleneck. Just on the other side of the overturned table, someone walked back and forth.

He shifted into a crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet. The floorboards groaned under his weight; the footsteps stopped.

Charlie’s pulse pounded in his throat. The footsteps began again, creaking louder as they neared. The glass felt cool against his skin. When the footsteps got close enough that he could lunge—

“Heya, Charlie.”

He jumped to his feet and swore. The shadowy silhouette barely came up to his shoulder, but he could see that obnoxious grin gleaming at him in the darkness. “Gimme a fuckin’ heart attack, why don’t you!”

Benny laughed. “Hey, just be glad I didn’t shoot first.” He waved the crossbow clutched in his right hand as demonstration. “That might’a been awkward.”

“Yeah,” he agreed in an undertone, eyeing the weapon. Great. So Benny had an entire crossbow and a sling of arrows thrown over his shoulder. Charlie had a floorboard.

Like he could read it on his face, Benny asked, “Get anything good from the Cornucopia?”

“Yeah,” he said again and stopped. When Benny looked at him expectantly, he waved a hand and said, “None of your business what I got, alright? But I’m lookin’ for water now.” Better to change the subject, as he slipped the bottleneck shard carefully into his pocket. Better if Benny didn’t get the chance to press him for information. Better if he didn’t know how vulnerable Charlie was, especially against a ranged weapon.

“Water? You’re worried about water?”

“You wanna start seein’ things and fallin’ over and shit? Let’s see how good your aim is then, huh?” Charlie cocked his chin at the broken boards where Benny slipped inside. “What’re you lookin’ for, then?”

Benny plucked the string of his bow. “Fun.”

Maybe the cameras were on them then, the Gamemakers hoping for a confrontation. Was the bloodlust genuine, or was the overconfidence part of his performance? Either way, Charlie wasn’t turning his back anytime soon.

Not that he’d let anybody see him sweat—Benny or Panem. He shook his head, like it was no big deal, stepping out from behind the table and pacing the room. “Take it easy, don’t go shootin’ off any fingers, alright?”

Benny scoffed, eyes tracking him. “Unlike somebody, I know how to aim.”

“Hey, my aim ain’t that bad.”

“You couldn’t hit me from two feet away.”

“I could, but lucky for you, I ain't gonna,” Charlie shot back. Benny had seen his lousy performance with the ranged weapons during training; the rest of Panem had not. He didn’t need everybody knowing what a bad shot he was. Or that his best option was hurling a shard of glass and hoping to give Benny a scratch before he fired an arrow.

Benny smirked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “C’mon. Everybody’s gotta be asleep by now. Perfect time to take out a couple tributes. As long as you’re not too thirsty?”

Too unarmed, more like it. The kid had a lot of energy—and too much enthusiasm about the Games. Maybe it was like that in District 1, the way they must have talked up the glory. Charlie rubbed at his eyes and squinted at the boarded up windows. It was still nightfall; he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, but the adrenaline of Benny’s appearance had him up now.

Charlie wasn’t about to go looking for trouble until he had a good enough weapon to meet it. “You get anything else besides that?”

Benny shook his head. “This and the arrows. I dunno know why you’re so worried about getting a drink. There’s bottles all over the place.”

“Yeah, but it’s all alcohol. I searched up and down this maze.”

Benny shrugged. “So. Still wet, ain’t it?”

“Great, you’re gonna get drunk and shoot things. C’mon.” He waved an arm towards the broken planks over the window. No sense hanging around. He wasn’t closing his eyes again anytime soon, not with Benny’s comments ringing in his ears. They should keep moving. He might find something useful—and if they encountered other tributes, at least one of them had a real weapon.

He’d have to leave his floorboard, though. It would be too obvious he didn’t have anything better if he stooped to pick it up. The glass, at least, he could keep close and hidden, along with some rusty nails he’d pocketed. 

He made Benny go first—no chance he was turning his back on that kid. Benny slipped through the gap in the window easily, all skinny wriggly limbs. Charlie, however, was a full head taller; it took more finagling to get his legs through.

Benny, already out on the street, laughed at him. “Panem, I give you—District 12’s tribute!” He mimed applause and the distant hollering of a crowd, as Charlie did an awkward hop to pull his body through.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he grumbled.

They walked on through the dilapidated alleys, broken cement crunching under their feet. They probably would have kept bickering, too, if it wasn’t for their eyes darting to every shadow, bracing for a fight from every doorway.

It was a different way than Charlie had come originally. Somewhere, they’d gone left where he’d gone straight. They were still heading towards the beach, though. He could tell by the sky—deep inky blue in one direction, faint seeping pink and orange in the other. Of course, that assumed the sky still worked the same way. It’d be just like the Capitol though, to change the direction of sunrise and sunset in the arena to fuck with them.

Even without that possibility, the place was already a maze. Sometimes the pavement gave way to sand. The streets and alleys thinned, revealing the foundations of destroyed buildings—squared off cement left in its place hinting that once there was something, replaced by windswept sand and struggling wispy plants, the occasional scurry of what Charlie hoped were only rats.

They tried to stick to where it was denser for cover. The narrow brick on either side was small comfort. It shielded them from enemies—from other tributes. The distinction stopped mattering. But they hadn’t seen anyone for all their walking, the sky budding into hazy early-morning blue. They hadn’t seen much of anything at all.

“How big is this place?” Charlie marveled under his breath.

“If I never see another brick…” Benny grumbled, dragging his crossbow bitterly along the alley, the sickening scratch of the arrow against stone. 

Charlie winced at the noise. “I can take you out now if you’re bored,” he offered.

“Har har, oh you’re so funny Charlie, let’s hear another one,” Benny shot back. He scoffed. “Can’t believe those saps in the Capitol think you’re a charmer.”

“You gonna keep talkin’, or you wanna live to grow hair on your chest, huh?”

Too much. Benny whipped around, the chrome of the crossbow glinting with the motion. “Planning on the second one, thanks.”

Charlie pulled a face and held up his hands in sarcastic surrender, before waving Benny onwards with a flick of his wrist. “Let’s keep goin’ then, alright?” he muttered. They fell back into silence. It was better that way.

As the sun rose higher, Charlie’s stomach gurgled and growled. He pressed a fist into his abdomen to quiet the noise. He was thirsty, too. His tongue sat heavy and dry in his mouth. If it wasn’t for the prickle on the back of his neck—the alert awareness that any second, someone or something could drive a knife into his throat—this might have been the same as going down to the mines with his brother in the early morning. Of course, it was warmer in the arena—even in the early morning, the air felt like summer—and Benny was a whole lot shorter.

He chewed on his tongue as they walked, like maybe he could squeeze out some bit of moisture to swallow, trick himself into believing he’d had a meal. Maybe a hunk of bread—a little stale by the end of the week—that his mother shoved at all of them on their way out the door. Or those pastries they had in the Capitol, so sweet he couldn’t even call it bread, with fresh fruits baked in, all slathered in butter. They had meat for breakfast, too, in the Capitol. Meat—juicy and dripping in fat, and they just ate it for breakfast.

Benny stopped and Charlie bumped into him. “You hear that?” Benny whispered.

Charlie strained his ears. Faint shuffling. The distant clink of glass.

“You think it’s somebody?” Benny murmured. “Could be a rat or something.”

“What rat makes that much noise?” he shot back, a little louder than a whisper. Lowering his voice again, Charlie added, “How big you think rats are?”

Benny ignored the jibe and smirked instead. “Looks like it’s finally gettin’ interesting.”

They rounded the corner. In an alcove between the buildings, a boy with brown hair had his back to them, bending over a wooden crate. It was the District 4 tribute, Owen, the one who joked through his interviews with a smile that never reached his hard eyes.

He was swiftly filling the crate with bottles of alcohol, but he froze—hands still on the bottles—as Benny raised the crossbow, taking aim.

“That stuff’s bad for you, you know,” he taunted and fired.

The arrow whizzed into the wall as Owen flung himself sideways, hurling something. The bottle hit the wall beside them, shards of glass and alcohol raining down. Charlie’s arms flew up to protect his face. Benny did the same, almost fumbling the crossbow in the process.

“Get him!” Benny snapped as he hurried to reload an arrow.

Owen was fast, scrambling to his feet, but Charlie lunged, crashing into him and knocking into the wall. He punched, again and again, the boy’s head smashing back into the wall as fist met jaw.

“OOF!” Charlie recoiled, pain searing in his ribs as Owen kneed him in the gut. That was all the opportunity he needed. Owen sprang forward and they toppled to the ground together. Charlie landed flat on his back, the air ripped from his lungs, Owen on top of him. He gasped in pain—but his hands latched onto Owen's arms. He heaved with everything he had.

They rolled, Charlie on top again. It was instinct now. Owen beneath him. Fist colliding into his jaw. Blood in his mouth. Charlie scrambled for the broken bottle neck still in his pocket—his throat was right there—but Owen’s hand latched around his thin wrist, forcing it away. They struggled, pushing, vying for leverage. The stench of blood, alcohol, and sweat between them.

But Owen was strong, his grip firm, no matter how much Charlie tried to swing the shard of glass down on him.

“Alright, asshole,” Charlie spat. With his other hand, he snatched a bottle from the crate and swung. The muscles of his shoulder remembered the motion—pickaxe against rock. Glass was even easier. It shattered against skull, glass spraying over Owen's face. He brought his arm back, the jagged shard between his bloody fingers, and swung down again.

Owen’s arm shot up to block him, but barely. Charlie swung again—

“MOVE, DAMMIT!!”

His head snapped up. Benny aimed the crossbow right at them. In a split second, Charlie flung himself backwards; Owen scrambled. An arrow whizzed right over his shoulder and into the wall. Benny cursed as Owen ran. Charlie lunged after him, grabbed him by the leg, and got a kick in the throat for it.

Benny scrambled to nock another arrow while Charlie hurried to his feet, and together they skirted the wall as they ran after him. Owen ducked and ran and darted, weaving through the intricate alleyways.

Until suddenly, they turned into a dead end. Benny cursed and kicked the wall. He spun on the spot like maybe, miraculously, they’d see him running in the opposite direction. But the thinner alleyways were a maze woven through the old buildings. He could have given them the slip and ducked into any of them. There was no way they’d catch up, now that they’d lost sight of him.

Charlie spat blood onto the ground and leaned back against the brick. He closed his eyes, chest heaving as he caught his breath and coughed.

At least he survived his first real fight in the Hunger Games. Managed to get a few good hits in, too, even if his ribs ached. Charlie glanced down at his hand. Owen got the worst of it, but there were still a few shards of glass embedded in the side of his hand—not to mention his busted-up knuckles. Wincing, he pried the glass out, bits of blood and skin coming along with it.

“So, that’s why you wanna get back to the Cornucopia, huh?”

Charlie raised his eyes slowly to see Benny smirking at him with that annoying look on his face—the same look that seemed to always mean trouble. “What’re you talkin’ about?” Charlie spat back as he ripped the hem off his sleeve with his teeth.

“You don’t have a weapon.”

His heart stopped. Benny still smirked at him. The accusation hung in the air between them for a second too long before Charlie scoffed, “Sure I do.”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you use it?”

Everything shifted into sharper focus. Benny’s smile, the crossbow, his finger—it wasn’t on the trigger, not yet. Could he knock Benny to the ground before he had the chance to react, or would he find an arrow lodged in his gut before he even closed the distance? Would it be better to bolt the second he saw a finger twitch?

Benny laughed, and the sound alone almost sent Charlie running. “Guess we gotta get you one. Won’t be any fun otherwise.”

Charlie exhaled and shook his head. “Think I did okay for myself anyway.” Benny didn’t seem to hear Charlie’s pulse reverberating in his head.

“Who knew you can actually throw a punch!” Benny crowed, clapping and thrusting his own fist in the air with a hop. “You almost got him in the throat, too, with that bottle thing.” He mimed blood gushing from his neck with a manic grin.

“And I thought you had better aim than that. I coulda got him!”

Benny scoffed as he trotted back down the way they came, bouncing a few steps ahead. “Like I’m gonna let you get the first one, no way.”

Charlie wrapped the cloth from his sleeve around his hand, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. “Then try not to miss next time, huh?”

*****

Eddie Cantor was the last person Meyer wanted to see first thing in the morning. Arnold Rothstein, it turned out, was the second. Meyer grudgingly accepted AR's offer of a cup of black coffee and a slice of sweet bread with apple slices baked into rose petals, dusted with cinnamon. He took a sip without paying much notice as he and AR sat in the back of the observation room. The Capitol anthem blared around them and echoed behind Meyer's worn, tired eyes. He hadn't slept more than a few hours. It didn't make Eddie any easier to tolerate, with his garish makeup and Capitol clothing, the way he spoke in a frenzied, excited fervor.

"What a start to this year's Games!" he announced, clasping his hands together at the end of the highlight reel of the bloodbath's brutal deaths. "Now, I'm sure many of you are wondering... What happened last night?"

He paused for dramatic effect, then burst into a trill of laughter. "If you could even sleep, that is! With all this excitement, I barely closed my eyes!"

Meyer glared, blearily, at the front of the room.

"And it seems our tributes couldn't wait, either! They're not saving the action for the daytime. These tributes are ready to go!"

With that, the camera cut to clips from last night. Meyer already knew what happened. The screaming from the kill had woken him; he hadn’t gone back to sleep after. They played the recap of Al, Sigrid, and Nelson, hunting down tributes in the arena. The other two were pragmatists, swift and efficient killers, but Al seemed to enjoy himself. He took his time, taunting, teasing, talking—all the bravado and arrogance of someone who knew he had skill and brute force on his side. There wasn't much of a contest between the three of them and a lone tribute from a poor district with maybe a small knife.

"Now how about that!" Eddie exclaimed as their clips wrapped. "A great performance from District 2, as always. But how about those tributes from District 9? I wouldn't want to get on their bad sides, oh no!"

"But," Eddie continued, taking on a hushed tone, "Those aren't the only alliances taking shape. There's another team we'll be keeping a close eye on. Real contenders, these tributes."

Despite himself, Meyer's pulse quickened. They were already considering Charlie a contender? 

The screen flickered to show the two dark-haired tributes from District 7 creeping carefully through the lobby of the large, ornate building that loomed over the beach. Their footsteps echoed on the crackled marble floors.

"Do you think this works?" The girl, Angela, pried open a rusted metal grate blocking what looked like an old elevator. It was nothing like what they had in the Capitol buildings, but the Gamemakers’ careful design suggested something that had once been elegant.

The elevator did in fact work. The pair of them tumbled out into a dark room on a higher floor. Angela took a step forward, but the boy beside her froze. He raised his bow and arrow and pointed into the shadows, poised, waiting for the slightest movement to fire.

"Richard? It's me."

The boy didn't move—not until Jimmy from District 5 stepped out of the shadows, a sword swung casually over his shoulder and the girl from District 2 following behind him. "You know Pearl, right? Pearl, meet my friends—that's Richard and Angela. They're from District 7."

They exchanged awkward hellos, the boy lowering his bow and arrow. "You wanna camp here for the night?" Just like that, the pairs combined, settling down around a small fire in what looked like an old office. They shared cured meats from a backpack one of them had grabbed at the Cornucopia. But the highlight clip ended there. No one was interested in watching their camaraderie and conversation, not if it wasn't going to end in violence.

Eddie tried to spin excitement into the disappointing lack of bloodshed. "What do you think, Panem? A group of four could be a powerful team, outnumbering our other frontrunners. But do they have what it takes? I'll take this moment to remind you that Richard Harrow of District 7 is one of two tributes to receive a training score of 10. Time will tell! And with the second day in the arena getting underway, we won't have to wait long!"

The highlight reel concluded, showing brief flashes of all the other tributes in the night, ending with Charlie and Benny fight against Owen—the most recent action in the early morning. Eddie Cantor's only commentary was to chuckle. "Not too often you see an alliance between District 1 and District 12, if you can call it that." They played a brief, barbless quip between Charlie and Benny. "How long do we think Salvatore—or was it Charlie—is going to spend babysitting?"

"Easy. He's doing fine. They'll take him seriously soon enough," AR said from over his shoulder. Meyer realized the snarl in his head must have been out loud. He really was tired.

“I thought they were already taking him seriously,” Meyer muttered. “The interviews, the parade—all of that.”

AR tutted at him. “You and I both know that’s only part of the equation. What matters now is the arena. He hasn’t killed yet, hasn’t shown them what he can do.”

“He doesn’t have a real weapon and still almost killed a high-scoring tribute with nothing but a broken bottle,” Meyer shot back in a hushed voice, aware of the other mentors in the room.

“Almost doesn’t cut it.”

Meyer answered by taking a sip of coffee with a particularly sour expression as he looked up at the front monitor. A boy sat cross-legged on the beach, trying to string a fishing line from the Cornucopia.

“I’m surprised to see him so friendly with that boy from District 1,” AR said, tone delicate. 

Meyer barely glanced at him. “Are you? They formed an alliance in training.”

It was worth it to see AR’s brow arch, his expression flicker. “Did they? He didn’t mention that to me—nor did you.”

“Do I have to?” AR’s nostrils flared, his lips pulling into a hard line. Meyer took a sip of coffee and explained, more evenly, “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. The arena’s large; their odds of running into each other early enough to form an alliance seemed slim.”

AR’s expression relaxed. “I take it you didn’t sleep much last night,” he said. Though his tone was neutral, Meyer didn’t miss the subtext, the subtle accusation for his lack of manners, as Carolyn probably would have called it.

Meyer downed the rest of the coffee. On an empty stomach, he could already feel the thrumming in his veins, the skittery beat of his heart in his ears. “Did you?” he asked in return. AR surely wouldn’t miss the accusation underlying that question, either.

Instead, AR sighed and stood from his perch on the edge of Meyer’s station. “Better than you did, I’m sure. But no, I didn’t.” He put his hand on Meyer’s shoulder; he startled. People from the Capitol could be handsy, but AR was never like that—Meyer typically appreciated as much. “Torturing yourself is no use to them.”

“Then tell me what is,” Meyer said, voice low, each syllable a precise staccato.

AR smiled sadly and clapped his hand on Meyer’s back, withdrawing. “I’ll let you know if I hear any interest in sponsoring either of them. But this early on, for someone who isn’t a frontrunner? That’s a hard sell.”

Meyer said nothing. He stared at his screen. That was a placating way to say they could do nothing. Sponsorship was tricky business—deliberately expensive to minimize outside influence on the Games, but held like a carrot in front of the tributes to coax them into appealing to the Capitol any way they could. But most tributes died without seeing any outside gifts. The wealthier and more favored tributes sometimes received food or crucial medicine, but this early on, the Capitol was content to sit back and watch. They wouldn’t waste their money helping someone who wouldn’t pull through.

Like everything about the Games, they allowed the tributes and the districts alike just enough hope—the slimmest chance—so that they could claim it was altruism.

“I take it you plan to spend the day here again?”

Meyer’s silence was answer enough.

“Very well. But find an opportunity to sleep when you can. Your room is still available to you at the Training Center.”

He could only manage a stiff nod in response. There was a dull, persistent throb in his head—right behind his eyes and deeper in his head. His stomach twisted around itself. Even though he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, the thought of the apple pastry made him nauseous. In the face of his silence, AR said a few parting words and left without another response from Meyer.

As soon as the doors to the viewing room closed behind him, the man from District 10 pivoted in his seat, slowly standing and approaching Meyer. "I thought you were the mentor now,” he said. He was an older man, grey-haired, but as he spoke, the hint of a threat shone in his face.

Meyer raised his eyes to meet him, gaze unwavering. “I am,” he replied evenly.

“But still you need help?” the man asked.

Meyer's fingers twitched around the empty cup of coffee. “No. I don't need anyone's help.” He didn’t look away. “I'm sure you remember that from last year.”

“Oh, cut this boy a break!” the man from District 11 chimed in, breaking the tension of their appraising stares. “He was still here when I left last night, here when I come back this morning. You leave at all?”

Meyer shook his head.

“Don't look like you slept much, neither.”

The slow and heavy blink of Meyer's eyes answered enough. Turning back to the man from District 10, Meyer said, “If AR chooses to go where he is not allowed, well... He's from the Capitol. He does what he wants.”

The man's face was passive, before it split into a smile and then a full-bellied laugh. “I like you, boy. I liked you last year, too.” He offered his hand—broad and calloused—in a firm shake. “You can call me Munya.”

The other man who'd spoken up for him—the one with the scar across his face—offered his hand next. “Chalky White. We all look out for each other back here. Us outer districts need to stick together. If you need to shut your eyes or get some air, we'll keep watch for you, you understand?”

“I'm glad we have a real victor mentoring District 12, not some Capitol—“ Munya's disdainful word of choice morphed into a noise of disgust and a dismissive hand wave. “It's always a surprise to see a winner back here. And you—you were quite the surprise.”

If he had been sizing up Meyer’s ability as a mentor before, he had swiftly made up his mind. The challenge in his eyes had been replaced by a look of respect, or at least interest.

“We’re in for more surprises this year, fellas.” The mentor from District 9 ambled over to join their conversation, drumming his hands on the back of Meyer's monitors. "I think I've finally got a winner this year. I can feel it."

“Oh shut it, Deanie, nobody's impressed by that big meatloaf you call a tribute,” Chalky said, shaking his head.

“That's not what my bookie says,” he said, leaning over the back of Meyer’s station with a conspiratorial grin.

He introduced himself as Dean O'Banion, but unlike the other two, Meyer gave nothing but a hard glare. The others could forget what happened in the arena for the sake of camaraderie, but Meyer couldn't. The District 9 tributes were two of the biggest threats. And until they were dead, Meyer wasn't getting friendly with their mentor. But if Dean noticed Meyer's frostiness, he didn't show it. He laughed with the other two, slapping Munya on the back before returning to his station. After all, his tributes were on the main screen, Panem's favorites, in search of their next kill.

Once he was gone, Chalky glanced sideways at Meyer and said in an undertone. “Torrio’s boy is gonna get rid of those two once he don’t need numbers on his side anymore. That’s how it always goes, ‘specially with those rich districts.”

Last year, the tributes from District 3 hadn’t even adjusted to the idea of their alliance before Meyer learned what he needed and killed them. It wasn’t personal. Only one person came out alive. Still, he glanced back at his screen as Charlie and Benny walked along the boardwalk. It wasn’t personal—just inevitable.

Ahead of them, the Cornucopia loomed in the distance, glinting on the sand in the early-morning sun. At the sight of it, Benny grinned and hopped up on the railing. Charlie grabbed the back of his shirt before he could leap down into the sand.

“You crazy?” Charlie demanded.

Benny struggled in his grip. “It's right there! Thought this was the whole point!”

“Yeah, and there's one problem.” His hands full of Benny, Charlie gestured with his chin. Meyer and Benny squinted together at the horizon. There were several figures around the Cornucopia, but they weren’t fighting. Whether it was Al and his posse or the other team-up from last night—Jimmy, Richard, Angela, and Pearl—Meyer couldn't say. He tried to catch a glimpse of Dean’s screens, but his back blocked the view.

“So? We'll take them down and take whatever they got!”

Charlie looped his arms under Benny's armpits and lifted him—yelling, cursing, and practically spitting—into the air.

At the sound of Benny hollering, the figures by the Cornucopia stopped moving and turned towards them. “Shit, shit. C’mon!” Grip tight on his arm, Charlie dragged Benny off the boardwalk and back into the cover of buildings.

“You scared all of a sudden?” Benny demanded once they were in the shadows.

“No, just not stupid.” Charlie poked his head out, back in, then out again. “Good, don't look like they're followin’.” He looked like the sparrows Meyer's brother would chase on the way to school—the way they hopped this way and that down the dirt path, heads bobbing. Except this was more like watching a sparrow try to keep a grip on a rabid raccoon.

“Letgoofmeyousonofabitch!” But Charlie tightened his grip on Benny’s shirt. “I didn’t come here to be a coward!”

“Did you come here to die!” Charlie snapped as Benny struggled and kicked.

Suddenly, their voices were magnified, echoing in the room. They were on screen for real now, broadcasting to the rest of Panem. A few of the mentors in the room glanced up at change of scene with a sort of bored curiosity, but most continued watching their own tributes or talking amongst themselves. At the front of the room, far ahead of him, Meyer saw Masseria raise his gaze to the larger front screen, propping his chin on his fist as he watched with interest.

“In. Here.” Charlie dragged Benny into a building while Benny continued yelling that they hadn’t even had a kill yet, they barely found anyone last night, this was their shot to make an impression, that they had to prove themselves. Charlie dropped Benny and all of his struggling, flailing limbs directly on the floor.

“There’s more of them, they got better weapons that us, they’re probably twice as big as you, each and every one of ‘em—”

“The whole point is to prove yourself!”

“No the point’s to not die.”

Benny shouldered his crossbow and crossed his arms. “Right. Gotta take them out before they get me.”

Charlie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed. “I didn’t sleep enough for this shit,” he grumbled. Then, louder and with an emphatic wave of his hand, he snapped, “You gotta be smart about it. You can’t be actin’ all crazy! You and me, we can take them out first real chance we got and I won’t even blink. But you go picking fights when you’re outnumbered, that’s not provin’ nothin’ except that you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot or a coward,” Benny said, his hard glare burning with anger. The camera panned around them, zooming in close on their expressions. Meyer could see the sweat on Benny’s brow, the flecks of sand and dirt in Charlie’s curls. The Gamemakers expected an escalation; they all did. Meyer’s heartbeat hammered in his throat as he eyed Benny’s crossbow, his vicious expression.

“Get out of there,” Meyer breathed, leaning closer to his own monitor. “Go, just go.” This was his fault. He should have told Charlie—no alliances. He should have seen the way Benny acted in his interview, remembered what they were all like in District 1, warned Charlie off the alliance as soon as he told him about it.

The seconds stretched on between them. Then, Charlie sighed and said, almost softly, “You think that’s how Meyer won?”

Meyer froze. He sat back, staring ahead. Charlie’s voice filled the room, filled his head and his lungs.

“You think he barged headfirst into every tribute he found without thinkin’? No. He was smart. And we’re gonna be smart, too.”

Benny frowned at the old floorboards, but the murderous anger—grudgingly—faded from his face. The thrum in Meyer’s veins did not, even as the tension between them ebbed. “You’re only sayin’ that cause you’re unarmed…” he grumbled.

“If you kill me right here, I hope those guys out there eat you for breakfast,” Charlie said, more exasperated than anything—as though it wasn’t a legitimate possibility.

Benny scuffed at the floor with his foot. “I’m not gonna kill you,” he sighed, again like it was some great sacrifice on his part. With a smirk, he added, “Not unless you keep yammering on—then I might.”

“Only if I don’t kill you first for bein’ annoying.” He jerked his head in the direction of an old rickety staircase—the wood splintered and warped, some of the steps broken through entirely. “C’mon. We’ll have a view of the Cornucopia, stake it out. Second that group gets outta there, we run in and take whatever’s left. Got it?”

The camera followed them as they picked their way carefully up the broken staircase, pressing flush against the wall to avoid falling through a particularly large gap in the steps. Meyer’s mouth was dry. If only he still had more coffee. Something he could do, something to quell the way Charlie’s words rolled over in his stomach. He picked one thin apple slice—one of the decorative petals—from the hunk of bread and chewed it slowly, staring just past his monitor.

They wiped grime off the upstairs window before dropping unceremoniously down onto the old floor. Sunlight shone in strong and bright, illuminating the dust that floated, dipped, and danced in the air around them. Benny’s stomach grumbled like a Capitol hovercraft and he doubled over, crossing his arms to silence the sound. “What d’you think we’re supposed to eat here? Most places got wild animals to hunt, fruit trees, nuts. This is all… buildings.”

“Maybe there’s food inside someplace,” Charlie said, sounding as unconvinced as Meyer felt. After all, they hadn’t even found water yet. “I heard birds. Seen some rats scurrying by too. Could catch one of them.”

Benny pulled a face. “I’m gonna have to eat a rat?”

Charlie’s brows knit together. “What, you never ate a rat before?” Benny snorted and elbowed him, but Charlie wasn’t kidding. “Damn. They got it good in District 1 if you ain’t ever ate a rat.”

Benny stared at him. “It’s really that bad out there?” He let out a low whistle at Charlie’s contemplative nod. “I mean, I heard stories, but I thought… I dunno. Guess I didn’t believe it was actually that bad anywhere in Panem.”

Charlie shrugged, tipping his head back against the peeling wallpaper behind him. His hand retraced the grain of the wood, rapping at it with his knuckles. “Bein’ hungry, not eatin’ like this, it’s nothin’ new.” He scoffed. “Then I come to the Capitol and find out those assholes got all kinds of meat I ain’t ever heard of. And here I was thinkin’ rabbits and squirrels was all there was, and they’re eatin’ whole pigs! All stuffed and dressed and—”

The echo of their voices cut abruptly, the sound replaced with the soft crunch of footsteps on sand. The tribute from before had finished stringing his fishing line and was attempting—poorly—to cast it into the ocean. It was a jarring cut on the Panem-view camera, right in the middle of Charlie’s sentence.

Meyer smiled down at his own monitor, still playing Benny and Charlie’s conversation. “You tell them, Charlie,” he murmured, the swell of fondness and pride immediately swallowed by a pang of fear. They might punish him for a remark like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken about the poverty of District 12 and riches of the Capitol; his interview was practically a threat.

But if he was going to die, better to die honest. Better to let them know exactly who they were. The Capitol could cut the footage short all they wanted; they still hadn’t been fast enough.

Once they were seated, finally resting after walking since pre-dawn, Charlie and Benny’s conversation dwindled down to nothing. Their barbs—“My head’s killin’ me. Must be the sound of your voice”—faded into the softness of Benny’s breathing as his grip relaxed on the crossbow and his eyes fluttered closed. Charlie yawned, occasionally craning his neck to peer out the window at the gaggle still pacing in and around the Cornucopia. He fought it as long as he could. But no sleep, no food, especially no water… You could only last so long. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the heat of the day pooling in sunbeams through the dirty window, Charlie’s head slumped forward.

The same exhaustion had filled Meyer in the arena, too. He had water at least—there was snow everywhere, easy enough to boil—but food had been sparse in the snowy landscape, with no flora and only mutated wolves and vicious, razor-toothed ermines. If you didn’t kill, you didn’t eat. The cold, too, sapped the strength from their bodies as they burned through their energy just fighting to stay warm.

He remembered that feeling of emptiness, body struggling with nothing to burn, the tempting pull of closing his eyes and slipping into sleep—

Meyer jerked upright. He blinked at his screens. Still on. Still alive. An hour had passed. He rubbed at his eyes, like he could carve out the need for sleep altogether. Benny and Charlie still dozed, while Anna had hidden herself away during the day. She didn’t seem to have much of a strategy—or rather, her strategy was to hide. How long would that work? It wasn’t a bad strategy, stay out of sight and let the others pick each other off in the meantime, but it had a time limit. Sooner or later, they found you—or they ran out of other tributes to kill. Sooner or later, you had to fight. Being younger than the others, smaller, that wasn’t an excuse. You still had to fight.

His eyes were tired and sore, pulsing in their sockets. He blinked—for a few minutes—before pulling his head back up, trying to focus on the screen ahead. If he looked forward, he couldn’t dip back into sleep.

The tribute with the fishing line had not caught a fish. The tribute with the fishing line was not alone.

The tribute didn’t hear the footsteps at first, soft and practiced in the sand. He pivoted, eyes wide, as Owen stopped mere feet away. He only ran a few steps through the waves when Owen closed the distance, punched him down, and seized the fishing wire from his hands. The tribute scrambled on his hands and knees where the waves met the sand. Owen wrapped the fishing wire around his neck and pulled tight. The tribute pawed at his throat, upsetting his balance and falling face-first into the waves. Owen kept his hands tight on the wire around his neck, tugging, his knee on the back of the tribute’s head forcing him into the waves. He struggled, struggled, flailing wildly. Limbs thrashed everywhere—strangulation and drowning all at once. The waves crested and broke against them, spraying them both with ocean.

The noise filled the room, filled his head. The waves. The choking heaves. The gasps for air. The ice cold water filling his body, soaking his clothes, dragging him down, down, down to the bottom of the lake. His fists pounding against the ice, lungs screaming, the desperate burn of the cold clutching his throat.

A cannon fired. Meyer flinched back. Owen dropped the tribute’s body into the waves. Meyer drew a long, deep breath of air. Owen unsheathed a small knife and cut into the flesh of the body before the hovercraft arrived to clear it away. Meyer’s right hand gripped the edge of his console until his knuckles matched the whitecaps on the water. Owen put the strip of flesh onto the nail that had been fashioned into a hook, waded out into the water, and cast with all the expertise of District 4.

He shivered. His legs were as numb as his other arm.

“You oughta get some rest while you can.” Meyer startled. It was only Chalky, sitting at the next station over. He nodded sympathetically towards Meyer’s desk, the bread from AR still uneaten. “Or at least get a little food in you before you keel over.”

“I have to leave, actually,” said a voice that sounded like Meyer’s.

He stood. The room swam, black inky depths across his eyes. He hadn’t really slept. He hadn’t eaten, either, since the Games started. But it was fine. He did the same thing last year. Barely ate, barely slept, and he lived. He won. That’s what they told him, that he won.

His body moved towards the door. He caught Masseria eyeing him as he passed, caught the glare on his face.

The doors slid open for him automatically. The hallway tilted as he walked, walked faster, a brisk clip. He just needed air, needed to clear his head, he’d be fine. The elevator doors loomed at the end of the hall.

He just needed to think. He couldn’t think in there. Too much sound, all those screens, the people talking. The choking.

Meyer pounded his hand against the control for the elevator doors. Nothing happened. He pounded again—desperate, pounding against the ice-white plate. The elevator doors opened smooth as running water. Meyer’s vision tunneled. The hallway turned sideways and rose up to meet him.

[mostbeautifulgenji]

Chapter 26: Wild Pinks

Tokanatsu Genji decides to spend a lovely hot day lounging by the fishing pavilion while eating freshly caught and grilled fish, drinking iced wine in the sunshine (gettin real jealous of Genji’s life AGAIN). To no Chujo’s sons are there as well as Genji’s own, and its not long before Genji is ‘grilling’ everyone for some sweet juicy gossip. He learns that Tu no Chujo has had a dream about a long lost child returning to him. Genji plays it cool and goes on to say that he thinks it’s totally greedy of a father to go looking for a lost child, especially if he already has so many children at his disposal. 

See, things clearly haven’t been that great between Genji and Chujo. Long gone are the days of that beautiful bromance (rip). Genji is salty about how Chujo has refused to acknowledge the feelings between their children - that is, Genji’s son and one of Chujo’s daughters. For whatever reason, Chujo is against the match. I feel like this is one of the many reasons Genji is being weird about this long lost daughter of Chujo’s 👀

Genji brings over some young men to let have a glimpse at Tamakazura, who seems more receptive today. Later, Genji and his not-daughter jam out on the Japanese koto. Tamakazura reveals that she has a real interest in mastering this instrument and getting into music as a whole. She’s so into this music topic that she actually sits right next to Genji as he plays, so im getting a little nervous for this girl.

Genji notes that the suitors have left without even getting the best look at the Wild Pinks - there is a translator’s note here about the play on words with ‘Tokanatsu’ and ‘Nadeshiko’, which are both generic names for ‘wild pinks’. This flower of autumn is often used as a metaphor for a child needing protection from the storms of life. Tu no Chujo had written poetry using these words, ‘Tokanatsu’ referring to Tamakazura as a child and ‘Nadeshiko’ referring to her mother (the lady of the evening faces). 

Genji continues to wrestle with his desire to make Tamakazura one of his wives, knowing he would his reputation would suffer for the apparent marriage to his ‘daughter’. Poor poor Genji. He begins to give the girl lessons on koto as an excuse just to hang out with her.

Meanwhile, Tu no Chujo is perplexed by this secret long-lost daughter of Genji’s and wishes he had one of his own to become to talk of all the town’s bachelors (if only he knew...). Instead, his daughter Kumoinokari,  is known to be in love with Genji’s son, but the marriage won’t be viable until the son has acquired some sort of viable rank. 

So, turns out, Tu no Chujo has received a long lost daughter who is very different from Tamakazura - she is being referred to as the Lady from Omi, and i kinda love her. We first see her praying for snake-eyes while playing dice with her equally enthusiastic friend. Tu no Chujo is horrified but feels he cannot turn her away. The Lady from Omi is fast talking, crass, and honestly hilarious. However ‘unladylike’ she may be, Tu no Chujo sees that she has true devotion to him, which is enough to keep him from ditching her. He sends her off to meet with another one of his daughters, the Kokiden Consort, to be reformed. 

The Omi lady is so pumped to begin being a better daughter for her newfound dad that she writes to this consort immediately. She writes this crazy long meandering message but she’s so proud of it. It actually references several famous poems all at once, as she’s really eager to show off her knowledge. She then sends the chambermaid to deliver her message. The Consort is amused by the message and has one of her attendants craft the response. The attendant in question writes in a way that mimics Omi’s ‘style’ and it’s a total success.  The last line of this chapter reads, “One can only wonder what sorts of outrageous things must have happened when she finally the Consort,” which makes me really hope that this meeting isn’t gonna happen behind the scenes! I need this wholesome content outside of the Genji household, plz, Murasaki Shikibu, I beg of you...

[enby-jetstar]

(header courtesy of @ao3commentoftheday )

It's WIP Wednesday! ✨ Haven't done one of these in a little while!

once you go hazy, you'll understand

Chapters: 5/?

Words: 14,036

Next Update: February 16

General Comments: worldbuilding is my favorite part of writing, and this fic gives me so many opportunities!!

Playground Eyes

Chapters: 5/14

Words: 36,842

Next Update: March 1

General Comments: oh we're gettin' into the juicy part of the story huh?