#those off i am rattling the bars of my cage. let me See

[chiisana-lion]

saw a post earlier on being worried about gaining new interests or fixations in fear of liking the new thing more than your current one despite how much energy or time youve put into it already and it just makes me really. maybe its just me but i dont see why you cant just like multiple things at once? i dont know why youd restrict yourself like that personally i enjoy being into 10485387 things at once

[redisaid]

Strangers - Part 1 of ??

A very special shoutout to @jujoobedoodling for their amazing art, and for sharing this neat little idea with me when I asked if there's any sort of fics they'd like to see.

So, fellas, is it gay to make Sylvaina fall in love over prison letters, in a nutshell? I dunno. Let's find out.

5146 Words

Read it on Ao3!

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

Jaina wants to assure her she didn't come to stare at her like she's some sabercat in a cage—teeth dulled on the bars, roar hoarse and failing. Only she realizes now that this is exactly why she's come. A wave of shame threatens to crash over her, but she dismisses it. She came to deliver Veressa’s letter, and to banish the notion that Sylvanas Windrunner truly was a stranger to her.

Staring at Sylvanas, waiting for her to rattle the bars of her would be cage, would do neither of those things for her.

“Certainly not you,” Sylvanas continues, drawling out the last word with her high, nasally elven accent, still chiming in a banshee double-tone.

They stand now in the Maw, where Jaina had been asked by her friend to draw an interdimensional portal to deliver a letter to her sister as only she and a handful of other mages on Azeroth could. Jaina had been reluctant to agree. She had refused at first, of course.

But here she was, all the same.

You, with that drawl and sneer and the arrow still aimed between her eyes, was about all that Jaina deserved from this woman. After all, Vereesa was right—at best, they were strangers.

“What is it you’ve come for? To deliver more demands from Tyrande? To report to her? To make sure I am completing my penance? Or did you come to gloat?”

The accusations pile up. Jaina lets them. She scans the tangle of strange and unnatural rocks jutting from the charcoal earth of this literal hell. It doesn’t take her long to realize she’s stumbled upon Sylvanas’ camp. Her home here in the Maw, simple, but well lived-in. The undead have no need for food or sleep and suffer minimally from lack of shelter, and while Jaina knows this, she still observes a makeshift bedroll, the embers of a dying fire, clustered close to a lean-to made mostly of chunks of dull grey metal, once the armor of some great beast or terrible construct long since vanished after its master’s defeat.

It has been a year on Azeroth. Jaina knows time stretches in the Shadowlands, but not by a factor of how much. She wonders how long it has been since Sylvanas has seen another person. Two years? A decade? A century?

The woman herself is little better than her camp. Her armor sits beside the fire, mostly shrugged off in rest, and while it looks well-kept, it is still worn. The dark leathers she wears beneath it, and now exclusively, are much the same. At first glance, they do not look so different as when she lay in Oribos after her own defeat, as Uther bade them to wait for her to wake and explain her actions. However, Jaina’s keen eyes find the rips and the tears, the mending that has been executed with scraps of grey cloth and grey metal and grey leather fashioned from the skin of a grey, doubly dead beast. Everything here is grey. Hell is devoid of color, but Sylvanas’ eyes burn into her, bright and blue, demanding an answer.

So she gives it, “None of those are my reason. Your sister, my friend…Vereesa asked me to come.”

Truly, Vereesa’s choices were limited. Only those who had walked the Maw, of their volition or Sylvanas’, could safely find it again. Only fewer of the great mages of Azeroth were capable of entering it without going through Oribos, or asking permission from the entities that ruled there. Jaina, Khadgar, and a few heroic Mawwalkers perhaps were the only ones who could have delivered this letter. And while Jaina had been reluctant, she was not about to offer Khadgar the excuse to use this place as another of his many distractions if Vereesa were to ask him instead.

At least, that was another one of her reasons for accepting.

Only now does the arrow lower, and the bow with it. At the mention of her sister’s name, Sylvanas gives up her fight.

“How can I trust her not to tear me apart, if we’re to be alone there?” Jaina had asked the youngest Windrunner sister, back in her office in Boralus, days ago.

“I suppose you can’t,” had been Vereesa’s answer. “You don’t know her.”

Jaina holds out the letter. It is folded neatly and sealed and she has done her best to resist the temptation to read it or even scry upon it with magic. Such is her trust for Vereesa. Her sister, not so much.

Perhaps this will be the end of it, then. She’ll deliver her letter. She’ll make arrangements for a response. She’ll leave. Sylvanas will go back to gathering souls, living even though she does not live, in this ramshackle camp—this prison of her own making. Jaina will have done something good and satisfied her curiosity. The sabercat will wither in her cage, having gained only further shame from her observation.

Jaina isn’t sure why she expects anything more than that, but she does.

“She wrote you a letter,” she explains. “I’m not able to bring her here like this for her to deliver it herself. Perhaps something can be arranged for her to visit by other means, if you’re interested.”

Sylvanas hesitates. Jaina watches her think.

She watches her closely, waiting for the muscles in her broad shoulders to twitch and aid in pointing her bow upward again. She finds more rends in her leathers, more attempts at mending. She watches, and finds a woman determined, though for what she isn’t certain.

Sylvanas Windrunner as she is now is a stranger to her. Once, her eyes burned red with rage and hatred and it was easy enough to say that Jaina had known her as an enemy. She and her Forsaken whispered, “Death to the living,” though they were of the same people Jaina had once led in Theramore—survivors of Lordaeron, as it were. Scarred in different ways by the same man.

Yet as before, even when Uther, dead and scarred by the same hand, bid Jaina to see reason and work with Sylvanas to defeat the Jailer, she cannot help but to fall into old habits. Magic pulses at her fingertips, waiting. She is ready for Sylvanas to attack her. She is ready to know her as an enemy once again.

This woman burned Teldrassil. She’d resurrected Derek to use against her. She’d blighted her own city in a rage rather than give it to the Alliance, to Jaina specifically, who had turned that battle in their favor.

Jaina is certain that this is still what she is—a burner and blighter, a screaming banshee that knows only hatred—and she’s ready for her.

She is not ready for Sylvanas to put down her bow and the arrow knocked within it, and begin to walk over to meet her.

She’s not ready for the soft muttering that follows, and the wry chuckle that comes with it, “I doubt Tyrande would allow me such a luxury as a visit from my sister.”

This is no banshee, no formless enemy. No, Sylvanas is an elf, still undead and still much unchanged from the last time Jaina saw her, but now walking toward her with purpose. She moves like Alleria, proud and powerful. She smirks a little, the same way as Vereesa does when she thinks no one is looking. Her hair, though dull and ashen in death, is a shade between Alleria’s honey gold and Vereesa’s cool silver.

“You’re so certain she’s changed?” Jaina had asked Vereesa before she’d left. “You were only allowed to speak with her for a few minutes.”

“I know my sister, Jaina,” Vereesa had replied, head tilted upward, smiling. “I know that I have her back, or I will, should she ever be allowed to return home.”

Where is home, Jaina wonders, holding out the letter, to a woman who died for her country, and razed the one she built out of the ashes of a nation everyone else abandoned?

If and when she completes her penance, who will want Sylvanas Windrunner, burner of trees, blighter of cities? Manipulated or not, she did these things. No amount of souls ferried to better places can change that. And while Vereesa claims much, she cannot move the inevitable mountains that will stand in her way if she chooses to defend her sister, to make a home for her in Azeroth again one day.

The dip of Sylvanas’ head upon her graceful neck seems to say to Jaina that she knows this. The way she holds up her hands, bare and long-fingered without any gloves or gauntlets to cover them, tells Jaina she knows what she is to her—an enemy still. A problem unwanted, surely.

But still, Jaina had agreed to come here. She is determined to make sure that the reason for it all was not as simple as gawking at a toothless beast, though Sylvanas doesn’t seem as though she will bite.

She takes the letter from her. She looks to her. She waits.

“I can’t speak for Tyrande, or any authority Oribos and its contingent might have on the matter,” Jaina tells her. “But I can deliver a reply, if you want.”

Now this close to her, Jaina can tell Sylvanas is taller than her sisters. More broad-shouldered like Alleria than slight as Vereesa is, bordering between both of them with the elder’s wildness and Vereesa’s well-manicured elven beauty. She is neither and both, but seems to have maintained some semblance of grooming, despite having no one to look nice for. Her hair is combed and neat. She is clean, with only the barest hint of the grey dust and ash that swirls in the air of this place clinging to her skin.

That grey, at least, is warm in nature, and Sylvanas’ is cold, more toward purple. Their meeting is an interesting contrast of hues.

“Very well,” she answers, one long finger tracing the seal on the letter as she eyes it. “I would offer you tea while you wait, but I have no such thing.”

While she waits. Jaina hadn’t assumed she’d be allowed to, asked to, or really anything but run off with sneers and insults at best, arrows at worst.

She supposes that if she hadn’t seen another person in a year, she too would want them to stay a while, no matter who they were. But has it been longer? The state of Sylvanas’ clothes says yes.

Jaina endeavors to break any falling of awkward silence to seek the answer, “It has been a year or so, on Azeroth, since I returned from the Shadowlands. Has it been the same for you?”

She stiffens, recalling who it was who brought her here the first time, though she saw little of Sylvanas then. Only the Mawsworn that were meant to hold her captive, and keep her from escaping Torghast, though she managed to do so several times. Jaina knows now that her purpose in doing so was just to keep her out of the way—to keep her from interfering with what was to be done with Anduin.

Anduin, another reason for her to come here. Yet she did not find him. The Maw is but one of many possible places the boy could have gone, though he’s hardly a boy anymore. Jaina knows what he did and was made to do weighs heavily on him. She’d thought that maybe he too would seek penance, and wouldn’t care if it was his own to seek, yet there is no sign of him here. This camp is meant only for one.

“There is no day or night here for me to know,” Sylvanas tells her as she slides a sharp-looking fingernail beneath the wax seal and opens the letter. “One could keep track by counting the hours, I suppose, but trust me, it is a dull pastime. It has been a long time. A very long time.”

A long time, Jaina thinks, to wear the same clothes and see no one but lost souls.

A spectral fluttering of wings catches her eye and reminds her that Sylvanas does have one other companion besides the souls she ferries. Dori’thur’s wide eyes catch Jaina’s as she looks up into the canopy formed by this tangle of rock, ironically almost nest-like. The owl spirit makes no motion to acknowledge her, so carefully does she watch her charge instead. Doomed or honored to be her warden, Jaina can’t decide. The owl, it seems, does not care either way. She just watches.

Sylvanas follows her gaze, and a little smile creaks its way into lips that seem to forget how to bend that way. “Don’t mind the owl. It loves to stare.”

“She. Dori’thur,” Jaina corrects.

Sylvanas’ blue eyes are wide for a moment, drinking in the information in a way that shows it is clearly new to her. No one bothered to tell her the name of her warden, really?

“I didn’t know,” Sylvanas confesses. “And here I’ve just been calling you owl this whole time,” she calls up at the spire of twisted stone that Dori’thur perches on.

The spirit cocks her head just slightly at Sylvanas, the first and only acknowledgement she gives.

Jaina stands for a moment, maybe two. She looks around at the humble camp, the spectral owl, the once fearsome undead elf in her ragged leathers, reading her letter with blue eyes that look strange on her.

Sylvanas looks up once Jaina’s gaze comes to rest on her. Her long brows furrow briefly, simmering in the awkwardness, the wrongness of this.

They have never met, despite all the things they both share and do not share, in a way that allowed them the luxury of quiet conversation. And despite the nagging curiosity that dragged her here, the continued insistence by Vereesa that she did not know her, or least as anything but an enemy, Jaina does not know what to say to her.

So instead, she offers, “I can go, and return after a time to allow you your privacy.”

Sylvanas nearly drops the letter. She takes a step toward her. She catches herself and does not take a second. She reaches out a bare and empty hand to Jaina, then drops it to her side immediately upon realizing what she’s done.

“No. No,” she says, trying to make the words come out not as a plea, but anything else. “A while for you is longer for me. I would—I would rather be as prompt as possible, you understand. I have my penance to work on, still more souls to guide. I don’t have time to wait around for you to return here.”

It is a poor excuse, and they both know it. They know it in the silence between the ask Sylvanas isn’t actually asking and the reply Jaina struggles to give. They know it in the way Sylvanas reaches for her, a woman she does not know in any other way but an enemy, and apparent friend to her younger sister and her owl warden, because she and her letter and her excuses for delivering it are the only reason she’s had any contact with something remotely like herself in a long, long time.

Jaina is living and breathing and human and annoyed, but curious. She is not undead and newly made whole of soul again, though she supposes that’s not so new anymore. She knows, though, that she cannot possibly understand what it is Sylvanas is thinking as she reaches for her. But still, she reaches.

Jaina does not leave. “I will wait then.”

Where she will wait is the question, really, and she sees Sylvanas ask it of herself too as she looks back toward her camp. Still, she gestures for Jaina to follow her.

It is a strange time she lives in, Jaina thinks, as she does.

And this is how she ends up seated on a stool of chipped rock, across the dying fire from where Sylvanas sits on her bed roll, reading her letter.

Sylvanas is undead and does not need a bed or a stool or a fire. Her owl warden is a spirit of nature and needs no comforts as well. Yet Sylvanas has made them, and taken the time to make them. She reads and sits cross-legged like a child. Jaina’s eyes pick at her leathers still, finding more wear and tear as she reads, counting the patches and stitches. It irks her. For some reason, of all the things, the state of her clothes bothers Jaina the most.

She’s never seen Sylvanas in anything other than fine armor, meant to intimidate as much as it was to impress. And while she still has fine armor, stacked neatly by the fire in her rest, Jaina can see that too is worn.

“Do you want new things?” Jaina eventually asks. She can’t stand the silence any longer, though from the rustling of the second of four pages, she knows Sylvanas isn’t done reading.

Sylvanas looks up. Her blue eyes dart from Jaina to her armor and herself. To the contrast of warm grey dust and cool grey skin. The mended rips and tears of her leathers match the similar state of her skin. Scars abound as little pale points and lines, streaking across her like stars in the night sky. Just barely visible at the tip of her sternum, beneath the dark leather, a gnarled and twisting point belies the deep scar where Frostmourne rent her and stole her soul, for the first time.

Sylvanas seems disturbed by the question, or perhaps by her own appearance. Maybe both. “I have done the best I could to maintain what I was given.”

“I didn’t mean to criticize,” Jaina tells her immediately, because this is the line she must draw and draw right away, regardless of how many cities this woman may have burned, or under whose influence she burned them. “It’s just—well, with Vereesa’s help, I’m sure, we could get you new things.”

“She has not mentioned this in her letter thus far,” Sylvanas says, holding up the paper as if it were the armor she so desperately seems to want to hide within now.

“She has not seen you,” Jaina tells her.

And I do not know you, she tells herself.

Jaina does not know her, but she knows the scars that form the map of the stars that make up her skin. She knows which is Frostmourne, which is the line under her eye from Saurfang’s ax at the Mak’gora. She knows there’s another from an ice lance she’s thrown, yes there, near her left elbow where there was a gap in her old skull armor.

She can feel that Sylvanas wants to shrink under her gaze, to disappear. But she does not. She sits up a little, chest out, daring Jaina to say something else.

“Then I’ll draft a list in my reply, and trust that you’ll explain the reasoning behind it,” Sylvanas offers in challenge.

“I will.”

Dori’thur, thankfully, chooses this time to swoop down and alight herself onto the top of Sylvanas’ lean-to, rather than leave them to simmer in silence again.

The owl looks between them, then at the paper in Sylvanas’ hands. Sylvanas, having gone back to reading, simply says, “Not for you, owl.”

“Dori’thur,” Jaina reminds.

“Not for you, Dori’thur. What an odd name,” Sylvanas notes, but says nothing else.

“Does she leave you to report to Tyrande?” Jaina wonders, watching both the owl and her charge now.

“That would require her to stop watching me, so no. I do not know how or if Tyrande knows what she sees. Frankly, it matters little to me. I have said that I will do what was asked of me. I do not need a babysitter to ensure that I do,” Sylvanas tells her.

Though Jaina catches something in the middle of her words. A brief dashing of blue eyes. Another little smirk, elven and wry and lopsided in such a way that’s distinctly Windrunner. She wonders who was the first to hold it. Alleria? Their mother or father? Or a Windrunner before them? An elf so ancient Jaina struggles with the numbers.

All she knows is that Sylvanas seems to enjoy the company of her warden, in a way. And that her little secret smile is something Jaina never thought she’d see on that face.

Objectively, dead and haunted and guilty as she is, she’s beautiful still. All the Windrunners are, after all.

Sylvanas is looking up at her again, expecting Jaina to challenge that notion. She’s probably expecting her to question this camp, this fire, these small comforts. The time she takes to mend her ragged clothes. The rest she dares to seek from time to time, though there are no days or nights here in the Maw to track it by.

Jaina clears her throat. “How goes it then, your work?” she asks, and nearly immediately regrets it for how silly that sounds.

How goes it, rounding up the souls you doomed to an eternity of torture? How goes it, making up for decisions that were not entirely yours, but still part and parcel wishes of your own? How goes it, living in the prison of your own failures, alone save for an owl that does nothing but stare at you?

There is a justice in this, yes. Jaina wants to sink into that and never leave. It is easier to feel like this is justice in action she’s seeing. The tedium and wear of it all are things Sylvanas deserves to endure. She deserves worse, depending on who is asking.

But the woman in front of her looks tired. She is as worn as her clothing, body as stiff and rigid as her defensive words.

Jaina will not deny her the comfort a fire and a rest might bring, now and then, though she doesn’t understand why Sylvanas seeks them. Either way, demanding she go without is a cruelty beyond necessity.

“It goes,” Sylvanas answers. “There are still many more for me to find. Torghast alone will take countless more visits to empty. The Beast Warrens are a maze I’ve still yet to properly map and account for, among other such haunts in this hellish place.”

She does not say more. She reads. Jaina watches. Dori’thur too. Sylvanas sneaks a glance at her every now and then, blue eyes flitting fast over the edge of the parchment, then back below it.

Jaina waits, as she said she would.

Sylvanas Windrunner is a stranger to her, but invited her to what home she had here all the same.

“I miss her,” Vereesa had told her, before she left. “I thought the sister I knew was gone, but I know now that she’s still herself, or is now, at least. I had mourned her, Jaina. I had mourned her for years, but now I can say that I miss her. She’s not gone, she’s just not here. And I don’t know when she’ll be back. You can’t blame me for trying.”

Jaina didn’t blame her.

Flipping to page three of Vereesa’s loopy handwriting, Sylvanas says, “I must look a sight to you, for you to say something about the state of my gear.”

Jaina corrects herself. She does not know Sylvanas, but she knew one thing about her, well, about who she once was. She was notoriously vain, and though Vereesa claimed this was exaggerated, she was known to repeatedly tell a story about how Sylvanas had screamed at her once for getting mud on her dress right as she was headed out the door for a Ranger ball, like she thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

And Jaina has just come here to her prison, the first other person she’s seen in gods know how long, handed her a letter, and told she looked a mess.

“It just seems to have been some time, that’s all,” Jaina assures her.

Sylvanas huffs a laugh she hides behind parchment, just like the odd blue of her eyes. Jaina struggles to replace it with the red of her memories.

“If there’s anything else you want, such that I could carry with me through a portal, then ask it,” Jaina offers, perhaps out of guilt.

Perhaps out of curiosity again, for what this woman might ask for. What comforts she might crave.

Sylvanas eyes her at this statement. It seems this is the first time she really takes Jaina in, perhaps to assess her intentions, or perhaps to assess how much she can carry. Jaina isn’t sure. But she knows she now feels like that sabercat in the cage. She wonders if Sylvanas still thinks she has her teeth.

She thinks, perhaps, that she doesn’t want the judgment of a virtually immortal and beautiful elf. Undead though she is, scarred and worn, she thinks Sylvanas might have plenty of criticisms to offer over her messy braid, the prudish nature and drab colors of her Kul Tiran garb, or the crows feat that have begun to claw in earnest at the dull blue of Jaina’s eyes, which only glow when she shows her real teeth.

Instead of worrying about that, Jaina wonders what she might ask for, if she were to spend potential centuries in hell doing penance. Something to pass the time. Playing cards, perhaps? Though Solitaire would get old quickly, and Dori’thur doesn’t look like she’d be much competition at Hearthstone. An instrument to play? Surely those nimble fingers of Sylvanas’ would be clever on a lute or lyre or something elven and haughty and old. Jaina had never learned to play anything with proficiency in all of her thirty-eight years of life, but might come out of such a situation fairly talented at the fiddle or flute. Her brothers would be impressed, surely.

But what would Sylvanas do, to pass the time, in her idle moments? Would she fletch arrows for game that didn’t exist, and flesh she didn’t need to eat, enemies already defeated? Would she sharpen the shortsword Jaina could see resting in its scabbard beside the fire on a whetstone until it was honed and wicked, only to have nothing to plunge it into?

Would Jaina ever be able to consider anything but war-like interests for her, even as she saw Sylvanas considering her from her bedroll, shoulders bare, hair loose, clearly not ready for any sort of battle?

“Paper,” she answers. “Ink and a few quills too, if you’d be so generous.”

Paper was not anywhere close to the answer Jaina thought she’d give.

Sylvanas holds the letter up again as her armor, her shield, her weapon. “Vereesa has asked me to reply, for us to continue to correspond. I wish to write her back.”

“Right, that’s easy enough,” Jaina agrees.

“What was that hesitation? Afraid I’ll draw up plans for world domination upon my eventual return? I’m not interested, truly. Believe me, Proudmoore, it’s not worth it,” Sylvanas assures her.

There is mischief in those secret smiles. A spark in glowing blue eyes that dares Jaina to challenge it, but in the way a child challenges her friend to a foot race. A craving for competition, maybe, in any form, or companionship on the barest of levels.

“Jaina,” she corrects her. “If I am to continue to deliver said letters, as it were, you might as well call me Jaina. And I didn’t think you had your sights set so lofty, but thanks for clarifying.”

Sylvanas nods to this. “So many names have I earned today. Though I’ll still call Dori’thur ‘owl’. Osa is the Thalassian word. It has more punch, right, osa?”

Dori’thur cocks her head just slightly at the term, then slowly blinks her large eyes.

“Very astute, thank you for adding so much to the conversation, as always,” Sylvanas sighs.

Jaina supposes that she too, would talk to a silent owl, if she were left alone for so long. She would probably go insane long before her clothes began to wear out, if it were her.

“Either way, I’ll continue to deliver your letters,” Jaina assures her. “I hadn’t realized this was a more than once sort of favor I’m doing, but I suppose I should have.”

“I’d say Vereesa is lucky to befriend such a powerful mage and be able to make such inane requests of her, but she always did like mages,” Sylvanas notes, going back to reading and flipping to the final page of Vereesa’s letter.

This time, though, the smile stays on her face too long to be a secret. Long enough for Jaina to watch her get lost in a memory, maybe two, and still come out smiling.

Smiling at her sister, a fondness beyond ages and time and dimensions and death—and the reason, perhaps, why Vereesa felt compelled to write to her, and send her friend to check on her.

“Tea,” Sylvanas mutters, eyes still glued to the parchment.

“Padron?”

“Bring tea when you come back,” Sylvanas tells her.

“What kind do you like?” Jaina asks, uncertain. She didn’t think undead drank.

Even if they did, she wouldn’t know the answer. Vereesa likes chamomile, sometimes. She doesn’t really drink tea. Alleria, well, Jaina has never seen Alleria drink anything but alcohol and would be afraid to ask if had any other preferences for more sober sorts of beverages.

“Whatever kind you like. It’s not for me,” Sylvanas says.

“Are you telling me that you’d like me to bring tea for myself when I come back?” Jaina asks, needing desperately for something about this request to be clear to her.

Sylvanas laughs her little laugh. It sounds like it’s been sanded down, worn like the caged sabercat’s teeth, like tattered leathers.

“I suppose I am. I don’t want to be a bad host, but I’m afraid all I have to offer here are rocks and broken war machines and wandering souls. None of these are fit to drink, or to give to company.”

Company. Jaina hadn’t expected to be company to her. She hadn’t expected the hidden smiles and weary laughs and how Sylvanas had tried to cover the desperation in the way she reached out after her. She hadn’t expected to find her nestled in a little camp, forging a mockery of a life that had long been stolen from her and the comforts of living she no longer needed, but clearly still craved.

Jaina isn’t sure. She doesn’t know anymore. She didn’t, even as she first cast the portal spell this morning that would take her to the Maw. She was curious. She still is.

But company, she supposes, is a thing she can try to be.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Whumpee Pulls Uno-Reverse on Whumper

Warnings: captivity, blood, broken bones, intoxication

This is another scene from my in-progress fantasy trilogy!

Summary: Shadow is held captive at the Jackal’s headquarters to be experimented on as Sebastian works to find a way to weaponize her powers, but one day is different from the rest. A group of three guards who are off-duty decide to spend their free time drinking and laughing and poking fun at their captive subject named Shadow... when Shadow suddenly decides to join the fun.

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Shadow watched hatefully from inside her cell as the three off-duty guards laughed and had fun right on the other side of the room, while she was chained up like a rabid animal behind bars. The Jackal's test subject. The metal shackles on her wrists had rubbed the skin raw, and there was a chain that stretched between them that kept her from being able to fully stretch her arms out, that was attached to a ring bolted to the floor. She was already in a foul mood to begin with, and hearing the guards' snobbish voices only made it worse.

She recognized two of the humans; the larger guard with black hair was Jacob, and the slightly shorter one with brown hair was his obnoxious brother John. She didn't know the third man.

But she observed the beer all three of them held in her hands as they drank on their off-time. She'd seen what an effect alcohol had on humans when they consumed too much... so she made a mental note in case the knowledge would be useful later.

"Sebastian's got himself a pretty new toy," Jacob suddenly sneered, casting a glance at Shadow. And just like that she was the center of attention for the three drunk men that jeered at her.

She tried her best to ignore them, but her blood was boiling with anger.

"I heard Sebastian's trying to turn her into some kinda war weapon, or a dangerous house pet," John snickered playfully. "If it were up to me, though, I know the only way to get these kind of freaks to listen is to beat them into submission. Violence is the only form of communication these monsters respect."

All three men burst into laughter, but the whole room went silent when Shadow unexpectedly joined in, her cold, humorless laughter drowning them out.

"Brave words, for someone outside this cell I'm in," she chuckled darkly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're scared of me." Her blue eyes glittered with something dark and dangerous, and her voice was filled with several layers of condescending mockery. "Say all you what about me, but I know none of you would ever have the guts to step into my cage and say those things to my face. You're all fooling yourselves if you say otherwise." Shadow shrugged, chains rattling with the movement. "But who am I to judge? A fear of me is just common sense."

"Are you just gonna let her talk to you like that?" Jacob gave John a drunken shove toward Shadow's cell, laughing.

"I may be drunk, but I ain't dumb," John snapped. "If you want to punish her for it, by all means go ahead! I'm not stepping in there."

"See? Coward," Shadow sneered. "Anyone else want to take a chance with me? Or am I allowed to run my snarky mouth whenever I want without consequence?" She egged them on, intentionally riling them all.

"Come on, John," Jacob teased, "I'll pay you fifty bucks to step in the same cage with her for a solid minute without chickening out." His voice slurred badly.

John shook his head, then smiled crookedly. "Counteroffer. I'll give ya a hundred bucks if you step in there and teach her a lesson instead."

Shadow chuckled with amusement at their drunken bickering, rising to her feet and slinking as close to the front of her cell as the chains would allow, glaring tauntingly at Jacob.

"Go ahead, human, I dare you to take a step into my cage... trust me, your ego would be put right back in its place."

She flashed him a fang-filled grin. "Don't worry, I'm not too dangerous in these metal cuffs and restraints. It should be easy to prove you have the guts to take a step past the door." Her voice dropped low as she taunted him further, goading. "Unless you are too scared of me. I mean, seriously. I'm half your size! What are you even worried about?"

Jacob hesitated, then glanced at John again. "Make it two hundred and I'll do it," he said.

"Deal," John laughed, and stepped away to clear the way to Shadow's prison.

"Ooooh, someone's got a spine," Shadow cooed, and Jacob's whole face reddened with embarrassment, humiliated in front of his friends.

"I think it's high time someone taught you a lesson about respect," Jacob spat, and whipping out his electric baton, he stalked up to the cell door, unlocking it with his keycard.

Shadow took a few steps back to lure him in, miming fear, her entire cocky demeanor flipping to fearful submission in a heartbeat. "Hold on! I didn't think you were actually brave enough to do it! We can talk this out!" She injected as much innocent pleading into her voice as she could, moving as far away from him as the chain tethering her to the floor would allow, drawing him in and tucking her wings to make herself appear a weaker target.

"It's far too late for apologies, monster. You're going to get exactly what you deserve for making a mockery of me!" The man activated the electric baton in his hand threateningly as he approached her.

What he didn't realize, was how Shadow was gauging how much distance her chain allowed her to travel. The man walked closer until he stepped past the metal ring in the floor, which gave her more than enough room to move around.

Shadow straightened with a wolfish grin, instantly dropping the helpless act.

"You are really, really gullible, aren't you?" She chuckled darkly, and a look of confusion creased his face for a second before she lunged at him, not giving him a chance to figure out his mistake.

He raised his baton to strike at her, but she ducked under his flailing arm and swept his legs from under him so that he landed hard on his back with a thud. She kicked the baton from his hand and stared down at him with a deceivingly friendly face laced with malice, taking pleasure in how terrified his expression became as he slowly realized what a bad position he'd put himself in. A single drunken lapse of judgment that landed him here.

"Weren't you supposed to be 'teaching me a lesson' or something?" Shadow leaned down with a cold smile, watching his eyes grow wide with fear. "Big. Mistake."

Then Jacob snapped out of his surprise and started scrambling clumsily to his feet to make a drunken dash for the door, but Shadow had enough slack in her chain to dart around him and bar the way, slamming her shoulder in his chest to push him back so that he fell to the floor again with a choked wheeze as the breath was forced out of his lungs.

"My oh my, whatever will you do?" Shadow purred in delighted amusement as she walked forward with predatory grace, and Jacob scooted back as far as he could go until his back was pressed against the far wall. Then his eyes landed on his fallen baton, and in another moment of poor judgment, he lunged across the floor for it.

"Ah, ah, ah! I didn't say you could pick that up." Shadow was quicker, and stepped between him and the baton, before smashing her fist square into his face with a sickening crack as bone crunched beneath her knuckles. He recoiled, clutching a bloodied nose, and she delivered a vicious kick to his side while he was down, where she could hear several ribs crack. The man let out a scream of pain, before curling up in a vain effort to protect himself.

Shadow casually stepped over him, before forcefully pinning him face-down on the ground with her knee on his back. Then... she looped the length of chain between her wrist cuffs around the man's throat, and applied enough pressure to keep it taut while she kept her weight on his back.

"I did warn you," she hissed into his ear.

The man started choking and writhing beneath her, hands clawing at the chain around his neck, but Shadow didn't let up on the tension. She stared straight into the faces of his shocked friends who were watching nearby as the man's struggles slowly grew weaker and weaker, until he finally stopped moving altogether. She stood up calmly and let the man's head loll limply on the ground as she brushed herself off.

"Anyone else...?" She growled, folding her arms in silent challenge. All of Jacob's friends were deathly pale and looked absolutely horrified, too scared to even move, and only complete silence followed her words.

Shadow couldn't help the sly smirk that spread across her face at that, her manacled wings twitching with amusement as she glanced down at Jacob's unconscious form. She would have loved nothing more than to kill the arrogant human right here and now... but she knew the consequences would be severe. Something told her that knocking out a lackey would be far more forgivable than killing them, once her captor caught wind of what she'd done. But she couldn't take the guards' insults anymore. She'd wanted to teach them a valuable lesson, and that's exactly what she'd done. Mission accomplished.

Her impassive gaze swept over John and the other guard, and she bared her fangs at them in a passively threatening manner.

"Now which of you brave young gentlemen would like to come in and drag this idiot out? He's going to need surgery for the broken nose." She lightly kicked his head so that the gnarly mess of blood on his face was visible to the others, his nose wrenched at an unnatural angle, partially crushed into his skull.

No one offered. And none of them bothered her again.

Masterlist

@lumpofsand

@scoundrelwithboba

@isikedmyself878

@iamheretohurt

[howlingday]

Got a special one for Halloween. Can you do a scene from one of the Scary Movies (preferably 1, 2, or 3) please?

Well, it's past Halloween because I'm so backed up on drafts, but I'll see what I can do.

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

Who Could Have Done It?

Ironwood: It had to be someone connected to the victims.

Ozpin: And knew about the accident.

Goodwitch: Someone who could move around unseen.

Ruby: But who... (Looks outside, Gasps)

Taiyang: (Memory) Yeah, they used to be a great team before the accident. Almost inseparable, those two.

Ruby: (Gasps)

Qrow: (Memory, Burps) Is... Is good, Squirt... Just... Just doin mah rounds...

Ruby: (Gasps)

Qrow: (Belches, Smiles) Good night, girls~.

Ruby: (Watches crow outside crap) QROW!

Ironwood: Shitliver?!

Ozpin: (Runs out) Peter! Where's Qrow?!

Port: I haven't seen him.

Goodwitch: Bart, have you seen Qrow?!

Oobleck: Sadly, no, ma'am.

Ironwood: HAS ANYONE SEEN QROW?!

Peach: Uh, yeah, he just left out back, sir.

Qrow: (Stumbling outside, Walks straight)

Qrow: (Rips off jacket, Takes off stubble)

Qrow: (Takes out cigarette, Lights it)

Winter: (Pulls up in car, Hair down shoulders) What took you so long, babe~?

Qrow: (Puffs) Just had to put the kids to bed. (Hops in, Kisses her)

Ironwood: (Runs outside, Watches them drive out) Dammit!

Ruby: (Picks up tossed jacket, Finds dagger) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-! (Hit by a car)

..................................................................................

Very Intelligent and Clean Animals

Zwei: (Barks)

Nora: Hi, little guy, how are you~?

Zwei: Fuck off, thunder thighs!

Nora: Wh... What?

Zwei: I said, "Fuck off! Thunder! Thighs!"

Nora: ...I oughtta kick your ass, you son of a-

Pyrrha: Whoa! Whoa! Easy, Nora! Easy! He's just a dog. Hi, little buddy! Would you like a bone?

Zwei: No, but I'd like to bone your momma's sweet ass!

Pyrrha: ...What did little buddy say to me?

Zwei: I said, "Little buddy wanna bone yo momma's sweet ass~."

Pyrrha: You don't talk about my momma like that! You don't know my momma like that!

Zwei: Oh, I knew yo momma real well. I fucked last night. She was howling like a bitch in heat!

Pyrrha: You wanna go?! I'll kill you!

Zwei: Ooh! I'm so scared! Bring it, bitch! Step in my cage and I'll show you and that stupid fucking pony tail who's the alpha male here!

Pyrrha: (Tosses Nora aside, Rattles cage) NAH! NAH! NAH! YOU WANT ME?! I'LL FUCKING GUT YOU RIGHT HERE!

Zwei: (Gnawing the bars) Let me outta here! I'll fuck you up!

..................................................................................

The All-Knowing Oracle

Jaune: Hello?

Emerald: I know. Jaune Arc. I'll be right with you. And don't mind the vase.

Jaune: What vase-? (Vase rattles) Oh my gosh! (Backs away) I'm so sorry-! (Bumps pillar, Giant vase konks his head)

Emerald: That vase. I am The Oracle. Please, have a seat.

Jaune: (Sits, Fart) ...It was the chair.

Emerald: Of course, (Sits, Loud and wet fart) it was the chair.

Emerald: I know why you've come. A great mystery awaits you, young knight, but you must not shy away from the challenge. Only you can- (Turns around)

Mercury: (Watching TV)

Emerald: Merc.

Mercury: Yeah, Em?

Emerald: Do you mind?

Mercury: (Gestures) I'm watching the game.

Emerald: ...The Burns win by 12.

Mercury: (Turns off the TV, Drops remote)

Jaune: Uh, can you tell me about-

Emerald: The relic.

Jaune: Yes! I held it and-

Emerald: Your scroll rang.

Jaune: Y-Yeah, and a voice said-

Emerald: That you would die in seven days.

Jaune: Okay, that's-

Emerald: Getting annoying.

Jaune: Yes.

Mercury: Try living with her. She gets mad about girls I haven't even slept with yet!

Emerald: ...Let me see the relic.

Jaune: Here.

Emerald: (Holds the relic, Vision plays)

Jaune: Look! It's-

Emerald: A vibrator?

Jaune: ...I was going to say Beacon Tower.

Mercury: Go to Beacon Tower. It's your destiny. (Relic shifts)

Jinn: (Watches, Fly lands on the relic)

Emerald: (Swats fly)

Jinn: (Reels)

Emerald: There we- (Swatted)

Jinn: (Smugly holds flyswatter)

Mercury: Uh, E-Em...

Emerald: ...I knew that was going to happen. (Spit hits her cheek)

Mercury: (Pulls Jaune) Okay, get back! Get back!

Emerald: (Wipes spit) Oh hell no. (Reaches into the relic, Pulls Jinn out) GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE! (Punches Jinn) What is your problem?! (Punches) Did the Brothers teach you no manners?!

Jinn: (Pulls away)

Emerald: (Grabs Jinn) GET BACK HERE!

Mercury: BABY, NO! NO! (Pulls Emerald back) Let go! Let go! Baby, we can't take another lawsuit!

Emerald: She spit on me!

Jinn: (Smugly smiles)

Mercury: You won! Okay? You won. Up top, (Hand clap) down low, (Hand clap) and a rump bump (Bump rear). See? We're good- BABY NO!

Emerald: IMMA KILL HER! Are you crazy? Are you crazy?!

RIIIIIIIP!

Emerald: HAHA! Not so great without this, huh?!

Jinn: (Feels her ripped out hair)

Emerald: (Clocks Jinn)

Mercury: You picked the wrong relic to come out of!

Jinn: (Collapses)

[tatney]

NEW WENCLAIR SCENE I AM RATTLING THE BARS OF MY CAGE. god enid is such a popular gossipy bitchy lesbian girlie i love her so MUCH. like she's not overly cheerful which i like a LOT more than our former fanon interpretation. she's so smooth and matter-of-fact and irresistibly charming god i am obsessed with her.

also the tiny wenclair-isms!! sorry in advance for infodumping LMAO

#1: wednesday does NOT seem hesitant in getting close to enid like there is?? such a thing?? as personal space?? miss addams i know what you are !! also enid this applies to you too girlie !! i see you !! enid literally gets super close to wed's face and wed doesn't even FLINCH. hello???

#2: enid's so eager to tell wednesday everything 😭😭 like she has so much to say to her and i love it

#3: "i'm assuming scales are sirens." "you catch on quick." idk what it is but they just already seem so natural and easy together? i may be reading into it but !

#4: this isn't a wenclair-ism but enid's facial expressions !! she's so cute i adore her

#5: "fascinating." "I KNOW RIGHT?" THEYRE SO ADORABLE JONATHAN 😭😭 they are finding common GROUND enid's so EAGER to have the smallest CONNECTION with her and she's so EXCITED and AHHHHHHH.

okay i'm done ty for letting me rant and i can't wait to hear your thoughts !! <3

the way i got this like minutes before i fell asleep with a big stupid smile on my face

and GOD i do enjoy being right

literally LOVE how outwardly confident and energetic enid is here, all the gesticulating and pointing and counting things with her fingers she is SOOOOOOO autistic i love her sm. like she has this cute little swagger to her movements when talking about her fellow werewolves, contrasting wednesday’s stiff stride and general demeanour as she follows her

the little bit about some of the vampires being at nevermore for decades gave me twilight flashbacks to bella talking abt how miserable it’d be to keep repeating high school again and again, those poor vampires </3

THE WAY ENID IS LITERALLY INFODUMPING TO HER ABT ALL THIS i’m telling you she’s been going over this little speech in her mind for like twenty minutes at least before meeting wednesday

AND YES YES YES ENID’S EXPRESSIONS WAAAAAAAAAHHHH SHE’S SO CARTOONISH AND FUNNY I LOVE HER!!!!!!!!! this is the face of a girl who watched despicable me again and again on repeat as a child these are my two favourites

emma myers is having the time of her LIFE g’bless

and YES the 😒 fascinating— I KNOW RIGHT!!!!!!! 😮 exchange whyre they so CUTE i love their mismatched energies, literally a golden retriever puppy and a barely domesticated ex-feral cat

and theyre literally SO close to each other for no reason (we know the reason) like look at this shit

enid’s faux-serious pondering expression vs wednesday’s, how she’s leaning in like theyre conspiring abt something super top secret and it’s literally teenage gossip, like theyre shoulders are touching and she’s So close to her cheek theyre so CUTE

but also laughing at the fact that this scene cuts off RIGHT before enid inevitably explains the “stoners” clique i CANNOT WAIT for them to make the joke how the gorgons are stoners BC THEY TURN PPL TO STONE i can’t get over how fucking funny that is to me it’s so fucking clever and so dumb and i adore it (i think that they way theyre gonna do it though is by having wendesday and enid bump into ajax (the main gorgon boy i think) bc of this but in the latest trailer; that’s definitely wednesday’s hair)

i cannot FUCKEN WAIT for this show theyre so special and precious to me i love them sm i love nevermore and all the little weirdos therein i love the atmosphere and the vibes i’m so EXCITED

[promiseiwillwrite]

Ayla

Once, not very long ago, There was a person that lived in my head named Ayla.

If any entity in my psyche could have been said to be Adversarial, it would have been her.

She often told inconvenient truths.

She rattled the bars of her cage a Lot.

And she HATED my Bullshit.

You know, the self loathing, and the paradigm where I was unquestionably the scum of the earth and no one in their right mind would ever want to be around me ever.

One day, I saw her in my mind.

And she was clearly going through some things.

She looked a wild mess from the way she normally appeared, perfectly controlled, cool, calm and collected.

She'd clearly been crying, she was about halfway wearing nothing but a balled-up bedsheet, and sitting in a doorway.

And she said to me the most terrifying words that have ever been uttered by anything in my own mind.

"I am going to make you Burn bright like a Star."

Not long after that, she made a very big Exit. She threw some broken Shackles at my feet. She had clearly come to some revelatory conclusions about autonomy that she didn't seem keen to share.

She left out at door that had never been there, and she never came back.

I have often wondered about the meaning of her words, since she never actually set me on fire.

But I thought of her today.

Because I think I understand a part of what she was on about now.

There have been a few times in my life where I've been able to just be myself, and feel safe and seen. These rare occasions, which I can count on one hand were so good that they Broke my paradigms of self-loathing.

They broke the chains.

Now, not to put carts before horses, I am pretty sure some of my wires are still crossed.

But Yesterday I actually plugged some of the little fuckers into the right holes for the first time in my life.

Because I realized that There was something in my thoughts that was telling me that I should Never under any circumstances risk being myself because I absolutely would be rejected.

And I realized it was wrong.

I think there are some people in my life who have been waiting for this for years.

And I realized that this means that I don't need special circumstances that can be counted on one hand to Be and Feel like myself, like I have in those instances.

That it is FINE for me to just be that version of myself like 99% of the time. Especially when literally the only differences are Internal.

You can't LOOK at me and see any of it.

You can tell it by talking to me, for sure. But not by looking.

I feel like I Made Space, and then IMMEDIATELY expanded into it. Like pulling off the tight jeans and putting on the Sweatpants.

AND NO ONE CAN DO ANYTHING TO STOP ME. There are no Thought Police! There are no Rules!

And even if people do get pissed, even if I lose friends or whatever, Fuck it! There have been Years of Desolate Isolation built by my fear that even the wrong facial expression might make people hate me. Real Pain is Just as much a part of this life as my Self inflicted Torment, Except it is Shorter. Years shorter. I can move through real pain, Even GREAT hurt in like a week now. Because once you're out of the "Accute Injury" phase, it is all just regular healing after that.

I have been sucking it in for so long that I am going to Skew the fucking Coriolis Effect when I let it all out.

I feel the fire has been Duly Lit.

Ayla, Wherever you are, I am Ready To Burn Bright like a Star.

[cinebration]

A Moment of Madness (Jonathan Crane x Reader) [Request]

Hey! Could I please request a Jonathan Crane x female!reader imagine with the prompt "Just let me see him one last time. Please." — Requested by @newyorks-hottest-club​​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: dcmultiverse

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t see him.”

You frowned, shoulders slumping. Meeting the officer’s gaze, you pleaded, “Just let me see him one last time. Please.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Sighing, you tried another tactic. “Has Dr. Crane been evaluated yet?”

“What?”

“There have been varying reports regarding his sanity over the last eight years. Has he even evaluated?”

“No, but you can’t—”

“I hold a PhD in psychology, Officer”—you tilted your head to read his name tag—“Collins. Not only am I licensed to evaluate Dr. Crane, but I knew him some years before he went off the deep end. As such, I’m one of the only people qualified in this town to determine if he’s insane or not. Now, I can come back with the right paperwork and with your boss barking murder at you, or I can see him now.”

Collins swallowed thickly.

“Sir, I have worked extensively with violent offenders. I am more than capable and qualified to handle an evaluation of Dr. Crane. It’ll save your ass in the long run.”

“I don’t follow.”

“No? If this man isn’t assessed, his trial could fall apart. Now, you wouldn’t want this man to walk off into the streets, would you?”

Scratching the back of his neck, the man shook his head.

“Good.” You smiled prettily. “So, let me sign in, get a visitor’s badge, and then you can escort me to a holding room.”

Collins did as he was told, whisking you through the process. Before passing through the metal detector, he stopped you. You handed him your purse.

“Empty your pockets.”

You reached into your pockets and removed everything but a small plastic bag in your right front pocket.

Collins looked up from your purse. “Why do you have two inhalers?”

“I need a backup,” you said. “I’m always misplacing the main one. Speaking of, I will need to bring one with me.”

“No, ma’am, that’s not—”

“Do you really want me dying on the floor today?”

He blinked, shook his head. You plucked one of the inhalers from out of the bag, stepped through the detector.

No beep.

“Knock on the door or holler if you need anything,” the officer said, his hand on the door to the evaluation room.

“Thank you, officer.”

He pulled open the door, and you stepped through into a well-lit, windowless room.

At the table in its center sat Crane.

“Come to gloat?” He shook his head, laughing ruefully to himself. “Amazing what comes out of the woodwork when one is at one’s lowest.”

You sat down at the table, looked at him. He met your gaze levelly, those clear-blue eyes appearing flat. You could see how sharp they were behind that feigned disinterest.

He had hardly changed from your post-graduate days. He seemed the same Crane, mildly distant and dripping with condescension.

“Anything to say?” He asked. “Or are you here to gawk?”

You remained silent.

“Alright. I’ll keep talking, then. I kept up with your work,” he said. “It wasn’t very interesting, until you published that piece based on your work with violent offenders. Then you seemed to disappear.” He fixed you with a stare. “I admit I haven’t been as…involved in the academic and scientific circles, but where have you been these last few years?”

“I was perfecting my work.”

“She speaks!”

You smiled thinly. “We should never have stopped working together.”

His eyebrows arched. “Oh?”

“Our research wasn’t so different in the end. You like fear and madness, but I like moments of madness. It’s more interesting. When the normal person snaps and then returns.”

He shook his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Knowing how to break people.”

“Fear breaks people.”

“Consequences break people.”

He shook his head. “Why are you here?”

“Did you pick up the thread of my research?”

“Sure.”

“Which was?”

“If I recall correctly, something about the elasticity of the mind.”

“Yes, but there was more to it than that.” You reached into your pocket, pulled out the small packet. “You see, what I was most interested in was how to use that elasticity. Or rather, how elastic the brain is before it breaks. A moment of madness versus a turn to it completely.”

You placed the packet on the table. Crane’s dropped his gaze down to it. The condescending smirk on his lips faded, his eyes suddenly sharp.

“Do you know what drives a moment of madness? Sudden emotion.” You unzipped the packet. “Particularly rage.”

Pulling out a pair of industrial-grade earplugs from the plastic bag, you slid them across the desk to him. He stared down at them, then back to you, caution mixed with faint hope on his face. “Earplugs?”

Retrieving the other pair from the packet, you slipped them into your own ears as you spoke. “Interestingly enough, humans are hardwired for violence. Trigger them correctly, and you can have a riot. Put those on.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Crane picked up the earplugs and slipped them into his ears, his handcuffs rattling. You slid out one of your bobby pins, broke it at its folded center. Taking the flat end, you reached for his hands and slipped it into the small space between the teeth of the handcuff and the lock housing. You pushed the bracelet forward a few notches, tightening it around his wrist. The bobby pin slid forward a fraction.

Then you pulled the cuff off, the teeth sliding over the bobby pin and out of the housing.

You repeated the process with the other cuff, freeing him.

He stared at you in disbelief, guarded caution trying to hold back the excitement in his eyes.

“I dropped off the map,” you explained, brandishing your inhaler, “because I had to conduct my work away from prying eyes. I didn’t have an asylum to work in.”

“And what, exactly, was this work?”

You grinned, your smile feral. “Triggering moments of rage.”

You pushed the top of the inhaler down. Instead of a puff of medicine, the internal mechanism triggered a small device inside.

The inhaler left in your purse outside the room let out a high-pitched whine.

In less than five seconds, the prison exploded into chaos, a cacophony of screeching and screaming filling the place.

“That’s our cue.” Almost leaping from your seat, you opened the door with a flourish and waved him out of the room.

Crane in tow, you hurried down the hallway toward the front desk. Collins, visibly shaking, had his hands around another officer’s neck, throttling him. The other man clawed at Collins’s face, spitting and choking.

You picked up your purse, leaving the second inhaler behind, and calmly walked through the office. Crane kept pace beside you, looking around in astonishment as the men in the office screamed at each other and the inmates, unaware of your passing.

Klaxons blared suddenly, the metal doors behind you slamming shut as you walked out the front door. Two uniformed officers sprinted into the building, lunches forgotten.

You strode past them to a nondescript sedan in the parking lot. Crane hopped into the passenger seat as you slipped behind the wheel, nonchalantly turning over the engine as the chaos from the prison spilled out onto the street. Through the heavy duty earplugs, you could hear the inmates inside screaming bloody murder, the bars of their cages rattling as they clawed at each other and at themselves, trying to escape.

You pulled out of the parking lot, driving away leisurely.

Crane looked over his shoulder, laughing. Raking a hand through his full hair, he turned back to you, eyes sparkling with excitement. He plucked out the earplugs as you did the same.

“That was inspired,” he breathed.

“I have a lab just outside of Gotham. I managed to get my hands on some of your gas.”

He stilled, his mouth parting slightly in surprise.

“This,” you said, shaking the inhaler before tossing it into the backseat, “is only the surface. You haven’t yet seen what I’ve managed to do with the cerebellum.”

“Well, I have to admit, I never thought you were capable of this.”

You glanced at him, the wolfish smile returning. “You just have to get to know me better.”

“Well, then, Doctor, I think we’d better get acquainted.”

[ladyspaceradio]

Population: Me + You

Summary: The last thing on Ryders mind was having kids. She didn’t even have a significant other, let alone a romantic interest. However when Tann proposes something to help the colonist with repopulation efforts, asking Ryder to be the forerunner of it, she wasn’t sure how to take it. But now she's got a missing Sage, a grumpy baby daddy, a convention that might change everything, oh and she has to figure out how to tell Evfra he's going to be a father!

Warning: NSFW SMUT

AO3 LINK

                                                 Chapter One

“I’m-I’m sorry can you repeat that?” Ryder sat there stunned, eyes unable to focus on the Asari doctor whose name she couldn’t remember. 

Stepping closer, the doctor placed their hand on Ryder's shoulder. “You’re pregnant, congratulations.” 

Ryder’s head tilted to the side, glazed eyes stared at the asari though she wasn’t exactly seeing her. “I’m...what?” She breathed, mind swirling in chaos not really able to grab on coherent thought. “Pregnant.” The asari spoke slower, softer, there was a frown marring her expression. She probably wondered why the human pathfinder wasn’t jumping for joy. 

She’s gotten it wrong. Ryder clings to that thought. Because she couldn’t be pregnant. Not her. Because if she was-

Not possible. 

“That's not possible.” Ryder sinks deeper into the bed, the white paper sheet crinkles under her. She takes note that the asari is young, not even having her matriarch marks yet.

“You would think,” The asari beamed.  “Andromeda is full of surprises. We’re still looking into what exactly dissolved the blockers. Some think it's a bacteria, but I’ve been looking into those vaults. If they can make planets viable, just imagine what else they can make fertile!” Her excitement starts to dwindle as she studies Ryder’s pale face. “Erm, I’ll go get you a cup of water.”

“I can’t be pregnant.” Ryder slid off the table. Her feet feel light, and head lighter. Something turns in her stomach. “It’s not possible.” “Pathfinder,-” “Your tests are wrong.” She waved a hand. “I can’t be….” She shakes her head. The asari studies her. “If you need proof.” She opens the door to the hallway. “Follow me.”

Ryder stands in the mouth of the doorway, swaying. Her stomach twisted into knots. Lexi would probably say she’s in denial, some psychological trauma from her childhood. But then Lexi wouldn’t be lying to her. 

“Come on.” The asari smiles, it seems false, twisted in Ryders opinion. Perhaps this was just another one of Tann’s tricks. He was the reason she was here to begin with. 

He had contacted her, pestered and nagged her into this. Coming into the clinic to remove her blockers, to be a leading light for colonists to follow. 

“They need comfort to know that it's safe.” Tann folded his spindly fingers, a smile stretched across his leathery skin. “It is your job to lead them down the path of the future.”

The future.

Her eyes dropped to the trashcan by the door, she just might vomit into the bag there. 

“Pathfinder?” The asari dipped her head catching Ryders eye.

Lifting her chin she stepped forward into the dim hallways. 

                                     ----3 weeks earlier-----

The humidity on Aya was a hell of a thing. Paradise that came with a price, already she could feel the droplets of water clinging to her skin. It wasn’t that it was hot, but rather misty. Sighing Ryder ran a hand over her deflated curls and eyed the surrounding Angara celebrating with pride. Their joy, while delightful  to watch, gave her a splitting headache and rattled the teeth in her jaw from the burst of concentrated bioelectricity. This was the reason she chose to sit at the bar. 

And because Evfra was currently nursing another cup of Taavum looking spiteful.

“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?” Ryder leans against the bar, her tall cup of Taavum, a lovely smelling angara beverage, cupped between her hands. She knows how potent this stuff can be and has no desire to get drunk tonight. 

So she tilted her head down, letting the red curls cover her face as she studied the obviously displeased angara general who was hunched over his third glass of Taavum dissuading any of his soldiers from coming up and speaking with him. 

“I am.” Short and concise, but his sour face made him look as if he’d been sucking on lemons and not being adored by his people over what they thought was the last Kett ground base on Voeld being defeated. 

“Truly?” Ryder slides into the seat beside him, giving Roaan a small wave across the bar. “And is that true joy I hear ringing in your voice?” She puts her elbows on the counter, angling her body to look at him.

“It is...” He pauses looking at her, the dark blue of his iris look darker against the contrast of the white rofjinn wrapped and his broad shoulders. A gift from the initiative, one Evfra hadn’t enjoyed considering the small initiative logo stitched into the corner. He was likely to wear it tonight only for political gain, and destroy the offending material later. 

A pity considering how handsome he looked in it. 

“Hard.”

She blinks looking into his eyes and away from his physique. More than once Evfra had been a star player in some fantasies she had brewing in her subconscious. “What is hard?” Her voice is low and husky, she does not think he gets the innuendo.

“To believe this war is almost over.” 

Almost

It’s been three years since she killed the Archon. In that time they’ve worked together to build alliance between their people, cultivate a culture of respect and peace, and fuck the kett up so hard they wouldn’t even think of coming back for fear of getting their asses kicked again. 

“Hard to believe I slept over 600 years just to hear you bellyache about my cooking.” She tossed out, feeling a high as the slow releasing alcohol ran through her veins. 

His face contorted in disgust. “Your food is bland, tasteless, and should have been used against the kett.”

“Hey now! I’ll have you know Prime Rib is a delicacy, you should be thanking me for sharing.” She huffed out a small laugh and nudged his foot beneath the counter. “Your people have a future Evfra, and it’s thanks to you.” 

“Our people Ryder.” Evfra reaches over and touches her bare shoulder. She shivers at the power in the one hand that spans over half her back. “This is all possible because of you.”

She licks her lip, tapping the countertop. “And to think, in the beginning you stole all my credit-I’m kidding wipe that look off your face.” He’s not looking at her but rather something behind her. 

Turning her head she surveyed the crowd of angara when her eyes landed on the odd couple drawing everyone attention.  

Tilting her head to the side she watched Evfra observe the woman, who held the hand of a human male. It wouldn’t be such an odd sight except she was heavily pregnant. It seemed all the angara had taken notice. This was a rare sight considering there were delays on the repopulation efforts. Most to do with the fact that colonists wanted safety and security before starting a new family. Another part that so many families had been ripped apart by the war before. 

The woman stopped and smiled at the man who touched his hand to her expansive stomach. 

Ryder hummed softly and peered at Evfra’s face, noticing his eyes were slitted. He looked ready to shoot something. “Something wrong?” There was a noise of disgust that left his lips as he spoke. “Your people do not recluse during late stages of pregnancy?” He turned looking at Ryder, dragging his gaze down her face then form, settling on her stomach. Something fluttered inside her womb at the gaze. 

Or it was the alcohol. 

“Nah, we’re social butterflies.” She picked up her drink, sipping it, taking any excuse to not look at his face. “Not the same for your people, I’m guessing.” Now that she thinks about it she definitely never saw a pregnant angara. 

At least she didn’t think so. She knew that the angara had pouches, and that pups were small. 

“No.” He snarled, lips peeled back, his scar wrinkling under the expression. He turned back to the bar and downed the cup in front of him. 

She waited to see if he said more he just stared at his hands. Silently brooding. 

“I can’t imagine being cooped up.” Ryder swiveled in her chair grinning at the obviously happy pair making their way through the market. “I’d probably put a knife if anyone tried to cage me.”

Evfra snorted. “Like you did the Primus?” He offered. 

She pursed her lips. “Wish I did more to her.” She muttered, taking a gulp of the drink. It had a heady salty taste that ended in a sweet tang. 

Primus had been a Devil, far worse than the Archon since she had not desire to waste time gawking at the Remnant. She was pure evil, seeping a dark claws into Heleus seeking to erase everything but the Kett. 

In the end it had been her pride that led to her demise. She had wanted to see Ryder die by her own hands, for the ‘glory of the Empire.’ 

But there had been no glory in her death as she choked on her own blood watching Ryder stand over her. 

Taking another gulp of the drink, Abigail shook away the memory. Smacking her lips she looked at Evfra. “You ever just think about how you're getting older?” Eyes crinkle in the corner when his face delved into a sour expression.

“No.” 

“L-I-A-R,” She sang angling her body towards him. “You think about it. I think about, we all think about it. Its like waking up one day going, huh my life's half over and what do I have to show for it? A whole lotta nuthin’” She slapped her palm on the table. “Sure I’m the savior of the galaxy but that jazz is worth what?” “Millions of lives.” Evfra offered, looking almost amused as she swayed in her chair.

“Exactly! And do you know how many of those lives I’ve had in my bed?” She threw her hands in the air, nearly knocking over her drink, if Evfra hadn’t grabbed it. “Not a one!” She sinks into the counter, both arms stretched out in front of her.

“Why would you want that many in your bed?” Evfra moves her cup to the other side of the bar. 

“I don’t want a million dicks.” Ryder grumbled, lifting her head to glare at him. “I want one. One glorious dick to be my dick forever.” 

“Perhaps you should speak with your doctor about this obsession-” He grunted and caught Ryders flailing hand as it smacked him in the chest.

She stares at her tiny hand in his massive one. Completely swallowed. She shivers at the heat radiating even through the glove. 

“No one needs a Pathfinder anymore.” She murmurs looking up at him. “And what will I do then?”

They’re both silent for a moment before he sighs. “You find something else to occupy your time. Your nose is large enough to be in everyone's business.” He’d seen how she sought out even the little task to perform. Just the other day she stopped to show a recruit how to take apart a milky way gun. 

“I have a beautiful nose.” She grunted looking at him, said nose wrinkled. Much to Evfra’s annoyance however her eyes began to mist over. “Why can’t anyone recognize that?” Her bottom lip jutted out starting to quiver. 

Evfra cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with this situation. “Your nose is the right fit for your face.” He offered.

“Really?” Ryder squeaked looking up at him. “I thought it was too big.” She touched her face and sagged. 

His hand touched her jaw, turning her to look at him. “You are perfect.”

Three words. Three simple words that came from the most unlikeliest of people. 

Ryder stared at him even after he pulled his hand back and looked away. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable from her silence or her staring. 

“You're handsome.” She blurts as he starts to speak, her declaration silencing him. He turns to look at her, eyes roaming over her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “You are drunk.” He decides with a sigh. “I will call the tempest and have Jaal fetch you.”

“I’m not drunk.” Ryder pushed her thick hair back. “I’m high on liquid courage.” She smiles at him, though she is inclined to think she might be drunk when her mouth continues to spew thoughts from her brain. “I always thought you were handsome. Scar really adds to the good looks.” She nibbles her lips looking at him now, eyes tracing along the scar.

How many times had she fantasized kissing those twin lines that defined his features. Oh how she pictured nibbling them down to his lips that looked so plump that she knew they would cradle her own against them. 

Ryder shuddered leaning forward. He’s studying her expression when she reaches over, laying a hand on his muscular thigh.

“If you weren’t so walled off, Evfra, I’d almost suggest we hook up.” Ryder wiggles her brows.

He lets out a soft snorting chuff, his hand grabs hers and pulls it away before it could wander up to the crux of his thighs. “I think you’ve had enough.” He rasps in a husky tone, one that makes her thighs clench together as heat floods her core. “I will walk you back to your ship.” He slides out of the seat in a smooth motion that makes her head a bit dizzy.

“No thanks,” She jerks her arm out of his grip. “I don’t….I don’t want to go back there.” She curled an arm around her waist. “It’s lonely.”

They had come to Aya for more than this celebration, she’d come to say goodbye to Jaal as he and Avale were uniting their families and starting a life together. Just a few months prior Drack had left as well to be with Kesh and her second clutch of baby Krogan. Peebee had one foot out the door, Ryder could feel everyday she was itching for more than what the Tempest was doing. She knew that their time together wasn’t forever, but watching her family drift apart little by little was harder than she expected. 

Evfra was silent as she slumped down in her seat, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Let me crash at the resistance.” She grumbled.

“That isn’t something I can do.” He took hold of her arm again, and she allowed herself to be tugged out of the chair, though she misjudged the distance from her seat to the ground and landed directly into his chest with a soft  ‘oomf.’

His hand settled on the back of her neck, the other holding her arm ran down to cup her hip. She looked up at him, breath caught in the back of her throat. She was pressed tightly to his chest, breast molding to the hard plains of his, nipples stiffening as she felt a knot of arousal bubbling in her stomach. 

Gasping she watched his nose wiggle, eyes slitting as he bent his head. “You’re…”

She doesn’t think about it, in the future she’ll blame the alcohol running through her system, and the mix of Evfra’s heady scent, but she lunges, cutting off his words, smashing her mouth against his in a teeth clicking kiss that is more pain then pleasure. 

Evfra hisses, hand on her neck tangles with her hair, pulling her head back. Her lip is busted and bleeding, eyes glazed. Ryder sucked in a breath, her last bit of dignity began to shrivel as her hazy mind grasped at the lingering sanity pointing out she just kissed Evfra De Tershaav and likely ruined any type of friendship they have built over the past 4 years. 

“Evfra,” She twisted in his hold, hands pushing on his chest. “I’m-“

Her wobbly tone cut off as he bend his head, brushing his mouth against her nose, down her cheek, and ghosted over her lips. “You are too impatient, Ryder.” His husky tone sent a thrill down her spine that settled in her stomach. 

She tilted her head back trying to catch his mouth. She mewled softly when he pulled away.

“Not here.” He tugged her into his side tucking her against him, chuffing softly.

He doesn’t seem to mind her wandering hands this time. In fact she can hear the faintest sound of a purr thrumming deep in his chest. She almost calls him a pussy she’s willing to stroke when he suddenly tugs her off the main road and presses her up against the wall. 

Massive hands span over her hips as he dips his head towards hers. Letting out a sigh as their lips touch, he takes control keeping her head tilted with a fist in her fiery hair. He laps at the seam of her lips, but doesn’t go deeper despite her wiggling and whimpers of protest. 

“I’m starting to think you enjoy torturing me.” She gasp fingers curling around the straps laying against his chest. Her body’s pressed against his, hips grinding into his front. She makes needy keens in the back of her throat.

“Are you always this impatient Ryder?” He chuckles against her skin, lips igniting a fire beneath them.

“Call me Abigail, Evfra.” She panted against his mouth. She hadn’t the will power to extract herself from those delectable lips. Oh how she pictured kissing him! The reality blew all those lusty fantasies away. She made a wanton noise in the back of her throat as he nibbled her bottom lip. 

“Ahbee-gal” He purrs against her ear. The reverberating sound of his voice sends twings of pleasure down her spine, settling at her contracting core. He inhales deeply, chuckling at her reaction. “I’m going to ravish you.”

“Oh god yes!” She mewls  digging her fingers into his rofjinn, tugging to bring him back to her. 

He laughs, a deep throat thrum that she’s never heard before. If she had been more clear headed and less horny she would try desprately to remember the sound. Though that isn’t what is keeping her focus at the moment while ehr hands trail southward. Not that they get very far when the wall behind her suddenly disappears. 

Letting out a small wail, she nearly tumbles down to her ass if Evfra hadn’t snatched her waist. 

“Rude!” She huffed, craning her neck back to stare at the room behind her. Not that she can see much through the dim interior lighting. What she can see is a spare room filled with only the essentials. 

Of course her mind isn’t on the surrounding area long when a hot mouth presses to her shoulder sucking the the flesh there. 

“Clothing off.” She mewls hands tugging at his shirt trying to magic it off him with each tug. Why did angara clothing have so many buckles! Ryder begins to pout at the sight, muttering dark words about forbidden treasures being locked away. 

Chuffing in amusement he gently extracts her hands. “Let me.” His fingers make dizzly fast work of all the buckles and clasps. 

Hands free she starts work on her own clothing, while following Evfra as he tugs off his Rofjinn. Of course wanting to be naked soon as possible she attempts to take the shirt off without properly unbuttoning it first. 

Ryder stumbled into the bedroom door, her arms caught up in the sleeves as she tried to rip off the blouse she wore. She could hear Evfra huffing at her. Grinning she shimmied out of her shirt and tossed it onto the floor and wiggled a brow at him. 

“I would say your seduction talents needs some work.” He stated dryly folding the rofjinn and setting it aside. 

Licking her bottom lip she greedily drank in the sight of him shirtless, taking in his broad chest to his tampered waist. She especially appreciated the hard muscles that moved beneath his deep blue skin. Letting out a groan she moved toward him, hands out stretched to touch his skin. 

Catching her small hand by the wrist, Evfra let out a soft chuffing sound. “What happed to undressing?” He lifted her wrist and kissed the racing pulse beating beneath the skin. 

“I got caught up wanting to touch this perfection.” She whispered, swallowing back the saliva that built in her mouth. 

“Mmm.” He nips her skin before letting her go. “Are all humans so easily distracted or is it just you?” 

She let out an indignant huff. “Oh no it’s just me when there’s a particularly inviting male….” She steps closer, hands on his stomach stroking up and down grinning as his muscles contracted at the touch. “Needing to be stroked.”

He had scars across his skin, faded blue colors, almost white. She couldn’t resist leaning in and licking the one across his ribs. He let out a shuddering purr and yanked her into his chest. 

“Abigail.” Her name is a deep groan that leaves his mouth. 

And then he was kissing her again. Tongue sliding against her own, tangling together as his palmed her heavy breast. The skin of his palm sends electrical current through her breast, making her nipples stiffen and pleasure rock down to the clenching of her core.

Abigail moans against his mouth, enjoying the feeling of his touch too much to even notice when it became skin to skin contact. Until he breaks their kiss to pull away the tattered remains of her bra off her body. 

“Did you just he-man my bra off?” She spread her fingers against his chest, using his imposing unmoving form to steady herself. She thinks the alcohol has hit her system. She feels all warm and tingling. There’s a heat that starts in her stomach and pulses down. 

“I am unsure of your word,” He presses his mouth to her throat sucking on the skin there. “But yes, I did just rip that flimsy fabric.” He licked at the hollow of her throat, paying special attention to her jumping pulse. “I will buy you another, better, one.” 

“Mmm.” She tilted her head back, fuzzy brain can’t really focus on his words only on the sensation of his mouth making a path up her throat to her jaw, then his breath ghosted against her ear.

“Hold onto me.” He lifted her hands to his shoulders. And before her bogged mind could grasp his order he hefted her up, with one arm, wrapped around her ass. 

Squealing she hooked her thighs around those slim hips, pressing her heated core against his side. Her eyes rolled back at the sensation of his hip brushing against the wet crux between her thighs. 

Silencing her soft mewling noises he dropped her to the bed suddenly making a shriek leave her lips as she bounced against the mattress. Propping herself up on her elbows Abigail huffed at him, glaring up at his smirk. “Evf-”

Suddenly bending he grabbed the legs of her pants and yanked. Dragging them off her hips, along with her underwear. Which was left dangling of her ankle as he tossed her pants aside. They were less than flattering being the initiative issued clothing. A bland cotton cloth that  as Liam described  it, were ‘whitie tighties.’ 

If she had known the night would have gone differently she would have gotten her her red thong-

These thoughts abruptly disintegrated as Evfra lifts her ankle, looping a finger through one of the leg holes and holds the pair of plain undies up.

He drank in her scent with huffing breathes, large hands gripping the thin strip of clothing covering her soaked core. He growled as she let out a soft noise of disapproval. 

With a fangy smirk he lifted the soaked cloth to his nose. “Sweeter than pairpo.” Evfra purred, licking the panties then dropping them to finish ridding himself of his own pants. 

Abigail's eyes were glued to the movements, watching the fabric slide down his hips, lower and lower until Evfra was completely revealed to her. 

Lips parted in surprise, she stared at his cock. It was a darker blue and violet color, speckled with white across the underside of the shaft. He was thick and similar to a human male: if you didn’t count the fluttering ridges, the tapered head and bulbous base. The thing that shocked her and had her inching up the bed was that is was writhing against his stomach as if it had a mind of its own. 

Abigail didn't get to study him much before he grabbed her ankles and pulled her forward to the edge of the bed. 

Kissing each ankle Evfra placed the on his elbow, spreading her wide open for him like a flower blooming in spring. His eyes glued to her flushed skin. Pupils dilated, lips curled upward, he made a low snarling sound. 

Abigail flushed shifted against the bed feeling utterly vulnerable being spread before him like a feast. Which is how he was looking at her. She could even see him drag his tongue across his lower lip. 

“I must look alien to you.” She whispered self-conscious of her nudity. She curled an arm over her breast and sucked on her bottom lip. 

“You are….” He swallowed audibly, drawing his gaze from her pink cunt to her eyes. “Beautiful.” He purred, kneeling between her thighs. “I have never seen anything close to you.” 

“I’ve been curious,” his tone has taken a raspier note. The ‘r’s of his words dragged out in a sound that makes her shiver.  Warm hands drag along her thighs. Her muscles quiver in anticipation as he settled between her parted legs and inhales. 

Mewling she arches into him, head tossing back and forth in frustration. She wants him to touch her-why wasn’t he touching her. 

“Your kinds coupling is violent,” He strokes a hand down her skin. Petting her with the lightest touches on her stomach, hips, arms. But no where she WANTS him to touch. 

There is a tiny thought that wonders at what he’s seen to make such a judgement but it’s swept away in the tidal wave of arousal beneath his gentle touches. 

“Please!” Ryder keens softly her own hands trail up her body cupping the gentle slopes of her breast. 

He watches her but does nothing to end her torment as he speaks with slow decisive touch’s over her skin. “Your softer than any Angara I’ve been with.” As if to emphasize this point he groped the fat of her hips. She sighs as the touch, undulating beneath him. “I will not take you as your people do.” He bends tongue drags across the divot of her hip bone up the planes of her stomach. 

“Don’t care!” She cries out pinching her nipple watching him taste her skin with small licks traveling up her body. Everything throbs at the sight. She can feel herself spasm with need, a yearning to feel him slip between her thighs, to fill her to the edge of pain. To fuck her into this mattress till she can no longer move. 

“Evfra!”

He smirks leaning over her. “Responsive.” He stops her hands gathering both wrist. “Much better then the vids.” He murmurs softly against the swell of her breast. She’s holding her breath, nearly vibrating with wanton need.

A small thought bubbles in the back of her mind, that she’s edging the point of no return. That this was going to be a bad idea that spirals into a pit of despair if she didn’t stop. But that little bubble popped the moment his tongue sweeps out against her pert nipple. 

Crying out she arches into him, hands twist in the hold that has them. “Sensitive.” He growled lapping at the pink nub, circling it with the tip of his blunt tongue. Her toes curl at the feeling, his tongue had a texture to them and seemed to vibrate against the peak of her breast. 

He nibbled down the slope of her puffy breast, switching to lavish the other with attention. 

“I like how soft you are.” He growls squeezing and molding the breast to the palm of his hand. “How incredibly soft.” His mouth seals of the taunt peak, making her arch up into the sucking of his hot mouth.

He’s making a wet slurping sound while he suckles the peak of her nipple. His hand spanning her ribs moves down her side, cupping her rear that is pressed against his clavicle bone, which she’s been rutting unconsciously again.

She let out a moan as his finger slid along her cunt. He let out a rumble, seemingly surprised at how wet she was. Abandoning her breast with gentle kisses he travels down her stomach. Stopping to lavish attention to each of her small scars, freckles, and stretch marks. He grins at her as he nibbles her hip bone.

“Your scent is driving me wild.” He noses her red curls purring when she jerks against his hold. “It always drives me wild.” He lets out huffs parting her lips and stares at the pink clutch dripping with arousal. “I have longed to taste.”

“E-evfra.” Abigail wiggles in his hold, mind hazy with arousal. She mewls, trembling in anticipation. He seems to be taking his time savoring her scent that has her flushing with embarrassment. That doesn’t last long when he opens his mouth and licks along her slit with a decisive stroke. 

She mewls softly, hips jerking against his mouth. His spans a hand against her stomach, keeping her in place while his tongue makes feather soft touches across her cunt. It was light and gentle touches that were driving her wildly mad.

Thighs kept spread with his shoulders, he had full control of her body. She let out a deep cry, body shuddering. “Evfra!” She grabs his sheets jerking up into his mouth, trying to grind into him. 

He lets out a purr, vibrating that tongue against her clit that sends her spiralling down. Eyes rolling back as a slow building orgasm trickles into her system. Every muscle in her body quivers beneath the slow lazy licks of his tongue. Gasping, her knees fall open, hips ground up into his mouth. Rocking in time with his broad strokes. 

“Evfra, Evfra evfra.” She chants feeling the burn of overstimulation but she can’t stop rocking into him, can’t stop the second orgasm building as he audibly gulps at her cream. She lets out a sharp yelp when he presses a thick, blunt, finger into her weeping entrance. 

“Look at how you grasp me.” He purrs. “Greedy.” He sinks his finger deeper into her swollen, pink, clutch. Cooing at the way she grips his digit. Like a hungry mouth suckling him back in. 

Moaning, her head tossed side to side as he filled her up, opening her wide with slick wet noises as he moved his finger inside of her. It had been a long dry season since she last been with a man. At the moment she couldn’t even remember it, only what Evfra was doing to her body as he shifted pulling her hips higher. 

Nibbling her outer lip he thrust his finger deeper, both groaning as he did. “So soft.” He rasped. “How can any male leave this body.” His eyes met hers. “I’m going to make you sing for me.” 

Singing wasn’t what she felt her throat was doing. Opera more like it as she shrieked at the powerful orgasm that made her body arch and clench. She practically bowed off the bed while her vision went dark. All the while she could feel him still working his finger deeper into her cunt while loudly licking up the cum dripping out of her. 

“Stars.” He rasped  looking at her flushed body and shaking limbs. 

Abigail certainly felt like she saw stars as she went limp against the mattress. Her body jerked against him as he withdrew his finger. Drowsiness edged into her consciousness as she stretched languid. 

Of course two orgasms later and Evfra was nowhere near done with her. He chuckled as he kissed up her body, saying hello to the girls before he was fully looming over Ryder. 

“I hope you aren’t about to fall asleep.” He nudged his nose against her chin, urging her thighs to wrap around his waist. 

“Mmm.” Ryder cracked an eye open suddenly far more awake as something rolled against her sensitive lips. Breath hitched when he nudged her entrance with the head of his cock. 

“Oh!” SHe gasped as the odd sensation of being filled by something that wasn’t entirely human. 

Thighs quivering against his hips, she attempted to roll away from the burrowing entity that was Evfra’s cock, only to feel the first set of ridges slip into her and go completely still. She was instantly melting into a puddle of pleasure as they rowed against the walls of her. Especially tickling her g-spot. Making her clench around him with a groan. 

Scar wrinkled he closed his eyes holding her hips, soft a mewling noise left his throat. “Stars.” He looked down at her then, eyes slitted. “The way you grip me…” He rubbed the mark he left on her skin, breathing hard. 

Drool was dribbling out of her mouth while she gazed up at Evfra, hips rolling against the thick cock. Toes curling, heels digging into his back to spur him on. But Evfra seemed determined to drive her mad. He moved in a slow pace, until he was completely sheathed within her warmth. 

“Tight.” He growled against her skin, he was making many marks against her collarbone, sinking his fangs into the yielding skin. Ryders own nails were clawing at his back as she felt the bulbous base popping into her cunt. 

“Evfra!” She cried so sweetly, tears leaking out of her eyes as he began to pull out of her at the same slow pace. He could feel her climax as he pushed in, feeling the way her walls clenched and pulsed, beckoning him to seed her. 

How he thought of her swollen with his child, like the human he saw before. His lips peeled back in the though as he pulled her hips flush against his, sinking into her depths. A hand span up between the valley of her bouncing breast and lay over her vunerable throat. 

She gasped, tilting her head back giving his hand more room as he cupped her throat, thumb stroking over her racing pulse. She murmured how she couldn’t give him another one. But she would-oh she would cum again on his cock, and he would fill her womb with his seed. And once she was limp beneath him he would slide down her body to taste their coupling, coax yet another orgasm from her. 

Maybe then he would let her rest, but he would spend the night between her thighs.

“You’re a treasure.” He bent over her, hips gliding along her thighs, sticking to the steady pace. Those ridges rubbed against her walls. He can feel the tells of his own climax coming as the ridges began to row, seeking to interlock with a female angara’s grooves. They would become thicker as he climaxed, ensure that none of his seed escaped. 

He watched as Abigail’s green eyes widen at the feeling, her wet lips parting with a soft ‘Oh!’ as a shudder rocks her body. She orgam’s against him, he can feel her soak him as a wordless cry escapes her. He growls bending down to capture her lips, sinking deep into her cunt as spurts of his seed coat her womb.

-----Present-----

She chewed on her nail, biting into the skin but not breaking it. 

How did one tell the grumpy resistance leader that his one night stand led to a new life? 

She hadn’t even seen Evfra since then. Much less spoke to him. Her hands threaded together behind her head as she let out a low sigh staring at the screen of the empty email. Twice she started typing, both started with an apology neither made past the second sentence. She wanted to be a coward, send him an email, throw the proverbial ball at him and wait. 

Turning in her chair she pulled out the glossy black and white photo. Though it was hard to discern what exactly the picture was, she could make out the small pea like blobs in the photo as her children. 

Multiple...

She shuddered, a sour taste filled her mouth, her stomach rolled. Taking gulping breathes she warded off the nausea. Apparently the Doctor, Y’lusia, Sara remembered her name after leaving, said she was in 10  weeks along. Funny considering she’d slept with Evfra 3 weeks ago. But Ryder hadn’t said a word, just numbly taken the photo. 

Y’lusia informed her that she would be sending the file over to Lexi, who was her main doctor, but thought it best for her to set up another appointment at the clinic to see a specialist. She wouldn’t be returning to that clinic, Ryder thinks with a bitter expression. 

It was a shame Lexi was attending the Nexus seminars at the moment, and Harry was acting at the Tempest replacement. 

Gave her plenty of time to avoid, ignore, this predicament a little longer.

::Ryder, Director Tann wishes to speak with you.:: SAM popped up at his router, to the left of her elbow. She let out a low noise of discomfort thinking about talking to him.

“Any way I can put him off?” She leaned back into the chair, putting the ultrasound photo into a draw where it was to be forgotten for a time. ::I can tell him you are occupied with personal matters.:: SAM offered. 

“Uuuugh no,” She stood and pulled her hair back into a bun. “It will only make matters worse.” She stood and looked at the Orb. “How do I look?” ::Like Abigail Ryder.::

She snorted softly. “Remind me to have Jaal teach you some sauve lessons SAM.’ She took a few breaths shaking her hands out. “Maybe I should change.” She glanced down at her sweat stained sleepshirt. She hadn’t bothered dressing, as there was no one needing her attention. They’d just gone to Eos, dropping Peebee off. 

It had been a sad, and regretfully sober, party for Ryder. While Peebee bounced around the remaining tempest crew wishing them good tidings, Abigail had been preoccupied with thoughts of what her future was now going to look like. 

Groaning she tugged her shirt off and ambled over to her messy wardrobe. She shifts and sniffs each article till she finds a decent one and tugs it on. It's here she glances at the mirror and frowns as the material stretches thin across her abdomen. A hand settles across the swelling between her hips. 

Letting out a slow sigh she turns away from the mirror quickly and heads to the door. 

She is lucky that she can play it all off on the removal of the blockers for the time being.  

“Ryder,” Tann’s eyes blinked one just slower than the other. Abigail tilted her head to the side, was it old age? Perhaps he was having a silent seizure. She almost wanted to call a doctor just to end this meeting.

“Tann.” She says his name in a slow draw, blinking her eyes one just slower than the other. 

“I see you have gone into the clinic, I will be setting up a meeting for you on Nexus, we’ll get this ball rolling. Addison will be in touch shortly, she’s eager to begin this campaign. The colonist need something to look towards.” His babbling seemed to cause the spiking ache behind her eyes. One that had her stomach turning. “Mmm.” Ryder replied, rubbing her temple. “I’ll be stopping at Aya first.” She had to speak with baby-babies-daddy about something. 

Like the very impeding existence of being a baby daddy.

“That’s perfect! I’ll send the reporters there,” Her stomach drops as she tries to speak but Tann prattles on regardless of her protest.  “Good scenery, the angara are good place to start. Being all about family as they are. It will be a good start, very good Ryder,” She wonders if good was the only vocabulary he knew when he waves his hand in a wide arch.  “I will let Addison know. Tann out.” 

Then he was gone, and she was left there, feeling bamboozled. 

How did my life become this?

She sucked in a sharp breath a gurgle logged in the back of her throat and she stumbled away from the vid coms racing to the crosswalk where she jumped down and shoved Liam out of the way. 

“Hey!” He hollered. “I have to piss.” 

Ryder didn’t answer as she bent over the sink and vomited.

“Never mind.” He backed out of the bathroom and turned away.

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If you Enjoyed this please leave me a like or comment! 

[chaosciara]

to wake up a beast

got some requests on ao3 for more of our fave chaos bois, Kaz x Nikolai so here please accept my short offering. i hope you enjoy! I still haven’t read King of Scars so there’s no spoilers for that, and some info might be outdated, particularly pertaining to Nikolai.

[image description at the end]

Nikolai feels the darkness sweep over him. It tastes like burnt rubber, invades him like thick smog, presses against his skin like rose thorns. He can’t see, he can barely even breathe. His limbs ache, bon stretched, skin ripping. He knows he has turned into beast, a perfect replica of his mind. He can feel the leather of grown wings, piercing his back and shaking at the cold air. His nails— well manicured, polished to mirror shine— are now long and sharp enough to slice through tree bark. He is monster. He will go untamed.

“NIKOLAI!”

And he is prince, and he is present, and he is human. His breathing is too sharp, but he is breathing. The light is too bright, but he can see it. His nails dig into his palms, but they are short and clean.

“Where did you go?” A voice, the voice that screamed his name like their fear was tangible.

He can’t speak, he doesn’t even know what words mean. A heavy tongue sits in his mouth, not quite his own.

“Where did you go?” They say again, so scratchy.

He shakes his head, trying to say he cant speak, trying to say he doesn’t know, trying to—

There are no hands touching him, and no lips pressed to his skin but he can feel love encompassing the room, candle glow soft.

Nikolai takes a breath, takes a hundred. His heart steadies back to its cage, the bars rattling only occasionally. And then he finally turns to Kaz.

“Just a nightmare.”

“Again?” There’s so much wide eyed worry in his boyfriend’s voice it makes it hard to think.

“I just—” He gestures helplessly, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what triggers them.” Even he can hear how tired he is. Exhaustion has made its home in his veins.

Kaz doesn’t offer any words of comfort and the King is grateful. They both know what drowning feels like, both know that some nights are ripe with nightmares, and some days ripe with terror and nothing but a whiff of burning wood could set it all off.

“Maybe we should take the day off tomorrow,” He scrubs a hand over his face, looks over. Black eyes blink at him, twinkling with the light of the moon that peaks through their opened balcony doors. Black hair, usually immaculate during the day, is now messy and haphazard. A sight only he is privileged enough to see. A wave of love so strong it burns out the lingering darkness washes through his body.

“You know we cannot.” Kaz shakes his head, eyes closing briefly as his mind works a thousand miles a minute. “You as the King and me as the A King, it will be enough to shut down the continent.”

“Think so highly of us, Mr Brekker?” He teases.

His boyfriend gives him a deadpanned look, shuffling only slightly closer so they now share body heat. Skin does not press together.

A few strands of hair loosen themselves from Kaz’s mess and fall over his forehead. Nikolai wants to take a thousand pictures. Wants to paint the moment into permanency.

“I am simply stating what is true.”

“We have delegates, and it’s not like we’ll be taking a week off? One day can’t possibly kill anyone.”

There’s an exasperated sigh, it makes Nikolai want to giggle. Above all else he enjoys being the distraction to his The Barrel King’s hard working attitude.

“Aw come on, zhizn moya,” He makes his emerald green eyes widen with pleading. “Imagine how fun it’ll be to spend a whole day looking at this beautiful face?”

There’s a twitch of those lips, a gentle pink stain across brown cheeks. “You are a menace.”

“But I'm your menace.” He feels butterfly light.

“You have a meeting with the Ketterdam officials tomorrow.”

Nikolai runs through his diary in his head, and then gives his boyfriend a lazy smile. “I can move it to the day after, I have a gap at noon.”

“I have to check on my clubs tomorrow, make sure they’re keeping up with procedure.”

“You can get any one of your people to do that and deliver messages to those who dare defy you.” His voice goes all mocking deep, happiness stitching itself into their bed sheets.

Kaz’s hair is still on his forehead. He watches the strands shift as they stare at each other, him with a smile too big to contain, Kaz with eyes too bright to snuff.

“Troublemaker.” The tease is familiar, a caress of nickname and love. There is nothing that exists between their gaze, no space or worry or obligation. They are simply Kaz and Nikolai. They are simply each other.

“Fine.” The King of Ketterdam concedes and Nikolai bursts into laughter.

“Oh you do know how to make me happy, Brekker,” He shakes with amusement.

“I'm doing this for my own happiness.” He scrunches his nose. The strands of hair cover his eye.

“And how would that work?”

“If you’re happy then I'm happy so really I'm just inadvertently using you.”

“Then keep using me Kaz.” His laughter is soft now, holding them close. And Nikolai can no longer keep his hands to himself. “May i?” He nods at the black hair, still in the way, in his boyfriend’s face.

They stare at each other for a moment, packed high with feeling and wishing and wanting. A simple nod.

He reaches his hand up, his calcite skin a wonderful contrast to Kaz’s deep brown, and gently, so so gently, brushes his fingers across a warm forehead. He pushes the hair back, runs his fingers through the mop of black, watches closely as a breath hitches. His fingers find the nape of a neck, trace it. A shoulder, run across it. Bed sheets, cling to it.

Their eyes are fire, molten and blazing. Where ashes once warmed now wood is an inferno.

“You are so beautiful.” He breathes.

“Get some sleep.” Kaz replies. And Nikolai knows he is wanted. “We’re going to the diner tomorrow.” And Nikolai knows he is needed. The pillow that usually separates them is shoved to the foot of their bed. And Nikolai knows he is loved.

He feels wild and rosied and kingly as he lays his head back down. He can feel body heat seeping into his bared back and the smile on his face as he drifts into a better sleep makes even his dreams seem dull. Nikolai lets the morning light hold him.

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

[image id: tumblr post by @/mashamorevna that reads,

“ “But you have to satisfy the monster. The monster has loved you for longer than anyone else.”// -Florence Welch, Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry”

end id]

[darling-i-read-it]

Dolce

3x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, drugs  

Author’s Note: I don’t want to leave Florence :( but i do be missing the dogs 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: Jack seriously doubts Will's loyalties as the two renew their alliance. Mason Verger plots Hannibal Lecter's capture, while Lecter plans for his final stand.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

all gifs @/rocktheholygrail

Hannibal sat in the bathtub. His head leaned against the side of it. Bedelia sat beside him. She wrung a sponge over his broken, beaten and cut body. Hannibal's eyes landed on hers and his pain saw you, wishing that you were there. He had been waiting for you and Will to arrive, wishing that it was going to happen. He wanted it to be you cleaning his wounds. 

He needed it to be you cleaning his wounds.

His wish to have you come with him in the first place that was so strained he didn’t even realize the severity of it until just that moment. In pain, bleeding, sensing the end of something.

-

Jack Crawford looked at the dead body of Pazzi. It was being carted off by the police, the duck tape still pressed onto his face. Jack was tired. He had gotten a few scratches from his fight with Hannibal but none as severe as Hannibal’s. 

Will walked up to Jack. Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye and situated himself toward his former colleague. 

“He’s wounded and worried.” You emerged from the crowd behind Will and gave Jack a simple look. Both of you were scratched up. Dried blood covered Will’s forehead and there was a scratch on your cheek. You both clearly had been through something but Jack had not time to ask. 

“Hannibal doesn’t worry. Knowing he’s in danger won’t rattle him any more than killing does,” Will said. The three of you looked into the Atrocious Torture Exhbiit, the place where Hannnibal and Jack had fought it out. 

“If Rinaldo Pazzi decided to do his duty as an officer of the law, he could have detained Dr. Fell and determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter. Would have taken thirty minutes to get a warrant,” Jack said solemnly. 

“All those resources were denied to Pazzi. Once he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter,” Will stated. You scoffed.

“Serves him right. Mason Verger is trying to capture Hannibal himself for purposes of personal revenge. I've often wanted to use my own resources to drop him in his pig's den,” you muttered. 

“Have you told la polizia they’re looking for Hannibal Lecter?” Will asked Jack.

“They’re motivated to find Dr. Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is..and what he’s worth, will just coax them out of bounds.” 

“It would be a free-for-all,” Will pointed out. 

“And Hannibal would slip away.” Jack paused. Both you and Will were facing opposite directions, looking at different artifacts. “Would you slip away with him?” 

You and Will shared a look. 

“Part of me will always want to,” Wil said. 

“You have to cut that part out,” Jack argued. 

“You aren’t FBI anymore Jack. You can’t tell either of us what to do,” you sneered. You believed that. Jack had no bearings over your feelings for Hannibal. You were annoyed he thought he had any. 

“So you’ll go with him to jail?” Jack asked. You faced him completely. 

“If I had come with him to Florence he wouldn’t be going to jail.”

“And that’s what you want?” Jack challenged. You stepped forward to him.

“I hate to see you win Jack.”

“You had him. He was beaten. Why didn’t you kill him?” Will asked, stepping in. Jack, eyes still on you, considered it.

“Maybe I need you to.” 

-

Hannibal looked out the window. He was wearing a cozy sweater, cuddling into it for the last glimpse of hope he may get before a cage. He sketched into his book. Memories of Florence. 

“I want to be able to draw these streets from memory. I want to be able to draw the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo,” Hannibal said whimsically. Bedelia approached him and took the book from his hand.

“You won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” she whispered.

“Memories of Florence will be all I have. Florence is where I became a man. I see my end in my beginning.” 

“All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can’t escape it,” Bedelia stated, turning into the home. Hannibal glanced at the small suitcase. Hsi coat was draped over it. 

“You packed lightly,” he stated. 

“I packed for you.” She paused a moment and off his questioning look, moved forward. “This is where I leave you. Or more accurately, where you leave me.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. His eyes scanned from the suitcase to her eyes. In essence he was aware he was giving up his Florence hope of you and him. He was aware that he was saying goodbye to Bedelia and also your alternate self. 

In hopes to see you again, perhaps for real this time.

-

Bedelia put a needle carefully on her table. She saw the face of Chiyoh in the back of her mirror and turned around simply, confused at her presence. 

“You must be looking for Hannibal Lecter. One of his patients?” she questioned. 

“No, not a patient. Where is he?” Chiyoh asked. Her gun was in her hand delicately. It looked like it weighed a feather. 

“Gone. Seeing how you let yourself in, I hope it’s not too forward to ask, who the hell are you?”

“Family,” Chiyoh landed on. 

“Ah. You’ve come a long way from home,” Bedelia pointed out. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m his psychiatrist.” Chiyoh glanced at the ampoule and needle. Bedelia shrugged.

“Medicinal purposes.” Chiyoh studied her further, her eyes narrowed. 

“You’re like his bird. I’m his bird, too. I met another one, on the train ride here. He puts us in cages to see what we’ll do.”

“Fly away or dash ourselves dead against the bars,” Bedelia suggested. 

“You haven’t flown away.” 

-

Hannibal Lecter looked between the Primavera and his sketchbook. He was drawing it for the thousandth time but this time, in place of the garlanded nymph was your face. In place of pale zephyrus was Will.

Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will walked into the room. Slowly, the suit that he was wearing suddenly seeming so stuffy. Will’s eyes landed on Hannibal for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Both men battered and bruised. 

He moved forward and gently laid a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled, pleased to see him. Will sat down beside Hannibal and for a moment they both absorbed the moment.

“Good to see you,” Will said.

“If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said as he stared at the man that he loved. They stared at each other for a moment and Will’s smile seemed the brightest thing Hannibal had seen in so long.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven’t been in years,” Will stated.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” Hannibal said lightly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. She wondered if our stars were the same.”

She. 

You. “I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.” 

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” Will explained. 

“Where does difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal questioned. 

“Mine? Before you and after you.” He paused. “Yours? It’s all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.” 

“How is Chiyoh?” 

Between both boys shoulders, you emerged. You were wearing a gorgeous dress that you usually wouldn’t have pulled out. You bought it here in Florence. It reminded you of Hannibal. Plus your other clothes were bloodied. You looked just as battered and bruised as they did. 

You all pulled it off with a regal amount of elegance. 

“She pushed us off a train,” you said. Hannibal turned around to see you. The first time you had laid eyes on each other since you had kissed. It was interesting for Hannibal now. He had to double check that Will had heard you too. 

“Atta girl.”

“Ah, it hurt,” you said. You walked around the bench and sat between them. They allowed you enough room. You looked at Hannibal and smiled. He smiled back at you. 

“We have begun to blur,” Will said after a moment more of absorbing.

“Isn’t that how you found me?” Hannibal questioned.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it.”

You looked over at Will and then back at Hannibal. You placed your hands on your lap.

“Why did you let Bedelia live?” you asked. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I figured she had been long dead, gone through and out of your digestive system at this point. There should not have been an ounce of her left so imagine my surprise when I see her completely alive. Confused and lying, but alive.” Hannibal looked into your eyes and you understood.

“I think you know why.”

You held your gaze and then had to leave it in fear of getting emotional.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, but every murder streching backward and forward in time,” Will said after a moment. 

“Then what’s left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same. No longer seeing you in people who aren’t you Y/N. You are part of his equation just as much as Will and I.” 

You smiled solemnly.

“We’re conjoined. Curious if any of us can survive separation,” you mused. 

“Now’s the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking.” Hannibal stood up and gestured for you to take his hand. “Shall we?” You took it and stood. Will’s hand was already interlaced between yours, something you did subconsciously when you sat down. 

You all stood.

“After you,” Will muttered. 

Together the three of you left the gallery. Worse for wear but something blossomed in your hearts, something that only the other two could bring out. You had walked only a few steps before Will was shot to the ground.

-

Hannibal held Will close to him, trying to get him into the chair. You stood beside him, helping him take his jacket off. Will winced and fell forward, his chin on your shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Will’s shirt was soaked with blood. It was dripping down his arm from where the bullet wound entered. 

“The bullet is still inside you. This will hurt.” Hannibal took the jacket all the way off and Will watched as Hannibal cut off his shirt. The three of you hadn’t been this close since you were last covered in Will’s blood.

“Chiyoh’s always been very protective of me,” Hannibal said as he looked into the wound.

“Tell her to back the hell off,” you sneered.

“Did she kill her tenant or did you?”

“She did,” Will choked out.

“Excellent.” Hannibal took Will’s knife you didn’t know he had with him, back into his limp hand. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will.” You stared at the blade, bloodied. You caught Will’s eyes. He hadn’t told you he had brought a weapon. “You forgive how God forgives. Would you have done it quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?” 

“Will?” you whispered.

“Does God gloat?” Will asked.

“Often,” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal moved a sharp needle into Will before you even noticed he had it. Will dropped the blade into Hannibal’s waiting hand. Will passed out. 

Your mouth hung open as your gaze held the knife. You still had your hand putting pressure into Will’s wound but it loosened. 

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, looking up at Hannibal.

“I know,” Hannibal responded. “You wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m going to dress his wound and get the bullet out. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen? Dinner is almost ready.” 

You were so stunned that you stood up. You felt the pull of needing to be by Will but wondered what he would have done to Hannibal. Would you have gone with it? 

Chiyoh was right.

You were not the kind of girl who followed a man's lead.

You grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.

“Why are you staying?” 

“Why didn’t you come with me?” 

You stared at each other. 

“I love Will.” 

“The Bloody Valentines.” You scoffed and took the knife from Hannibal’s hands. You threw it off to the side. 

“Will is drugged.” 

“Are you going to drug me Hannibal?” You stared at each other and he kissed you feverishly, the way he had wanted to since you kissed him last. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. You hadn’t touched him in so long. 

You pulled away after a moment. 

“I wanted to go,” you whispered. “I regretted now going.” You pulled away and stepped back. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please fix Will.” 

-

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal walked into the dining room with a large bowl in his hands. Will had a dish set out in front of him.

“I do not indulge much in regret, but I am sorry to be leaving Italy. There were things in the Palazzo Capponi I would have liked to read,” Hannibal admitted. In from the kitchen came you, holding a different dish. You placed it on the table.

A last dodge attempt at normalcy. 

“I would have liked to play the clavier and perhaps compose. I might have cooked for the Widow Pazzi, when she overcame her grief. I would have liked to show you both Florence.” 

You sat down beside Will and spoon fed him some soup. He looked over at you, confused, doped up.

“The soup isn’t very good,” he slurred.

“It’s a parsley-and-thyme infusion, and more for my sake than yours. Have another sip, let it circulate,” Hannibal explained. Will took another spoon from you. Will and you finally noticed the final place setting at the end of the table. 

“Are we expecting company?” 

-

Hannibal grabbed your arm tightly and stood you up. 

“It will be Jack,” he told you.

You glanced at Will, out of his mind and slowly losing sight. Hannibal was giving you the invitation you had wanted since Jack stepped into Will’s classroom to talk about Garret Jacob Hobbs. 

-

Jack opened the door to Pazzi’s home. He had his gun held up high as he looked around every corner before he stepped forward. Eventually, Will at the end of the table came into view.

He walked forward and up to Will who blinked, focused on Jack and took a deep breath.

“Hannibal’s under the table, Jack,” Will muttered. Before Jack could react you had grabbed him from behind and a blade slashed Jack’s achilles heel. 

Jack dropped hard.

Hannibal turned to you and his gaze softened. 

“You will not join me in prison,” he whispered. Your eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed your arm and shoved a needle into your side. You let out a small, betrayed sigh and passed out.

-

Jack came to and found himself seated opposite Will. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of giving you something to help you relax. Won’t be able to do much more than chew, but that’s all you’ll need to do. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you during our last encounter, but did you enjoy the exhibition? A different kind of evil minds museum,” Hannibal said to Jack.

“Not so different,” Jack retored. He noticed you were gone from the room. 

“The promoters are failed taxidermists who formerly got along by eating offal from the trophies they mounted things that bring people together.”

“We were supposed to sit down together back in Baltimore...the three of us. And Y/N.” 

“You were to be the guest of honor,” Hannibal said, ignoring the mention of your name. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and took a leisurely sip.

“Where…” Will started but he didn’t finish. 

“Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head,” Hannibal said. “Now be both have the opportunity to chew quite literally what we’ve only chewed figuratively.” 

Hannibal held a bone saw in his hands. Jack suddenly realized what was going on. For a moment, all Jack could think about was what you would say if you were in the room. 

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” 

Blood trickled down Will’s head despite his protests.

3x07

[internalsealpanic]

Lover, Tell Me, if You’re Able

Summary: You trek down to the underworld to save a certain Robin using your admittedly limited knowledge of Greek Mythology. Nothing a little moxie can’t fix right?

a/n: I’ve been wanting to do an Orpheus Eurydice thing with Jason for a while now. I’m pretty sure this has been done but I really wanted to take a stab at it. 

listen to this song while reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP47npl3rHo

warnings: angst, slight body horror, unhealthy grieving, bad decisions, and kind of an eating disorder caused by unhealthy grieving. There is some tooth rotting fluff though.  

word count:  5,049

You snorted in your usual short, breathy laugh—which according to certain asshats sounded less like a laugh and more like the death rattle of a hyena —as you nearly tripped over what felt like the fiftieth rock in the past half hour. You cursed quietly wrapping your shaking arms around yourself letting your unkempt fingernails dig into your thoroughly abused coat which probably had a few unwanted holes by now. It wasn’t even that cold nor was it even remotely scary. You know, aside form the ghostly moaning bouncing off the walls but that was par for the course in Gotham subways. No big deal. 

After what felt like the seventieth rock, you swore. You swore loud and vicious and cutting.  You swore to capital ‘G’ god that when you found Jason Peter Todd you were gonna curb stomp his ass into next week. This is his fault for being stupid enough to- to-

Just like that, your anger and frustration plummeted into grief.

Your mind fell back to the funeral, 

For the first since you entered the dark tunnel a few hours ago—a few days ago?—, you could feel the cavernous walls threatening to close in on you as you took another shaky step. 

To all the ‘I’m sorrys’ and condolences,

You could feel your rib cage fall open. Each gentle pat on, gentle look, and hushed whispers scooping out your insides leaving a vast empty cavity save for a heart that ached too much to beat properly and a pair of lungs clogged with too tar to breathe. The expanse of your chest feeling too full and too hollow at once. 

To all the ‘he died too young’ crap,

No shit!

No friggin shit!

He was 16. He was six-fucking-teen. He just got his fucking driver’s license. 

You wanted to scream but the words lingered in your bones. Instead, the nestled and furled into a mantra and worked their way up to your throat, burning. As if folding and creasing them into a perfect, proper eulogy of hand-picked words would bring him back. 

You knew it wouldn’t. You weren’t foolish. You weren’t that hopeful. You weren’t even disgustingly hopeful. You were Alley born. You were practical and brutally realistic. You were also not dumb. As much as people in Gotham Academy seem to believe, you weren’t stupid. You knew there was no ending to his story that involved a long peaceful life. He was also a child of the Alley, born of Gotham’s gutter, there was no way he would not die young. 

Your tongue felt heavy like a tombstone being set into place. 

And to all the ‘he’s in a better place now’

HA! 

The words set your grief a flame burning it into the kind of white anger that consumes even those around you. 

Fucking hilarious. 

Just fanfuckingtastic. 

You’d see about that. 

You took a long sobering breath holding it in afraid that if you breathed out the anger would seep out leaving you with nothing but grief. 

After what felt like an eternity, you breathed out sure that all the anger, all the irritation, and all the sputtering hope had settled in your bones. 

You were going to get him back. 

You will. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

Jason tapped the edge of your science textbook with his pencil morse coding something and clearly demanding your attention. You rolled your eyes, moved your textbook an inch closer to you, and continued reading through the passage electing to ignore your likely scowling best friend. 

He tapped again. You didn’t look up sure that he’d go away if you pretended his existence was an elaborate hoax. This ingenious strategy is probably why you two have been glued together for the last 10 years.  

Losing patience, he snatched up your textbook earning a petulant, half-hearted glare from you. “What the fuck do you want, Jay?”

“Do you remember the Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

You blinked at him, honestly confused. 

He gave you a questioning look. He could probably see the gears turning in your head. 

You’d heard the names before but you were struggling to associate them with anything. Until it clicked. 

“Oh yeah, Hadestown the dude with the guitar-”

“Lyre,”

You made an affronted noise which made him roll his eyes at you but you could see the slight twitch in his lips at your antics. You would count that as a win. 

“He plays the lyre, you uncultured swine. Did you even read the packet?” He asked lightly tapping your head with your textbook. 

“Your posh bitch is showing,” you snorted.  he tapped your head just a tinsy bit harder with the textbook. You scowled at him. He gave you a gentle reassuring smile which roughly translated to ‘it was an accident I swear’. “Uh sure. Yeah. Course, I read the packet” you lied reaching over for your textbook which he sets down on the table behind him. 

“Are you even literate?” He joked. 

“Last time I checked I needed that to forge doctor’s notes for rich snots,” Jason wrinkled his nose trying his level best to scowl at you but from the crow's feet forming at the corners of his eyes the laughter bubbling in his chest was clearly winning out. You knew he was just worried about the unnecessary risk you were taking but it was a bad habit from the Alley days you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t like you were likely to get caught. 

“The In Class Essay is next period, dip shit” he sneered as harshly as he could. He was so bad at being a hard ass that you just smiled. “Yet here you are talking to me and depriving me of my education,” you snarked, gesturing vaguely to your book.

 You could technically get up and get it yourself but you were too lazy and you were pretty sure Jason wasn’t gonna let you get the book that easily. “Sides, it’s English who cares?” At that, Jason wrinkled his nose in disgust. “How am I friends with you again?”

You hummed, leaning back in your chair, tilting your head back dramatically before flinging yourself over the table to snatch up the textbook from the table behind him. You were a good amount taller than Jason which really wasn’t something to be too proud of. The bar wasn’t too fucking high. 

You plopped back down to your chair grinning ear to ear victoriously immensely enjoying his shocked look. Then he looked like he was about to deck you. 

“Well for starters, I’ve saved your ass from getting shanked about 15 times now. That’s just counting instances out of uniform,” He looked at you affronted. You simply rolled your shoulders. “Plus,” You reached into your blazer pocket and produced a beat-up looking tootsie pop ring.”You’re the one who proposed,”

Jason turned a luminescent shade of red as if you had just pulled out his entire cash of porn which you’ve done. “Why do you still have that?! How?”

“Because you still haven’t given me a proper one,” you said smugly tilting your head to the side inviting him for a rebuttal. He sighed exasperated. Resting his chin on his hand, palm covering half of his face, he glared at the opposite wall making damned sure that he didn’t look your way. The flush in his ears peaked through his cropped curls. It was hard to catch but your nosy ass definitely heard him mumble “I’m saving up,”. 

Your face broke into a stupidly wide smile, a warm feeling bubbling up in you. “I’ll hold you to that, lover,” you cooed cheerfully, giving him a quick peck on the nose as the bell rang. You could see the mortification attack his entire being in waves. 

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Stumbling out of the tunnel, you find yourself in a fray of souls all crowding towards the shore. You keep your head down and shuffle in step with the dead. 

‘The dead hate the living’ Constantine warned as he handed you the drachma and a beat-up old map. You handed him a wad of cash. He didn’t seem to care that money was dirty. 

You keep your expression carefully blank and focus on your feet but the sheer anxiety crawling up your spine rattling every vertebra was making that very difficult. You swallowed thickly trying to think of anything else but the depressing moans and absolutely haunted expressions were also making your life difficult. Instead, you focus on your award-winning bullshit speech that was surely going to win over the lord and lady of the underworld. Ok, sure, you weren’t half the thief Jason was nor were you even half as smart. But you were definitely the better conman. You might have had absolutely no interest in English class but words have always been your friend. You could definitely spin it with the best of them. It helped that all the rough edges that came with being an Alley kid tucked themselves neatly away behind trustworthy eyes and easy smiles. Even gods could be taken for a ride, right?

Somehow you made it to the shore without incident and even got yourself on the boat without even as much as a glance from the ferryman. That was a little unnerving but you weren’t about to complain. Not when it brought you a step closer to your goal. It might have been partially due to your unkempt appearance. Long nails, dead fish eyes, ratty coat, sallow cheeks, and dimming complexion all thanks to this wonderful diet called ‘grieving over your dumbass boyfriend/best friend because he decided to be a dramatic bitch and die an untimely death’. Part of you wonders if you simply want to bring him back so you could murder him. Maybe. Looking around at the haunted looks on your fellow passengers move that to a probably. 

Uncomfortable, you jam your hands into your coat pockets. One hand dug deep into the recesses of the pocket where the little ring was safely squirreled away. You fidgeted with it passing it from finger to finger like the coin trick you’d learned a while back.   

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Marry me,” Jason demanded unsurely, kneeling on one knee clasping your hand with both of his tiny ones. His little face ironed into something serious but cheeks flushed making them, what the girls called, pinchable but even at age 6, you were able to resist if simply for the fact that you were dumbstruck by the fact that  your best friend and crush was suddenly at your doorstep in the middle of the day and clasping your hand. 

“What?” You asked tugging your hand away but he didn’t let go. He absolutely refused to. 

“Marry me,” he insisted. “I’m proposing,” he added shyly seeing how the confused furrow in your brow did not disappear. “Lena said it was a good idea,” he added quietly.

A round of hoots and hollers exploded behind you including Lena who was laughing her ass off. Even Carol and Lassie who were busy doing their makeup were snickering  and giving you a thumbs up respectively. Your face burned hot and you scowled at all of them which just made them laugh louder. You snapped your attention back to Jason who looked at you with bright earnest blue eyes. Fuck. You crossed your arms trying to look intimidating and failing miserably because of just how goddamned cute he looked. Manipulative bastard. 

“Don’t you need a ring for that, bud?” you challenged. 

“Oh yeah,” He scrambled digging through his various pockets before producing a tootsie pop ring. Your hackles rose. What the hell Lena?

“Look at the size of that rock!” Josaline hollered from behind you. You could see the teasing smile on her face. You wanted to shrink. You wanted to maul them. You also wanted to burst because your crush likes you. You had a tiny, itsy bitsy crush on Jason for a while now. You’ve always declared that it was small but that didn’t stop the girls from teasing you relentlessly and this was just a nail in the coffin. You wanted to scream at Jason but the way he looked at you made your little heart flutter. 

“Fine,” 

He grinned wide. “Great! We can share rent,” he said his earnest smile turning cheeky. You swore some of the girls were choking from laughter. That was the moment you decided to make Jason Todd’s life miserable. 

——————————————————————————————————————————-

As it turns out, traversing the underworld wasn’t that hard. 

Nope. It wasn’t any harder than going around crime alley. At least here, you weren’t too worried about getting shot.

Nope. 

It was just incredibly. Fucking. Depressing. 

The atmosphere was suffocating and the only thing you’ve heard for hours were people listing their regrets when they weren’t too busy sobbing. Given they have every right to be this way. They did die after all. But Christ! You being able to understand it didn’t mean you could stand it. 

Jason owed you big time. 

Jason owed you the largest bowl of ice cream complete with 20 different flavors of your choosing, a mountain of whipped cream, a shovel full of sprinkles, and an ungodly amount of chocolate syrup. 

And a hug. A long ass, bone crushing hug. 

Yeah, you’re definitely demanding a hug. You don’t care if his pansy ass tries to break for it. You were getting the hug. 

Once this was done-

You turned the thought over in your head pointedly ignoring the fat droplets of tears now streaking your face. You weren’t entirely sure whether they were from relief or unrelenting anxiety. If you succeed, your 8 months of hell would have been worth it. 

But what if I fail?

What happens when I fail?

The thought seized your breath, your lungs constricting as if their cage of bones was threatening to collapse in on itself in your effort to shrink away from the possibility. You stopped breathing completely. A bad habit you picked up from your first foster home after social services took you from your home. Apparently, they didn’t think a group of hookers could provide a safe loving environment for a kid. Assholes. Breathing meant relaxing. Relaxing meant letting your guard down. Letting your guard down led to bad things. Jason never commented on your new habit after you two reunited. After you both found yourselves at the mercy of Gotham’s streets. 

“Lover tell me if you can~” You paused but not quite long enough for a response. Not like a few months ago when you’d wait catatonically for Jason to respond with the verse you’d forgotten in his oddly melodious voice. Singing was the one way you’d learned to breathe out after locking up without triggering a panic attack. Sure, it annoyed the hell out of a lot of people but who cares. You liked it. Your voice was decent. Plus, Jason loved it when you sang. Your breaths flowed easier accompanied by a melody and the smile on Jason’s face every time you sang always took your breath away.  

——————————————————————————————————————————-

“ Lover, tell me if you can Who’s gonna buy the wedding bands?~” You hummed the rest of the forgotten stanza under your breath as you wrap the ‘acquired’ blanket around the both of you. Gotham winters were a bitch but you tried your best to keep your spirits up which basically meant teasing Jason to hell and back. Who knew calling him lover would annoy him so much? 

Instead of the intended reaction, Jason simply continued to the next stanza sounding a lot more in tone than you. You huffed partially from amusement partially from frustration. 

“Figures you would know this song,” you teased.

Jason scowled tugging more of the blanket around himself as a lame form of retaliation. You leaned in closer to him and wrapped your arms around him. He huffed not really able to stay mad at you for too long.“It’s from Hadestown. The old woman at the pawnshop always plays it when she’s working,”

“Horse shit, all she ever plays when I’m there is Madame Guillotine,” You wrinkled your nose.”She probably hates me,”

“Gee, I wonder what that’s about,” Jason smirked. 

“You know, she probably has a crush on you,”

“EW! Shut up!”

“Come on we gotta milk it-”

He elbowed you. 

“Fine,” you relented, rubbing your chest and letting your head lean on his. You watched the snowfall basking in what little warmth you shared. 

“Promise me you’ll sing that when-”

“IF”

“When we get married,”

“Fine but ya gotta sing the entire GI Joe theme song plus the Baby Shark Song,”

“BET”

——————————————————————————————————————————-

You stood before large obsidian doors bouncing on the balls of your feet. The doors were carved elegantly with swirling patterns and sprawling carvings of flowers and bones. Dramatic but very pretty. Your stomach churned as the doors lurched open. 

You were going to be sick. 

Before you were a long table piled high with every kind of food you could think of. Likely you would have had to pick up your jaw and mop up a cascade of drool from the floor if not for the last few months. Your stomach threatened to implode if you kept looking. Months of not eating properly did that to you. The first few months were the worst. You were barely able to keep a  bite down without your body convulsing and rejecting it. Sadness had hollowed you out and filled you with something else during those months. 

Now,  you shifted your gaze to focus on the tall man sitting imperiously at the other end of the table on a throne carved out of precious metal. How someone looked imperious while eating was a mystery to you. It might be the fact that he was abnormally large looking to be around 10 ft tall. His frame was broad which contrasted greatly with the regal features of his face which were set in a rather loving configuration as he stared deep into the eyes of the dark-skinned woman as she recounted what sounded like a hilarious encounter with a dryad. The woman was unnaturally pretty with sculpted features and wild curls. She looked right at home underneath the sun which made her presence here ease your fraying nerves. They smiled at each other smitten with each other’s presence which almost made you feel guilty for interrupting their moment of marital bliss. 

You clear your throat as politely as you could drawing their attention and possibly their ire towards you. You took a deep breath, the kind that inflated your entire body, and forced it out through your nostrils as your mouth was busy reconfiguring itself into an easy smile. 

“My Lord Hades. My Lady Persephone,” You greeted bowing your head courteously. Your gestures were less grandiose and theatrical as the ones you used on the rich punks in Gotham which they happily lapped up. No, you made sure every movement, every posture, and every word was quieter, trying your damnedest to radiate sincerity and reverence from every pore in your body. Sure, you didn’t have Jason’s easy charisma and sure, you didn’t have the power Dick had for making everyone fall in love with you instantly but you were damned if  you were going to make a fool of yourself in front of two literal gods and squander your only chance at getting your boy back. Not when you’ve come so far. Not when you’ve done so much. Not when you’ve dirtied your hands this much. 

Hades looked neither pleased nor displeased by your presence. Good enough. The fact that you were still intact might have something to do with the mischief in Persephone’s eyes. She looked extremely amused despite your interruption. You hoped, which you didn’t normally do, that that boded well for you. 

“I am her-”

“We know,” Hades interrupts. 

Your body twitched. Rude. But you schooled your features into something resembling pleasantry. 

“You’re here for the boy,” He adds, waving his hand. Without time for your brain to process. Jason is there battered, bloodied, and bruised. The dazed look in his eyes made him look haunted which made your breath seize. A cocktail of anger and sadness and relief swelled in you as your body twitched forward. All you wanted to do was hold him, to stroke his hair, to sing to him, to take him to Dr.Thompkins to get his injuries sorted out, and possibly watch the old woman thwack him on the head half a dozen times. Hell, you would offer to count. Your stomach churned and you felt dizzy. This is the most alive you’ve felt in months. This is also the most fearful you’ve felt in months. You felt like you were going to fall apart and recongeal into an entirely new person. 

Focus. 

It was hard to do when you saw how tattered his Robin uniform looked but you managed to straighten yourself out enough in time to catch Hades as he watched you appraisingly, searching for raw desperation in your features. You tucked it away in your bones and in the deepest recesses of your chest. He seemed amused and even mildly impressed by your restraint so he dined to push further. 

“What are you willing to trade for him?”

Everything. 

Your mind screamed automatically. The word dangled thickly at the edge of your tongue. 

You would have plucked each and every star out of the sky and fashioned them into a necklace that would adorn Lady Persephone’s neck.

You would have used Poseidon’s ocean to douse the sun. 

You would have used the fires of Tartarus to set the world ablaze. It deserved it for the hand it dealt  Jason. 

You would do anything if it meant having Jason back in your arms. 

You bit your cheek hard forcing yourself to refocus. You shifted your posture making a show of thinking if only to gather yourself. You knew the answer. It might not have been the right one and if you’re being honest, it wasn’t even a good one. You rolled your shoulders trying to mold yourself into a more sure version of yourself.  

“My future,”

The room plunged into silence. 

Jason who had looked like he was not all there widened his eyes and shook his head at you. You simply leveled him a smile full of cocksure and hot air. Sure, your future wasn’t worth much. People have told you as much. But it was a novel offer. It wasn’t every day that a mortal offered their fate to you and gods love nothing more than novelty. 

Both gods remained silent. Hades narrowing his eyes at you and Persephone stared at you with an unreadable expression. The longer the silence wore on the more your confidence waned. The treacherous chorus in your head began to sing of the failure that has yet to happen. 

Persephone let out a trill of delighted laughter and Hades shook his head in amusement, his solemn lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile. Both you and Jason stiffened. 

“My love, just let them go,” Persephone pleaded sweetly cupping Hades’s face gently. It was an intimate gesture that made even you soft. 

“My dear…”

“It was not the boy’s time, my love,”

Damn straight, it wasn’t!

Hades let out an exasperated sigh before looking at you again. “I will grant you both freedom if you pass my trials,”

“Anything!” The word spilled out of you too quickly, too raw. A satisfied smile wrinkled at the corners of Hades’s eyes. Fucker. 

“I will have you do three trials-” He flicked his hand and Jason materialized beside you. “-with the boy’s aid,” Without an ounce of hesitation, you gathered him into your arms with all the bravado and restraint giving way too stupidly unfiltered happiness.  Without meaning to, you let fat droplets of tears streak your face. Jason copped your face giving you a wry smile and wiping away the tears with his thumb. 

“You look like shit,”

“So do you,”

You both laughed. You kissed his palm and took his hand from your face and kissed his knuckle. A flush crept on to Jason’s face but he couldn’t hide that any better than he could hide the loving look in his eyes when he looked into yours. 

The trials were almost insultingly easy especially when you had the world’s best Robin with you. Sure, you were battered and bruised but it was nothing you could not handle. You suspected that Persephone was rooting for you. That or Hades just wanted you out of his hair. Either way, you didn’t care. There was no way you were failing. 

You returned to Hades’ hall, arms full of spoils, and Jason’s hand interlaced with yours. You both try to fight off the hopeful feeling bubbling in your chest but there was no helping it when his hand was warm in yours. You smiled gratefully at Persephone who returned it in kind, looking sincerely happy for the both of you. You made a note to send her an appropriate sacrifice once you were back on the surface. 

Hades inspected your spoils and hummed. Your stomach lurched. Jason squeezed your hand and kissed your nose. Persephone practically squealed at the adorable gesture while Hades just smiled at his wife’s antics. 

“You have succeeded,”

“Thank you-”

“But I have one last trial for you,”

Hades holds up his hand before you could protest. 

“Do you recall the deal I made with Orpheus?”

You nodded almost numbly. Jason gave you a surprised look which you returned with a scowl. 

“Good. I will make the same deal with you. Does that sound fair to you?”

You both nodded frantically. You knew this would be hard especially with your frayed nerves but it was nothing you could not handle.

On the way to the tunnel, you held each other close, soaking up contact while you could. When you reached the tunnel, you hesitantly let go of his hand making sure to remember the feeling of your fingers intertwined together. He pressed kisses to every inch of your face likely feeling guilty over your haggard state. You whispered jokes and half baked promises to appease him in return as you squeezed him harder.  You walked tensely up the tunnel trailed by his ever quieting footsteps. You began to hum every song you could think of including the very annoying ones which earned you a lot of annoyed grunts and critiques from your ghostly companion. You also chattered about everything you could think of. All the latest gossip. All the things you learned during your global crime spree. You may have left out the crime spree but you could deal with the fall out later. Instead, you focused on the happy things. The things you wanted to do with him once you two got out. Once, you brought him back to Gotham. Sure, Bruce was probably going to maul you for all the trouble you’ve caused the JLA but fuck them.  Seriously fuck them. 

After what felt like an eternity, you saw it. You saw light. Bright, crisp, and blinding. You were going to cry. You were almost there. You were almost out. Your body launched into a sprint. Your chest felt like something in it shook loose and your body was lighter than it had ever been. You were almost there. You could almost feel the sun on your skin. 

You ran into the light and -

——————————————————————————————————————————-  

You woke up on the damp earth. 

Everything ached. 

Your veins felt rusty and sluggish. 

Your mind even more so. 

Snow flitted down to the earth in gentle feathery flakes. 

Your senses returned to you one by one. 

The sound of shouting and car horns littered the periphery of your consciousness. 

Your fingers felt cold and numb. 

The familiar smell and taste of Gotham smog overwhelmed your senses. 

That wasn’t right. 

That wasn’t right at all. You were in Mani in southern Peloponnese. You were face to face with one of the Gates of Hades just a few hours ago. 

You shuffled through your coat. You did not have your drachma. You did not have your map.

You snapped your head in every direction looking desperately for any sign of Jason. Not even a single footprint. 

Your stomach dropped as despair took hold of you and clung to every bone in your body. Pulling yourself up unsteadily, you stood taking baby steps towards a thoroughly battered brick wall. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, your phone began dialing a number automatically. 

“You have reached Wayne Manor,” Alfred’s posh voice carries over the phone. 

Your breath stutters. The words claw their way out of your chest.

“Jason- Jason, he-”

Alfred remained silent. Alfred was likely shaking his head in pity. You couldn’t stand that. You could barely stand the feeling of your skin right now. Your resounding failure rippled underneath your skin making you tremble on to your knees. You could do nothing but crumple to the ground in pathetic sobs as the weight of agony and despair weighed over you. 

“Jason. Jason. Jason.”

You whispered apologetically, reverently. The words would not call him back. Those words could never call him back. 

—————————————————————————————————————————–

Piece by piece Jason returned to himself. 

Jason woke up swallowed in darkness. It was deep and unyielding. Even his training with Batman could not alleviate the anxiety that brought. 

The second thing to return was his hearing. It was deathly silent save for the pounding of his own heart and his frantic breathing. 

 Where was he?

The air around him tasted stale and the resolute smell of formaldehyde was inescapable. 

Then the pain lanced through and all his memories came back in a splotchy kaleidoscope of fear, fire, and pain.

  He was dead. 

  He died. 

  He was in Ethiopia. 

  He was trying to save his mom. 

  Oh god. 

  Oh god. 

  Oh god. 

  Where is Bruce? 

  Where is he? 

  Why is it so dark? 

  Jason tried to move his limbs but it was no use. He was boxed in. 

  That’s when the smell of earth hit him. 

  Jason pressed his hands every which way. 

  He was literally boxed in. 

  Was he in a coffin?

  He tried to scream. 

  His mouth was wired shut. 

  Oh god. 

  Oh god.

  Oh god. 

  He was going to die.  

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

The ending was a bit rushed. I might edit it later. Thank you so much for reading. Feel free to roast me in the comments. 

(Note: I tried editing the ending to make it more panicky and claustrophobic. I don’t know if t worked.)

This was inspired by the fact that Jason Todd: Not-So-Outlaw by goawayolivia never answers how Jason came back. 

Here is my answer. It is pure dumbassery.

taglist: 

@birdy-bat-writes (enabler)

@idkmanicantenglish (sweet heart)

@batarella (Because I honestly blame you for this)

@multifandomgirl-us

@foenixphire

[starsinmylatte]

A Song Among the Stars Ch 3

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings/tags:

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (never by Thrawn)

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Masquerade

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Summary: Lyra's life was turned upside down the day the Empire took her. Once a renowned singer and performer on the Outer Rim, she is now little more than a songbird trapped in a gilded cage. Forced to perform and used as Imperial propaganda for years, she grew to despise her life until one fateful night and a chance encounter with a certain Grand Admiral.

Author's note: Hi everyone! Please let me know if you enjoy chapter 3 of A Song Among the Stars. I'll have a masterlist soon with all of the chapter links, but here's the link for the first 2 chapters on Tumblr and AO3 here. Tumblr likes to hide my writing, so please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it!

A big thank you to @pala-din-djarin for formatting advice!! 💙💙

AO3 link here for chapter 3 if you'd prefer!

Song Suggestions At the beginning: Thrawn - AtinPiano The dance: Masquerade Ballet Suite: 1. Waltz - Aram Khachaturian

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

The edge in the Grand Admiral’s voice glittered with dark promise, and a tense silence fell. Even in my current state, I could tell that he was definitely not asking; his statement was little more than a scarcely veiled command. Bost stood incredibly still as the oppressive atmosphere continued. I could tell he was carefully considering his options, but there couldn’t have been many, as Thrawn’s commanding body language clearly showed he had no intention of backing down.

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. All my muscles involuntarily tensed as my instincts screamed danger. Three more shadowy figures came running around the corner of the maze behind Bost. Fearing the absolute worst, I physically and mentally prepared to defend myself again. I dropped my weight evenly between my legs and shifted into what I assumed was a passable fighting stance. Apparently, the change in my posture did not escape my new friend even though I was still completely behind him.

“There will be no need for that,” Thrawn’s voice had returned to its original soft, dulcet tone, “excellent timing, Commander Vanto.”

How did he recognize him? It’s kriffing pitch-black out here!

I quickly decided it was a question for another time and relaxed ever-so-slightly as Thrawn acknowledged the newcomers. If he knew them, considering the present situation, it was currently good enough for me. Thrawn gestured back towards me and spoke again in an infuriatingly calm tone for the situation, “Please escort her back towards the ballroom. I will join you momentarily; the Commodore and I have something to discuss.”

I had no idea what Thrawn needed to discuss with Bost, but anything was better than me being chased down.

The three shadowy figures stepped into a patch of starlight. Any relief I felt earlier was amplified tenfold because Dreycolt and Arkmad were instantly recognizable. They stood slightly behind the third man, who I assumed was Vanto. All three of them looked ready for a fight, and their facial expressions flickered between worry and relief. Vanto gave Thrawn a curt nod before pushing past Bost and offering me his hand.

I don’t know him, but I don’t have much of a choice here, and there’s not really any time to think…. I have to trust my instincts.

Tentatively, I reached out and placed my hand in his; he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Vanto’s hands were noticeably calloused, which gave me another sensation to focus on. However, even with those feelings grounding me to reality, my frazzled emotions swooped in like carrion birds as the adrenaline started to wear off. Intrusive thoughts started to slip through every mental wall I had in place as he led me away from the maze and back through the garden.

Stars, what do they even think about this situation… How is this going to be handled? Is the Empire going to somehow blame me for causing a scene? Am I going to be the one punished??

Before I realized it, we had walked about half of the way back to the ballroom. Vanto led me to a nearby bench; I gratefully sat down and stared back in the direction of the ballroom. The flickering lights, laughter, and faint music indicated that the party was still in full swing and would be for some time. There was zero chance of me leaving early because the second part of my job tonight hadn’t even started.

Vanto took a seat on the bench directly across from mine, and I didn’t even have time to open my mouth before words came tumbling out of his, “Are you alright?”

I immediately recognized the accent, and it momentarily drew me out of my melancholy state. “Commander Vanto, you’re from the Outer Rim too,” I noted with as much of a smile as I could manage.

He returned the smile, but his deep brown eyes and creased eyebrows still showed unease, “Yes, I’m from Lysatra, but please call me Eli.”

It was obvious that Eli wanted to discuss the incident, but it was so very rare to meet another person from a world near mine on Coruscant that I actually felt slightly relieved. It was like having a small piece of home nearby.

Another pleasant change was that the starlight shone bright enough for me to fully see in this area of the garden. Eli’s tanned face seemed kind, even though half of it was hidden by a black mask, and his dark hair and eyes were a welcome contrast to Bost’s icy complexion. Maybe it’s a sign that everything will be ok.

I could tell that Eli was trying to find the right words to continue, but he only managed to gesture around like he was trying to pull them out of the air. That alone told me all I needed to know; he had a rather good idea of what Bost tried to do.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself as I nodded with all of the confidence I could muster. You must be strong. “It’s happened before. I didn’t have anyone to rescue me, but I survived then, and I will survive now.” I was reminding myself just as much as I was informing Eli.

His face paled. “This isn’t the first time?” He trailed off before nervously running his fingers through his dark hair. I heard him muttering something under his breath that sounded like a long string of swearing in another language.

Any chance of further conversation was stopped by the sound of footsteps and the arrival of Dreycolt. He was out of breath from running through the garden, but he still managed to get the words out, “I cannot apologize enough for what happened. We tried to get help, but….”

The apology is nice but pointless.

I raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m assuming you don’t know Bost like I do. That conniving bastard would have found a way to dispose of you both so he could get me alone. However, you getting help likely saved me; the Grand Admiral arrived at a very timely moment.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a pointed look from Eli cut him off. I raised an eyebrow at the two men.

Eli rushed to speak first. “I was the contact if there was trouble, but we weren’t expecting anything like this.

Something doesn’t quite add up here…..

At that point, I noticed both Dreycolt and Eli had the same insignia on the shoulder of their uniform: an extremely stylized black tribal design with three heads. It was emblazoned on a grey circle, and the whole thing was ringed in red. They had to be from the same fleet, and if Thrawn knew them immediately….

Suddenly, everything clicked into place as I locked eyes with Eli. “You’re all from the Seventh Fleet, and Grand Admiral Thrawn is your commanding officer.”

“Quite perceptive.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden reappearance of Thrawn’s smooth voice behind me. Unlike with Dreycolt, there had been no footsteps or any other warning of his arrival.

Kriffing hell, why is this man so silent? He may have helped me, but that doesn’t give him the right to scare me out of my mind a few minutes later.

Concern flashed across Eli’s face as he wordlessly reached out to make sure I wasn’t too rattled by the shock. I took a deep breath and nodded slightly in reassurance. My thoughts raced through my previous mantras. You are fine. You are safe now. Eli shot an annoyed look at the man behind me as I composed myself and turned to face Thrawn so I could properly thank him.

It was still dark but I immediately realized that he was tall. Very tall. Even though I was looking up, my small stature combined with my seated position meant my gaze fell on his broad shoulders. I instantly noticed the crisp, white hue of his close-fitting dress uniform and the shining rank bar he wore confirmed his earlier claim. He was absolutely a Grand Admiral.

He smoothly stepped backward and acknowledged me, “My apologies, it was not my intent to frighten you.”

Any words coming out of my mouth died at the tip of my tongue as I finally saw Grand Admiral Thrawn fully illuminated in a patch of shifting starlight. All thoughts of this rank or thanking him abruptly left my mind as one thing became abundantly clear: he was not human.

Where the neck of his pristine uniform ended, his skin was blue. Not merely tinted with blue, but it was truly the beautiful color of a deep pool of water that had frosted over in winter. My gaze continued its path upwards and traveled to his face, which was partially obscured by an ornate mask resting atop high, regal cheekbones and an aquiline nose. From beneath the mask, his ruby eyes seemed to burn into mine like red-hot coals.

Trying desperately not to make a fool out of myself, I did my best to snap out of the shock. Grand Admiral Thrawn was the only non-human Imperial of any significant rank I had ever met, and I severely doubted any others existed. Every Imperial gathering I attended before this one had been filled with countless human guests, but I had only ever seen non-humans used as servers or entertainers. Talle, Kaia, and Ahni had never served a non-human Imperial, but almost all of the other handmaidens were non-humans taken from their worlds.

Why is he working for the Empire in this high of a position?

I fervently hoped the dim lighting hid any sign of my surprise. After all, no matter the reason why, this man was still a Grand Admiral. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t request some kind of a favor in return for saving me earlier. I knew enough legends about the types of favors high-ranking Imperials often pulled or traded, and I was already way more indebted to Thrawn than I was comfortable with. His appearance may have surprised me, but I refused to let my lack of knowledge show. I fully realized that lack of knowledge was a weapon the Empire had firmly pressed against my throat, and it was marking me as prey like blood in the water.

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and mentally berated myself. This was all my fault. I had gotten too complacent and comfortable with the Imperials. I had no idea Bost was even here, but I let down my guard and accidentally gave him an opportunity. Dreycolt, Arkmad, Eli, and now Thrawn…… There was absolutely no guarantee that I could trust any of them.

Think, Ly, you have to think. These people prey on the weak, so you have to seem strong, at least for now. At the very least, use caution. Just get through this night.

It was like flipping a switch mentally; all of my walls flew back up, and my emotions dulled until everything was just numb. The sparkling, faultless personality I used in Imperial society clicked back into place. I inclined my head respectfully and addressed Thrawn, “Grand Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for your help tonight; your quick response to the situation likely saved me.”

“There is no need,” his voice was still impossibly soft as he regarded me. I lifted my head and met his eyes for the second time; the heat of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. “From the state of his hand, I would say you were defending yourself admirably.”

My face flushed, “Still, I do not know what would have come of the encounter. If it came to a case of my word versus his, especially since I injured an Imperial officer, I doubt anyone would take my side.”

As a “guest” of the Empire, I had everything to lose based on my reputation. If I angered the wrong person or fell from social favor, I would no longer be useful as propaganda……. The weight behind my previous words went unspoken but was understood by all.

An indecipherable expression crossed Thrawn’s face. Krayt spit, he’s hard to read. Most people had tells that let me read their expressions like an open book, but the Grand Admiral seemed to be very different.

“However, I do have one question. What happened to Commodore Bost?” I couldn’t help the tiny falter in my voice when saying his name, but it was small enough to be excusable.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed and seemed to burn brighter, “I sent him to be treated for his injury. However, I made it perfectly clear that you were a guest and asset of the Empire, so his behavior towards you would not be tolerated.”

I mentally scoffed. So that’s what upset him. Not the injustice committed against me, but the mistreatment of Imperial property. I wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the protection he had provided, but my blood absolutely boiled at his words. However, I gritted my teeth and smiled at him, “Again, I do not know how I could possibly ever thank you enough for this.”

I wasn’t worried about the medics treating Bost; they knew enough about Imperial society to keep their mouths shut on what and who they treated. Most likely, they assumed he was one of the many starting an after-party early. The rumors of the extreme tastes of some officers and politicians often spread like wildfire among the servants and handmaidens. Talle had been unofficially requested at an after-party once before, and she told me stories that made my stomach turn.

Thrawn inclined his head towards me in acknowledgment of my thanks, and I continued speaking, “However, I do need to return to the ballroom. The orchestra will be the main entertainment for the rest of the night, but I was requested to be available as an escort. I’m sure my dance card is already quite full, and I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

After all, what good is propaganda if it isn’t thoroughly used, I thought dryly. It honestly did not matter to me if I kept anyone waiting; in my opinion, they could wait for all eternity. Unfortunately, it would matter a lot to my handler if they complained.

“Don’t worry, Captain Dreycolt and Lieutenant Arkmad will still be accompanying you. Both of them are already on your card,” Eli reassured me as I turned around to face him again. “I also took the liberty of placing myself on your card so that I will be close by too.” He pulled out a small datapad and continued, “We are all spaced evenly throughout the remaining time so that you will have someone checking on you often.”

Now that was reassuring. As much as I wanted to be wary of Eli, he seemed to be very kind and it was making it hard to keep my guard fully up.

I thanked him with another smile and reached up to check my hair. Thankfully, all of Kaia’s hard work seemed to have paid off. Not a single pin or gem felt out of place, and I chalked it up to a minor miracle. After a brief inspection, my dress was still pristine, and my shoes were fine too.

I stood up from the bench and turned to address Thrawn once more, but he had stepped off to the side and seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the medics. His current expression was much easier to infer because the poor medic looked terrified. I quickly decided that I didn’t want to know, and it was better that I didn’t ask.

When I glanced back towards the ballroom, Eli offered me his arm, and I accepted the gesture. He signaled to Dreycolt, and the three of us began the short walk back through the garden. Thankfully, it was uninterrupted and uneventful.

Arkmad was waiting for us at the same side door he and Dreycolt had helped me exit from earlier. He was fixated on the small datapad he was holding and muttering under his breath. The datapad looked very similar to Eli’s, but this one was exceedingly familiar.

I peered down at the list displayed on it, “So, who’s on the card tonight?”

“Oh, just the usual mix of the usual senators and high officers. You actually seem to be in higher demand tonight; the performance earlier must have really impressed some important people,” he responded with a sympathetic look. “It looks like your card is completely full for every dance tonight.”

Oh, joy. Sometimes I was lucky enough to escape the last few dances, but, of course, tonight couldn’t be that convenient. I sighed inaudibly and shifted my feet. At least these shoes are comfortable.

Arkmad tapped me lightly on the shoulder and gestured to the far side of the ballroom, “Your first partner will be waiting for you near that column. The next song is about to begin, so I suggest you get started.”

The first thing I did when I stepped inside was signal the nearest server. I took a glass of sparkling wine, quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was staring at me and downed it. I felt the effects of the strong alcohol almost immediately; one glass was nowhere enough to make me drunk, but I hoped it would further dull any remaining nerves. I returned the glass to the tray and ventured off in search of my partner.

The first few songs passed by quickly. The slight buzz from the alcohol lightened my mood and made it easier to tune out any faults of my partners. Some were heavy-handed with flattery or praise, intent on trying to steal me away for the night. Others had already indulged in too much alcohol to the point where their breath smelled of the wine and their steps faltered. At least they all seemed to be decent dancers, and I was skilled enough in social etiquette to politely refuse or divert the conversation.

I truly had no problems dancing; most of the time I rather enjoyed it. My education at the conservatory had included many lessons on the classical styles and different regional dances in addition to my more intensive singing lessons. We were all supposed to be well-rounded performers, so the education contained much more than just singing, even though it was my main focus. When I was taken to Coruscant, it was vaguely easy to learn any dances I didn’t already know. Most of my partners here were higher class, so they had some kind of dance instruction at least once; they weren’t always graceful, but almost all of them were bearable partners that only sometimes stepped on my feet.

As the orchestra played on, the long list on my dance card grew shorter. Some faces were new, but many were the same senators and officers that often requested me. Before I knew it, I had danced with both Arkmad and Dreycolt, and less than half of my list remained.

I told both men the same thing when they checked on me: the rest of the night was going well. They each seemed satisfied with that answer and moved to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. As Eli’s lively dance was finishing, he pushed his stray hair back into place with a gloved hand, “Miss Lyra, it was a pleasure.” He gave me a small bow as an excuse to lean in close and whisper, “Are you doing alright?”

I responded with a curtsy and an almost imperceptible nod. “The pleasure was all mine, Commander.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer as he walked off to join the other men on the balcony. I had turned to grab another glass of wine before my next partner found me when an all-too-familiar voice turned my blood to ice.

“I do believe that I have the pleasure of claiming the next dance. It seems the man on your card….. won’t be able to make it.”

I whipped my head around and stared directly into the cold, glacial eyes of Commodore Bost. Somewhat vindictively, I noted that his injured hand was bandaged and slung across his chest. He had also donned a plain, white half-mask that covered the scarred side of his face since our last encounter.

My heart raced in my chest; I scanned the upper balcony for Eli, but he was nowhere to be seen. I caught Dreycolt’s eye and he raced off with a panicked expression at the sight of Bost standing in front of me. Even though my heart was racing and panic rose in my throat, I knew that as long as I stood inside the ballroom he couldn’t harm me; even Imperials dew the line somewhere.

Bost reached out to seize my hand and I snatched it away from his grasp. “I refuse to dance with you. You aren’t the name on my card and I have no reason to accept your request.”

He clicked his tongue at me mockingly, “So defiant…” He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “However, I am a very patient man. I can be here all night if that’s what it takes.”

Another shiver ran through me at Bost’s chilling words. I closed my eyes and winced at the foul feeling of his breath on my neck. Suddenly, a looming presence appeared behind me and Bost quickly stepped backward. Assuming Eli came to my rescue, I turned around and gave a low curtsy in greeting, but I instantly realized my assumption was profoundly incorrect; the figure standing in front of me was dressed in white.

Still in my low curtsy, I raised my head and stared directly into the smoldering gaze of Grand Admiral Thrawn. His red eyes remained fixed on mine as he bowed and offered me his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Thrawn’s request rang in my ears. Did he actually want to dance with me, or was he just guarding an Imperial asset? Either way, I was incredibly grateful for his second timely arrival of the night. There was no other choice for me but to take his hand.

Before I could, Bost made a small noise of protest behind me. Thrawn rose from his bow and silenced him with a single look. The Grand Admiral’s voice had the same dark, commanding edge as it had in the garden, “Commodore Bost, your presence here is not required. I will be claiming the rest of Miss Lyra’s dance card tonight.”

My thoughts raced again at his statement. Sometimes a particularly wealthy or powerful person would request multiple dances a night, but someone claiming the rest of my dance card was absolutely unheard of. However, I highly doubted anyone would be willing to argue about it with Grand Admiral Thrawn if he was serious.

Bost must have realized the futility of his position; he glowered at me, turned away with a flourish, and exited the ballroom. I sighed audibly, “Thank you for stepping in again. However, I don’t wish to be a burden on you for the rest of the night.”

The corner of Thrawn’s mouth twitched into a smile, “Not at all. I believe it will provide an enlightening distraction.” He offered me his hand again, “May I?”

Kriffing hell, he was serious then. I gently placed my right hand in his left, and he wrapped his long, elegant fingers around mine. The orchestra played the beginning notes of the next song, a waltz, and he seemed to recognize the dance immediately. Thrawn murmured appreciatively, “ah, an excellent choice,” as he pulled me in until our chests were almost touching.

My cheeks colored slightly and I prayed he couldn’t tell. The familiarity with which he moved me was almost seductive when combined with his velvety soft voice and the lingering effects of the wine.

The dance began and we glided across the ballroom floor to the music. This was one of the more difficult dances of the night, so many stepped off to the side and watched the braver couples attempt it. I knew it by heart, but Thrawn led us with an intensity that told me he did too.

Some of my previous partners could dance very well, but none moved with the same warrior’s grace that he exemplified in every step. The feeling of his broad chest against mine and his strong arms firmly around me made my mind spin. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever danced with; he seemed to move with the same strength and confidence with which he commanded.

No, no, no... you are not doing this. It’s just the wine and your overcharged emotions running all over.

I distracted myself from the dance and his burning touch by studying the intricate pattern on his mask. It was white, but under each eye a thin strip of red in a slightly darker shade outlined the openings and made his gaze even more intimidating. An intricate pattern of entwining, golden snakes bearing their fangs delicately wove their way around the mask’s rim.

In the back of my mind, I came to a sudden realization: Thrawn was testing me. As the song progressed, he began using more and more complex movements. It was as if he was trying to see if I could keep up with his brutal pace.

Kriffing blue bastard. I’m not some little thing for you to toy with.

Well, two could play that game. I locked eyes with Thrawn, gave him the most stubborn look I thought I could get away with, and switched my step pattern up. If his gaze was smoldering before, now it was blazing. He flashed me a grin that was absolutely feral and twirled me out on his arm. As he brought me back in, he pressed me against his chest and dipped me low. He murmured in my ear and his breath smelled faintly of the sweet wine, “Very enlightening, thank you.”

The rest of the night passed in a similar fashion. Thrawn led and I matched his pace step for step, challenging him the entire time. By the time the final note on the last song rang out, we were both breathing noticeably harder. A single strand of his neat, dark hair had fallen into his face and I knew some pins had fallen out of mine. This was the first time a dance partner had made me break a sweat since I was at the conservatory.

He released me from his arms, and the loss of contact was more disappointing than I cared to admit. The Grand Admiral bowed one last time as Eli, Dreycolt, and Arkmad appeared behind him. His voice seemed to have the slight accent from the garden as he addressed me, “You dance quite artistically; thank you for indulging me.”

Thrawn turned away and shared a quick word with Eli, who had an expression of shock on his face. Their conversation lasted for a few minutes before he addressed me again. However, this time his accent was gone. “I’m afraid I must take my leave now, but Commander Vanto will see you safely home.” He reached up to push the stray lock of hair back into place and walked off the dance floor and out of the building. Dreycolt and Arkmad shared a look before following closely behind him.

Eli still seemed to be in a state of surprise. He shook his head like he was clearing out his confusion and offered me his arm, “Miss, if you’re ready, we can head outside. I have a speeder waiting for us.” I smiled at him as we walked out of the ballroom and into the crisp Coruscanti night.

Tags: @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @handbaskethell

[maggielindemanns]

all mixed up - an elu social media au

summary: it’s simple really - eliott meets a guy at the bar, that guy gives him a fake number, and that fake number just so happens to belong to lucas. the rest is history.

[NINETEEN PART TWO]

[note: i’m putting my note here at the top this time but here is nineteen part two aka how the date went! i’m like . Scared to put my writing up but you know what, fear is my enemy and i’m posting to spite her so ! here is 3k words of elu date in the amu-verse i love you guys giving you all smooches on your foreheads <3 was gonna post this yesterday but i was attacked by the river i went tubing at so here she is rn instead <3]

    Thoughts of nerves and excitement were crashing into each other and around the walls of Eliott’s head space at a million miles a second as he made his way to Lucas’ dorm. His heart didn’t even feel like it was beating at this rate, more like slamming against his rib cage and rattling up the butterflies existing in his stomach. He made sure to send Lucas a warning text once he was down the hall — “countdown from 30 & i’ll be there”. Lucas, 'ever the charmer having such a way with words, simply loved the text in lieu of an actual response.

Once in front of Lucas’ door, he took a deep breath before knocking gently, stepping back after to await an answer. Every second felt like forever to him, especially when he could hear Lucas shuffling around on the other side of the door. He just couldn’t wait to do this, he couldn’t wait to actually have Lucas to himself for real.

Lucas opening the door suddenly pulled Eliott from his thoughts, overwriting the mess in his head with thoughts of Lucas instead. He looked at Eliott, seeming pleasantly surprised, and smiled brightly at him. Eliott wanted to give him the world and then some.

“Demaury,” he greeted, “hey.”

“Hey yourself. Ready to go?”

“Of course. You look so good, I’m kinda jealous. Am I under dressed?”

“No, you’re perfect.”

“Oh stop,” Lucas scoffed, starting to lead the way out already, “let’s go before you hit me with any more corny lines.”

Eliott just smiled, following Lucas close behind. He got the door for Lucas going out of his building, grabbing his hand before he could walk too far ahead. Lucas didn’t let go, though, actually giving his hand a squeeze and smiling at him. The silence as they walked to Eliott’s car hand in hand was comfortable and familiar, and Lucas loved it.

When they both got into the car, Eliott went to start it, but hummed as if remembering something. Lucas watched Eliott reach into the back seat as he put his seat belt on, his brows furrowed.

“What are you doing?” Lucas asked, and Eliott wordlessly presented a lavender rose, seeming proud of himself. He looked between the rose and Eliott a few times before dumbly asking, “Is that for me?” and Eliott nodded, handing it to him. He turned it over in his hands before looking at Eliott again, his chest tight with the slight urge to cry. Yes, he was emotional over a single flower, sue him.

“I didn’t take you as the type for grand gestures,” Eliott explained, “but... something small to remember tonight is nice, right? Even if everything goes to shit and you hate me after this, at least we started on the right foot.”

“I could never hate you, this is so sweet, Eliott. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You deserve nice things. Always.”

Lucas just smiled slightly and watched Eliott start his car, starting to tell a story about a basil plant he accidentally killed. Lucas found himself oddly endeared by that, as well as his story about how he Jackson Pollock-ed his way through an entire semester. That led Lucas to tell him stories of how he tried multiple times to get out of gym back in high school with absurd ailments, one time even trying to use appendicitis as an excuse. That cracked Eliott right up, and Lucas was proud of that. He loved making Eliott laugh, it was his favorite thing.

They eventually were pulling into the parking lot of a very cozy looking building. “Len’s Den” was lit up brightly across the top of the building on a sign, and vased plants marked the entrance, along with a glowing, red open sign. Eliott shut the engine off after putting the car in park and looked at Lucas.

“I told him about you,” is what came out of Eliott’s mouth. Lucas must’ve made a face of confusion because Eliott laughed a bit before elaborating. “Len, I told Len.”

“Like...owner, Len?”

“Yeah. It sounds so random, but he’s been looking out for me since high school. I’ve done it all in here — cried, yelled, laughed, all three at the same time maybe?” Lucas chuckled at that, and Eliott smiled a little. “Point is, Len’s taken care of me in ways I don’t have words good enough to thank him for. He’s important to me, and so are you. I hope it was okay that I did.”

I told him about you. He’s important to me, and so are you. Those words were echoing in Lucas’ brain, doing a number on his emotions. It was heady to think that he was important to Eliott, so much so that he wanted to tell people about him.

“Yeah, that’s—I’m honored. That’s always okay, really.”

There was a beat of silence between them, the two of them just smiling and looking at each other for a moment. Eliott broke their gaze by starting to get out and Lucas followed suit, his nerves creeping back up on him suddenly.

How he was supposed to last an entire night of Eliott being Eliott was something he wasn’t sure of. Maybe if he didn’t think about it too much, the obvious would become clear - that being with each other was easy. They’ve done this before. Easy.

Upon entering, a few things caught Lucas’ eye - the photo booth in a far corner surrounded by countless strips of pictures, a piano set in the corner across, art littering the walls that resembled things he’s seen in Eliott’s apartment. Other pictures and band posters covered the walls, too, but nothing Lucas was familiar with. Eliott grabbing one of his hands and gently pulling him along shifted his focus back to him.

“You’ve got your thinky face on,” Eliott told him, “what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I just...like how you this place is.”

“Just screams art-kid-trying-to-find-a-place-in-the-world, huh?” he asked with a crinkle of his nose. Lucas smiled and nodded.

“Oh, a hundred percent, yes. Now let’s get some mac and cheese bites in our system, they are what brought us here after all.”

Eliott brought them over to the bar space where they sat close to each other, Eliott noting Lucas’ slight struggle to get onto the tall chair. He laughed a little on accident, and Lucas kicked his chair, mumbling for him to shut up.

Lucas let Eliott kind of take the lead here, ordering for the both of them with confidence that Lucas admired. Eliott in his element was always lovely to witness, no matter what. Conversation points never ran out as they sat and chatted (even when the heavenly bites did, Lucas ate two rounds of them), and Eliott even got him to take photo booth pictures with him at one point. Lucas being fussy about how the pictures were coming out made Eliott laugh so, so much. Lucas was shocked no one came over and was concerned with what was happening in this booth.

“To have not wanted to take these to begin with, you sure have a lot of opinions,” Eliott teased, and Lucas rolled his eyes, pushing his head gently and telling him to focus. Being in close proximity like this with a beautiful boy like Lucas was not helping him in the crush department, not by any means.

To only be date number one, Lucas felt like he had known Eliott forever, and the idea scared him a little bit. To know someone for only a handful of weeks and feel like everything is new and yet so familiar and safe between them already was a lot for him. He didn’t usually do this, he didn’t usually allow himself to get to this point. Infatuation with no return. But he kind of liked it. A lot.

Soon enough, it was just the two of them left as patrons, the only other person in the store being Len himself, waiting to lock up. He didn’t even make an attempt to kick them out, though, and Lucas had a feeling Eliott had something to do with that. Rather than dwell on that thought, however, Lucas found himself wandering over to the piano, Eliott following close behind.

“Piano’s lovely,” he commented, taking a seat. Lucas took note of all the etching done into the piano, making him wonder if one day he would get to add to them. There were people's initials inside hearts, stickers scattered on it, and messy scrawl in sharpie of people who came here before him. He pat the seat next to him to get Eliott to sit beside him and he did, their knees touching and arms brushing against each other.

“It’s old as shit, honestly. In tune, though. I tagged it somewhere way back when, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Somewhere here...” His voice trailed off as he scanned the surface of the piano with his eyes, eventually humming in recognition and pointing for Lucas to see. Lucas smiled, realizing it was a raccoon, and nudged his arm gently. “What?”

“You and these raccoons, Demaury.”

“Spirit animal, what can I say.”

“Oh man, you’re a trip,” he sighed, plucking a few random keys of the piano. Eliott started laughing and Lucas gave him a look. “What?”

“Nothing. Just wanna say Len’s got a triangle if you wanna mess with that instead.”

“Oh, shut up, as if you play.”

“I’ll have you know I can play the Star Wars theme,” he scoffed, starting to pluck out the first few keys. “Mmh, and I do a mean Für Elise cover.”

“Cover? What the hell?”

Eliott simply started playing the first few notes slowly but surely. It sounded familiar to Lucas’ ears, at least until Eliott started playing a bunch of meaningless mess. Lucas laughed at that genuinely, like, belly aching laughter. Eliott stopped playing and looked at him, something warm erupting in his chest resembling love, but not quite there yet. Adoration, maybe, but strong. So strong, Eliott had to refrain from just grabbing his face and kissing him right then and there. He almost couldn’t think of anything else as he sat there, smiling fondly at the boy beside him.

Lucas wiped at his eyes, calming down after a minute or so and looked at Eliott, clearly amused. He cleared his throat and tried to be serious, nodding once. Eliott tried to stop smiling too, but he knew he was failing greatly.

“Mister Demaury, I have to say,” Lucas spoke, “I think you have a fine career as a pianist in the near future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why thank you. Means a lot from you, you know, since you’re an expert and all.” Lucas got the sense that Eliott was teasing him a little, and he looked at him, squinting a bit. “What? I was being genuine.”

“No, you weren’t, you’re an asshole.”

“Well. Prove me wrong, c’mon.”

“Let me think,” Lucas told him, sitting up properly and getting his hands on the keys. He decided to play one of the only songs that came to mind right now, one of the first songs he ever learned - I Love You by RIOPY.

He plucked out the opening keys slowly, feeling Eliott’s eyes on him, watching intently. Once he got a good feel for the piano, he played with more confidence and ease, not missing a beat. He surprised himself, granted he hadn’t played much in a while with school and everything, but he was glad he still had it in him. As focused as he was, he felt Eliott’s eyes shift to his face, and that made him glance over at him mid-playing, taking note of the glint of wonder in his eyes. He looked away before he could start to think about it too much, but what he wasn’t aware of was how Eliott decided that in this moment, he liked surprising people. And Lucas was surprising.

When Lucas plucked out the final notes, he took his hands off and slowly looked at Eliott, who was smiling brightly. Lucas suddenly felt shy under his gaze - he’d never actually played anything for someone before, at least not a piece in seriousness like this. Silence hung between them for a moment before Eliott spoke.

“Way to show me up, Lallemant,” he said, and Lucas smiled back at him.

“It’s no Star Wars theme, but...” Lucas shrugged, non-verbally finishing the thought. Eliott kept looking at him and seemed to be thinking about what he was going to say next.

“Lucas, can I be honest with you?”

The question caught Lucas off guard, his heart hoping for the best but his brain thinking of worst case scenarios. He pushed those to the back of his mind, though, and nodded instead.

“I...am in so deep with you. The way I feel with you is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“Eliott—“

“Forgive me if that’s super forward but...I have to tell you, I’d go nuts if I didn’t.”

“Can I be honest, too?”

“Sure.”

Lucas felt his heart beating in his ears, his nerves creeping up on him. Being with Eliott was the easy part. Having feelings for Eliott and sharing said feelings was the hard part.

“I really, really like you too,” he said finally, “more than anyone I’ve ever met. Ever.”

Several more beats passed between them, the silence becoming the loudest thing in the room. The tension was suddenly palpable, too, at least to Lucas, and every thought that passed through his brain became nothing but please kiss me, please kiss me, please kiss me.

As if able to hear Lucas’ thoughts, Eliott took hold of his face in his hands before leaning in, just close enough for Lucas to close his eyes for a moment. He opened them enough to look at him when nothing happened, and Eliott smiled just a little.

“Is it okay? To kiss you, is that okay?” he asked. Lucas scoffed, making Eliott laugh.

“Yes, obviously, please do,” he told him quietly, and in that moment, their lips met and Lucas felt whole.

It felt like Lucas had waited his whole life for this moment - the kiss that all the books he’s read and movies he’s seen in his life talked about. The kiss that had your skin thrumming with desire for more, that made life feel like a movie, like sparks were flying. That’s what it was like to kiss Eliott. It was better than he could ever imagine it being, and he wished he could bottle this feeling up and carry it with him everywhere at all times.

When Eliott pulled away, Lucas felt dizzy with it, slowly opening his eyes and his brain feeling like a bunch of exclamation points were going through it. Eliott started to smile, but Lucas leaned back in, kissing him one last time to make sure it was real.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” Eliott whispered, and Lucas wanted to scream from the rooftops about this moment. He wanted to live in this moment and with this feeling for all time.

•••••••

Lucas woke up comfortably warm, almost too comfortably, swimming in clothes that were definitely not his own. The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of a fan and traffic passing outside, letting Lucas know he was not at his dorm. That, and the fact that the room was too big anyway. The bed was also dipping beside him and he turned his head to find a very sleep ridden Eliott laying beside him. Eliott looked like an angel, the sunlight hitting him in the most beautiful of ways. If Lucas was a photographer at all, he’d be trying to capture this moment.

“Time?” Lucas mumbled, and Eliott blindly grabbed his phone to look, squinting at how bright it was.

“9:17.”

“Jeez...”

“Good morning to you too,” Eliott laughed, and Lucas breathed deeply, snuggling closer to him. Eliott wrapped an arm around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, not saying anything else.

“You’re thinking so loudly right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. What?”

“Well...I’m lucky you’re here. Happy.”

“And?”

“I...have a proposition.”

“It’s 9:17 in the morning and you’re already using words like proposition? You’re unreal, Demaury.”

“Not the fact that I have one, just the word itself. You’re funny.”

“What’s your proposition?” he asked, looking up at him. Eliott continued to look up at his ceiling.

“My final. I want you in it. I want us to be in it.” Lucas made a curious noise, and Eliott continued. “I’ve struggled with a concept for months, like, since this course started, and I thought I had one. I really did. But I’m stuck with that and re-inspired, and...I want to do it on intimacy and human connection. I have to write a paper with it, so I wanna do that.”

Lucas sat up and looked at him, understanding what it had to do with him suddenly. Eliott looked at him, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You hate it,” Eliott decided, and Lucas shook his head, running his hands through Eliott’s hair and smiling a little.

“No, just...intrigued, I guess. You’re makin’ a model out of me, Demaury, please just say you’re not putting us on a billboard.”

“No, no billboards,” he laughed, “just my professor. And the art panel at our school because they’re choosing one project to go in a gallery walk at the end of the semester.”

“Can we eat first? So I can think about it?”

“Of course. Please don’t be scared to tell me no, too, it’s okay,” Eliott insisted, grabbing one of his hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “It’s just a thought right now.”

“Okay.”

“Is now the time to tell you I’m the worst chef on planet Earth? Or should I have kept that in the vault?”

“In the vault, I’m out of here now,” he teased, and Eliott pulled the pillow from under his head and hit Lucas with it, making him laugh out loud.

taglist: @that-one-meh @a-french-disaster @fallout-of-my-chair @menamesniall @iamshannonmcfarland @yesyoutubeisruiningmylife @yackgrace @choupiauriant @xomywonderwallox @jacwena @awake-dreamer18 @noorakviigmohn @lost-inside-fantasy @myverybigmoodboard @ariavds @didntgowithgrace @laurenkmyers @sunshineyou27 @nanidice @orangefizz4 @blanxkey @bodizzy @q-branchminion-nr43 @nova-on-standbi @boysrunaway @anothergayhpblog @mlhalbertt @valenschmidt @skamchokehold @mostlysh1tposting @lucassdemaury @oceanicinception @yellowballoon @fallinglikeafoolforyou @bluronyourradar @painfully-oblivious @alwayskissmeatnight @katzen-kinder @howlingsaturn @luxandobscurus @anotherplaceintheuniverse @aly-kazam​ @quint-cssential

[archive link <3]

[PART ONE || TWENTY]

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon XII

Jason is a CEO: Part XII

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

Just wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me. It means more than you could ever know. I love you guys! Please enjoy.

TW: violence

I hope you understand

you need your own love

more than they do.

-Dhiman

Good day this is Jason Grace. I’m currently unavailable. Please contact my office if you need to get a hold of me.

The music blasted in his ears, rattling every cell in his brain, shutting down each transmitter, pounding against every cage. It was not loud enough, he could still feel his heart, could still hear things. The treadmill under his feet beeped as he increased the speed again. Why wasn’t this working? Why was he still here? He’d been running so long he should be on Mars by now.

Good day this is Jason Grace. I’m currently unavailable. Please contact my office if you need to get a hold of me.

FUCK.

He jumped off the machine and flung his phone across the room. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough to do this.

His phone went off again, and he’s annoyed he didn’t break it in his rage. Apparently even destroying something was an impossibility for him. The thought was so pathetic he couldn’t help but let out a sharp laugh.

Good day this is Jason Grace. I’m curr–

“Okay!” He yelled, “I’m answering the fucking call. Just shut up.” He stabbed at the screen until the dial tone started up again.

“Jase?” Annabeth Chase sucked in a breath.

“Yes, what is wrong?” He knew he was being rude but he didn’t feel like it. Didn’t want what was about to happen.

“Can we come in?”

“You guys are outside my apartment?” He scowled.

“Uh yes,” She winced, “We tried knocking but you didn’t answer.”

He cut the call and walked to the front door, yanking it open with enough force to rattle the hinges.

“What do you want?”

Leo Valdez just levelled his gaze at him and stepped into the room.

“Guys, I know you mean well but I really don’t have the energy for this.”

They both ignored him, putting down the shopping bags on his kitchen counter and shoving stuff in the fridge. Leo hit the button on the coffee machine and grabbed three mugs from the cupboard.

Jason didn’t even have the strength to ask what was going on, he just collapsed onto a bar stool and put his head to the cool marble. His friends moved around him in silence, putting things away, washing the minimal dishes in the sink, and straightening the pillows on the couch. Eventually he felt them come nearer, leaning against the counter and looking at him.

“Jase,” Annabeth said softly, “Please look at us.”

He debated pretending he was asleep, but he knew they wouldn’t fall for it. With a deep breath he raised his head and stared into their matching eyes of love.

“Stand up,” Leo requested, voice gentle.

He felt his lip wobble, felt his throat close up. But he stood.

“Come here my darling.” They held out their arms.

He looked at them and collapsed to the floor, sobs catching like swords in his chest. They enveloped him as his tears soaked their clothes. He heaved with heart ache and loneliness, betrayal.

“I can’t do this,” He cried, anguish a serrated edge on his tongue. “I can’t do this.”

The just kept holding him. His friends for these years. His family through it all. They sat on the floor trying to catch all the pieces of him that broke off with each sob, not a word to interrupt his grief. And when the day blackened as dark as his lungs, they held each other by the light of the moon, and let the stars witness the destruction they caused.

***

Jason walked into his office for the first time in a week and pretended to be on a call as he avoided the chatter his employees would undoubtedly try to engage him in. A tight-lipped smile and an apologetic motion at his phone left them in their seats and far away from him. He wouldn’t be here for long. No he just had to sort out a few things and then he was packing up his crushed elation and taking himself to a place no-one save for the birds would be able to talk to him.

His office was just the way he left it, some documents neatly piled on his desk waiting for his approval, the blinds half closed so the sun still filtered in but didn’t blind, and his computer opened to the email he had been typing to Zoe about a holiday they should go on. It took everything in him not to smash the screen with the little cactus paperweight Hazel had bought him.

“Boss,”

Think of the assistant and they shall appear.

“Yes,” He didn’t bother to look up as he shuffled through the awaiting files.

“How-“ She gulped, ‘How are–“

“Levesque,” His voice was cold but it was the only way to get through this, “I mean this in the nicest way possible. Please don’t ask me that. Thank you for being concerned.”

She nodded, jaw-snapping shut, but he could see all the questions burning in her eyes. Instead she released a shaky breath and asked, “Will you be back at work full time? I just need to know if I should be transferring calls to you or putting in an out of office notification.”

He frowned, mulling it over. He could work, he should work. But everything reminds him of his failures. Of the things he didn’t see coming. And his job was nothing if not full of surprises. As he’s about to tell her his decision his phone rang.

His sister’s name flashed across the screen and he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding her.

“Fina-fucking-ly.” She grumbled, “Gees Jase. It’s like you’re purposefully ignoring me. Are you ready for today?”

He was so caught off by her question he forgot all about telling her the news. “Today?”

“Do not tell me you forgot,” She sighed, “We’re supposed to meet Octavian today. Give the idiot a piece of our mind.”

“Oh,” He muttered eloquently, “Are we still doing that?”

“Well I don’t know about you but I’m pretty pissed he dared to hurt one of our own so yes I do think we’re still doing that. Also this is the only day Bianca has so get your ass out of your office and meet me outside Titan Industries in twenty.”

With that the phone gave an obnoxious beep and the screen went dark. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to gather the scattered thoughts in his mind.

“We’ll talk later,” Hazel, still waiting at the door, nodded before waving a goodbye and disappearing into her office.

Sighing he gathered his things and trudged down to his car. Might as well get this over with and then tell his sister about Zoe. No matter what had happened between them Octavian still deserved whatever was coming for him. What he did was abominable.

The Titan Industries building loomed over him as he parked the car in a loading zone and hopped out. He was being that dick today, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Thalia swerved in next to him and behind her an array of cars stopped. A team of suited people poured out, black glasses, and head pieces to match. It looked fake enough to be comical. But then a woman in four-inch heels, a gunmetal coloured suit and a smile made from terror stepped out and he knew it was anything but fake. Or funny. She was the single scariest thing he had ever laid eyes on, and he knew what his sister looked like angry.

“Bianca!” Thalia jumped excitedly, racing towards the woman. They embraced with a laugh and a quick catch up. She fist-bumped a few of the bodyguards and then walked towards him.

“Di Angelo,” She smiled, “Please meet my brother Jason and the reason we’re here today.”

“Oh I know all about Jason,” Her voice was low but clear, like everything she said had purpose.

“You do?” He tried not to let the shock take over his features.

“I know everyone who hangs out with my brother. If they don’t get clearance from me they disappear.” She said it with such casualness he would have thought she was joking if the gleam in her black eyes didn’t hold a challenge.

‘Well,” He laughed awkwardly, “Glad I meet your approval.”

She just tilted her head and looked at him. A panther waiting to pounce. A competition waiting to be won.

Thalia who looked entirely too amused clapped her hands, “Shall we then? I wore my blood-stained pants for this.”

“Period stains or other stains?” Bianca asked, mirth dancing on her lips.

His sister just snorted and pushed open the Brobdingnagian door. None of Bianca’s bodyguards followed them in but he knew it didn’t matter. Between her and Thalia he doubted they would be needed.

“We’re here to see Octavian.”

The receptionist gave them a sickly-sweet smile, “Do you have a meeting?

“Tell him it’s Jason Grace from Anemoi Empires.”

Moments later they were being escorted into an elevator and taken up to the big boss himself.

“And what do we have here?” An oily voice grinned, “An intervention? Interrogation? Investment?”

“Octavian Haruspex,” Bianca drawled, examining her long black nails briefly.

“And who might you be?” He snooted, giving her a filthy look.

She smiled slowly and Jason swore the temperature in the room plummeted.

“Does it really matter who I am?”

“Greatly,” The blonde sniffed, leaning against his desk with arrogance, “I prefer to know who I’m speaking to.”

Her laugh was razor sharp as she focused her glittering eyes on him. “Bianca Di Angelo.”

Those pale blue eyes widened, shuttered, blinked. That was all the surprise he would show.

“And what is the Queen of the Underworld doing in my building? With these,” He pulled his face into a look of distaste, “With company such as them.”

Thalia growled, “I’d watch how you speak boy.”

He deigned to laugh, “What are you going to do? This is my empire. You’re just visiting.”

“She’s right,” Bianca said softly, moving to stand by the window.

“What do you want?” He scoffed, “I have work to do.”

“Piece of shit.” Jason muttered, fingers curling into fists at his side.

“I’m not the one who strung your company along for weeks only to deny them the greatest investment opportunity money could buy.” That greasy smile was back.

It took everything in him not to reach over and smack it off his face. “We’re not three-year olds Octavian. Sometimes business doesn’t work out. What you did–“ He breathed, anger making the room red, “What you did was disgusting.” He can feel the exhaustion tugging in his spine. Like a weighted chain wrapping around him.

“What I did?” He raised a bleached brow, “And what exactly did I do Jason Grace?”

“Okay,” Bianca sighed, like she was already bored with the conversation, ‘I’ve had just about enough of this.”

Before anyone could blink a dagger was embedded in Octavian’s table, millimeters from his fingers.

“Bitch!” He cursed, ripping his hand away from the shining blade. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“We don’t believe in lawsuits Octavian. It’s no necessary when people like you deserve to rot at the bottom of a sewer.” Thalia spat.

For the first time since they came in, Jason could see a flicker of fear in the man’s pale face.

“Fuck you,” He grunted, “You can’t prove jackshit.”

“We don’t have to prove anything.” Bianca grinned, “That’s not how street justice works.”

And before he can say another word, she was standing in front of him a second dagger titling his chin up and laughter playing in her eyes, “Now listen, if you ever, and I mean ever touch Jason, his associates, his family, his friends, the person he blinks at on the sidewalk, ever again I will have you erased so violently history will not be able to string the letters of your name together.”

A tiny drop of bright red blood fell to Octavian’s crisp white shirt as his glared at the woman in his space. “Fuck you.”

“Not even if it meant I could rule heaven,” She giggled coldly.

Her face pulled taut, “They are under my protection, from now until the Ouija boards can longer summon me in my grave. If you or your own ever go near them.” She snapped her teeth at him, “Well let’s just say my bodyguards are very creative with their outdoor activities.”

A dark stain spread over Octavian’s grey pants and Jason had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Fucking coward. Can order a person to stab someone but cannot even handle a little threat.

“Don’t bother doing business on our side of town again.” He hissed. The man didn’t say anything as they turned away. The dull crack of a bone echoed behind him and Jason turned to see his sister leaning over a bloody Octavian, shaking out her hand.

“That was for stabbing my friend, you fucker.”

Through his red teeth he grinned at her, “Your friend huh?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” His sister spat.

The vile man turned towards him, “And has she broken up with you yet?”

Jason wanted to strangle the smirk of his face, wanted to throw up. “It’s none of your business.”

“Isn’t it?” Octavian smiled.

“Come on Jase,” Thalia tugged at his arm, “He’s not worth it.”

He let her drag him away, but the businessman’s unsettling grin played a loop in his head. There was something distinctly wrong about the situation. He had the eery feeling he wasn’t done with Octavian Haruspex just yet.

When they finally made it outside, the sun was still shining brightly as if what occurred could never stain the glory of the world. They said their thank you’s and goodbyes to Bianca and her team of people, Thalia promising to come around soon.

“So,” She grinned at him, “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” He rolled his shoulders, “That wanker got what he deserved but it didn’t make me feel better.”

In a rare moment she opened her arms, a silent offering. He stepped into them without hesitation and drooped onto her shoulder.

“Thals–“ He mumbled, trying to keep the tears at bay, “Zoe and i–“

“I know Jase,” She hugged him tighter. “She called me. Said to tell you she’ll never be sorry enough.”

The dam inside him burst, “Everyone is always sorry. But does anybody actually care?”

She stroked her hands over his back and carried his burden on her shoulders too.

“I think,” She said after a moment, “I think you should go away for a little while. You haven’t had a proper break in nearly three years.”

“Where will I go?” His blue eyes were blurry with tears.

“We have that house in Panarea.” Her voice was soft, soothing in his ear. “Maybe go there for a little while.”

“And what about Project Hestia? And the company? You know I’m starting the Conservation Conversations initiative after Hestia and there’s still so much to close up for the mini projects, and I have that water–“

“Jase!” She frowned, her blue eyes matching his glinted with sternness, “Your company will survive without you for a week or two. Hell it’ll survive for one or two months. But you aren’t going to survive another day if you don’t get some rest.”

“I just–“ He sighed, “I feel bad for abandoning everyone.”

“If you don’t stop, you’ll abandon us permanently and I will literally bring you back to just to kill you myself if you do that.” She squeezed him, “So just go to Italy for a little while. If you want, I’ll stay here and keep things in line. I’m sure Leo and Beth know what to do where I don’t. And Hazel is more than competent enough. Not to mention Frank.”

He took a deep breath, letting the options buzz around in his mind.

“I swear if you come up with one more excuse I’m going to duct-tape your mouth and ship you off myself.”

He gave a burst of laughter and wiped at his eyes, “Okay, okay. I’m going to Panarea. But you have to let me get my life sorted first. I’m not just packing up and taking the first flight out.”

“Deal,” Thalia smiled, and when she gave him one last hug, he realised there were some things in the world he would never want to control.

***

“Okay,” He popped his head around the door, “Flight is booked for two weeks from now.”

She gave him a thumbs up, “And you’re sure you’re okay to go?”

“I’m fine, you worry pot. I promise I’m not going to crumble to dust.”

“Okay,” She looked dubious, “It just seems like you got over all of this really quickly.”

“It was coming for a while,” He shrugged, “She is magnificent, but she isn’t mine.”

“I’m just worried you’re suppressing your feelings and as soon as you have five minutes to breathe, you’re just gonna break down instead.”

“I promise if I breakdown I’ll call you to come get me,” He laughed, “Now, how about we go over the checklist for the trip. And don’t forget to book a hotel for me please.”

“Where are you going again?”

Gorgeous eyes glittered as he caught the sunset lighting up the room in dainty colours. Gods he loved the sun. Loved that no matter what it rose and fell every day and the way it changed colours each evening and again each morning. The way it astounded him no matter how it looked.

“Daydreamer?” Rachel prompted.

“Oh,” He blinked back into the world, “I’m going to Panarea.”

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

What in the world is going on?????

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts​

@leydiangelo​​

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@nishlicious-01​

@lucyisblue​

[carewyncromwell]

The next piece of the POTC AU is here -- and with it, the Revenge’s return to Isle de Muerta, the breaking of the curse, and ...what’s this? A new player in this drama?

Pictured above are Carewyn’s villainous relatives, the Cromwells -- Blaise (green), Pearl (red), Claire (gold), and of course the GodGrandfather himself, Captain Charles Cromwell (lime). If you’d like to learn more about their canon R-member versions, including what fancasts inspired these characters’ designs, you can find that here! I’ll make it clear right now that none of these characters, in any version of Carewyn’s canon, would ever be considered good people -- but maybe after this section and the next one, you’ll get to know them all a bit better and see some of the grayer wrinkles to at least three out of these four.

The song “Saucy Sailor” (or alternatively “Saucy Sailor Boy” or “Saucy Sailor Lad”), like “A Maid in Bedlam,” was first developed in the 18th century, but has since had its words and overall sound changed a LOT over time. The lyrics I’m using are from a more modern variation, which I put in the link to, simply because I prefer the flow of the words. The sentiment is nearly identical to the original, older lyrics, though. ^.^

Previous part for this AU is here -- full tag is here -- and, once again, Jules Farrier belongs to ma chere @cursebreakerfarrier! xoxo

x~x~x~x

It was a very long morning locked in the brig of the Revenge. Carewyn found herself singing more, just to keep her mind occupied -- it was something she and Jacob had done a lot when they were kids too. Even their mother, when she still alive, used to sing with them. It was one of the few things that could bring them joy on board the red-stained pirate ship, as even if Charles was very controlling, he found it mildly entertaining. The rest of the crew often ended up being in a better mood whenever they’d sing too -- like all of the sailors Carewyn had encountered in the Navy, they’d seemed to think that a song could make the work day go faster.

“‘Come, me own one; come, me fair one; Come now unto me -- Could you fancy a poor sailor lad who has just come from sea?’ ‘You are ragged, love, and you’re dirty, love, And your clothes smell much of tar, So be gone, you saucy sailor lad! So be gone, you Jack Tar!’ ‘If I am ragged, love, and I’m dirty, love, And me clothes smell much of tar, I have silver in me pocket, love, and gold in great store.’ And then when she heard him say so, On her bended knee she fell -- ‘I will marry my dear Henry, for I love a sailor lad so well!’”

“Ah -- I thought that little ditty sounded familiar.”

Carewyn stopped immediately and looked up.

Through the bars of the cell, she could see the frame of Charles Cromwell’s only son and First Mate, her uncle, Blaise. His almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to all of his siblings, Charles’s and Carewyn’s -- were narrowed slightly, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

“I seem to recall that was Jacob’s favorite when he was alive, was it not?” said Blaise rather drolly.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed coldly and didn’t respond.

Blaise uncrossed his arms, strolling over so as to prop one of his arms against the wooden bars so as to better look down at his niece.

“Little word of advice,” he whispered coolly, “you might want to tone it down a bit. The Revenge’s crew has not much liked singing these last fifteen years -- especially Pearl.”

“Since we left?” Carewyn said, and she couldn’t fight back a humorless laugh. “Should I be touched by that, that you all lost that last piece of humanity you still had, because Jacob and I did the one thing you’ve never been able to do?”

Blaise lashed his arm out violently at the bars, making Carewyn flinch despite herself, but she kept her glare firm.

“You forget our curse, little Winnie,” the First Mate murmured, and his blue eyes darkened noticeably. “No earthly pleasure can reach us, so long as one medallion is parted from that chest and the blood is not repaid. All food becomes ash in our mouths. No drink can satisfy. All carnal pleasures make us ill, with no cure...”

Something flickered in the back of his eyes.

“...Even music...the one thing that always brought your mother back to our minds...sounds like a death’s rattle.”

Carewyn’s glare faltered slightly, losing some of its edge. Blaise’s eyes drifted over her face for a moment. His brimmed black hat cast a shadow over the top of his face that obscured his expression somewhat, but it was definitely less arrogant than when he’d first arrived.

“You don’t resemble her much at all,” he murmured, almost lamenting the fact. “Neither you nor Jacob...ever resembled her much.”

Carewyn crossed her arms, her legs folded in front of her on the floor.

“We resembled her in the way that mattered,” she said quietly, “knowing that we deserve to live free, not stuck in a cage.”

Blaise gave a short, harsh sigh, throwing up a hand in aggravation.

“Must you bite my hand off when I’m trying to show you sincere sentiment?” he asked in a tired, condescending type of passive-aggressiveness that made him sound all the more like Charles. “I am your uncle, little Winnie.”

“I wasn’t biting your hand off,” said Carewyn, and her voice echoed with a bit of edge in return. “I’ve never understood why you, Claire, and Pearl stayed. Mum used to say you were so ambitious, when you were a kid -- that you wanted your own fleet and an entire island all to yourself. She said Claire was happier than she’d ever been in her life living on Shipwreck Cove, when she was too pregnant to sail. She said Pearl wanted to be captain of the Revenge herself someday, after Grandfather retired and you got your own ship. But not one of you ever chased any of that -- instead you just march lock-step with Grandfather like none of your dreams ever mattered -- ”

“I will not have a Navy brat chastise me for ‘marching lock-step,’”spat Blaise.

Carewyn got to her feet and got up right next to the bars so as to better glare into her uncle’s face.

“I may be a so-called ‘Navy brat,’ but I still have a heart and a soul that are mine. And the East India Trading Company couldn’t buy those with all the coin on earth. You, though? You gave up everything you ever wanted and are, for nothing at all. You gave it up without even fighting for it.”

Blaise stared Carewyn down for a very long moment, his glare rippling with resentment.

“...Nothing...yes. I suppose that is what I’ve received, through this venture. We found the treasure of Cortes -- a chest worthy of a king -- and yet the wealth we accrued through selling it could not replace the humanity we lost...nor the family. Not Lane...not my sweet Marianne...”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. She’d barely known Blaise’s wife, since he’d been very newly married when she’d left and her pregnancy ensured her place in Shipwreck Cove, away from Charles’s ship. All Carewyn and Jacob had really gathered was that the woman had gotten swept up in Blaise’s good looks more than any particular charm on his part -- if nothing else, then because Blaise, as well as the rest of the Cromwells, were the furthest thing from charming imaginable.

Blaise’s smile twitched with a completely humorless smile. “Did you not wonder why I have no sons or daughters on board, while Claire and Pearl’s children run wild?”

The unpleasant smile vanished instantly.

“I first saw what I’d become while visiting Shipwreck Cove to spend a night with Marianne. I’d been feeling so out of sorts, with nothing tasting right and my thirst never being quenched, and I’d so looked forward to holding her in my arms again. But when she saw me, bathed in the moonlight...she ran from me. I begged for her to stay. I grabbed her, tried to hold her down and explain...she ripped herself out of my arms...and in her panic lost her footing and fell down the stairs.”

Carewyn’s heart clenched.

“She was alive,” Blaise said in response to the concern that rippled over the Commodore’s face. “But only just. The injury made her miscarry, of course, but she’d also hurt herself beyond repair. She was never able to leave her bed again. And knowing what I was...my Marianne grew cold. Didn’t wish to see me. I broke down her door more than once, trying to force her to come with me, so I could take her somewhere more comfortable with better medicine, where it could just be her and me, but she said she was in too much pain to move. It was then...that she first asked me to kill her.”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly. Blaise’s eyes had drifted away from her and now bore into the wall of the brig.

“My Marianne asked me to kill her multiple times -- but I refused. She was my wife. She was mine, mine alone...I was not going to let anyone take her from me, not even Death himself.”

The possessive attitude again reminded Carewyn unpleasantly of Charles.

“But...as the years went by...as I returned time and again, her presence gave me no pleasure, and mine...repulsed her. I didn’t need pleasure, of course -- only her. Even if we could have none of the children we wanted while I was cursed, that could come later. She could wait for me. Even if she could not leave her bed...at least that way, she could never leave me...”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn spat.

Blaise didn’t seem to hear her -- he was too lost in his own memories.

“At least...so I thought. But in the end...she did leave me. After I’d vowed never to let anyone take her from me...she took herself away...by poisoning herself.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed grimly, but couldn’t reply.

“So in the end...I truly do have nothing. No wife, to love me forever and a day. No child of my own, to mold the way I see fit. No member of my family who has ever shown me any genuine love or kindness...that isn’t now in an afterlife that I will never reach. Pearl has her husband and sons, and Claire has her family...but I...I have nothing.”

Blaise’s voice was never choked and his face never showed outward grief, but there was a bizarre, isolating gloom swirling around him.

Carewyn’s eyes were still narrowed as she studied him. Then, after a moment, she reached a hand through the bars and took hold of the sleeve of his dark red coat.

“...I’m sorry,” she said solemnly.

They weren’t the right words, for she really didn’t feel remorse or regret for Blaise’s sake, but they were the only ones she could think of to express any shred of sympathy.

‘As despicable as you are, and however much you brought a lot of this on yourself...it’s not something I can take pleasure in.’

Blaise looked down at her hand, and then up at her face, his expression appearing wounded and almost confused. Then he roughly pulled himself out of her hold, his expression contorted in disgust -- as if he didn’t know what to do with basic human compassion.

“And here I thought you’d toughened yourself up, in the last fifteen years,” he said, his voice again dripping with condescension and scorn.

Carewyn’s gaze hardened, but Blaise didn’t seem to care.

“No matter,” he said, his voice a low growl in the back of his throat as his eyes bore into the upper corner of the brig. “Things are going to change, once the curse is broken. I may have nothing now, but mark my words...I’ll have everything soon enough.”

The vengeful tone of his voice made Carewyn ask suspiciously, ”What are you planning to do?”

Blaise’s lips spread into a smirk, but did not answer. He turned his back and Carewyn and started to walk out of the brig. On his way out, he paused, his hand absently resting on his scabbard as he looked over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes twinkling with malice.

“When the curse is lifted, little Winnie...you’ll be singing quite a lot for me.”

And with that, he left up the stairs back toward the main deck.

Meanwhile the Artemis was making very good time. The Revenge was a very fast ship, but sure enough, any outside observer watching the ships’ trajectories from the air would’ve seen the Artemis was shortening the distance between it and the Revenge rapidly. Even McNully hypothesized as much.

“According to my calculations,” said McNully as he addressed the crew early that morning, “the Revenge travels about 7 knots, normally -- well above any of the Navy’s fastest ships -- and they had a half-day’s head start. But the Artemis is a schooner. We may be a lot smaller than a galleon like the Revenge, but we’re built for speed, so we’ve made it to 8 knots consistently since we started. And since we presumably don’t have as much loot weighing us down as the ship that can only make berth in one place and Orion dealt with our mermaid problem, meaning we didn’t need to slow down while traveling through their waters the way the Revenge no doubt would’ve...and most importantly, Charles Cromwell has no reason to think anyone’s following him...I reckon there’s a 96.5% chance that we catch up with them tonight.”

Knowing that soon they’d be catching up to a whole ship full of pirates, Bill and Charlie spent the rest of the day training Jules in sword combat on the main deck. Jules had asked Bill to teach her some moves earlier in the voyage and had soon proven quite capable with a blade -- though Charlie had teased that it was because Bill had been going easy on her, even he had to admit Jules was a fast learner. At one point Skye even jumped in to show Jules, Charlie, and Bill how to do the “Pincer,” a move she’d developed where three people “hem” in their opponent little by little until they can reach in close enough to trap the person’s neck between all three of their blades crossed in a triangle shape. McNully also got in on the action by talking her through fighting with a sword while in the ship’s rigging.

“Very good!” said McNully, as he supervised Skye and Jules fighting each other in the rigging that afternoon. “Try to attack your opponent’s stance every-so-often, that’ll improve your odds of victory by a good 26%!”

Orion strolled down from the helm to get a better look, his arms crossed over his chest as he came to a stop between Charlie and McNully.

“A clever strategy as always, McNully,” the captain said levelly.

McNully grinned. “Thanks! Though it being done by a woman always helps. I’d say a good 89% of all men on the high seas fear nothing more than a woman who could kill them.”

“I reckon Bill’s in that remaining eleven,” said Charlie amusedly.

The three men glanced at Bill. His gaze was locked on Jules up in the rigging and his lips were spread in a full, admiring smile.

“There admittedly is also a good two percent of men who love the idea of a woman who could kill them,” said McNully amusedly.

He nudged Orion in the side with his elbow, and the Captain actually bowed his head and grinned from ear to ear, showing white teeth.

It didn’t take long for Carewyn to figure out what Blaise was planning. She’d stopped singing, not to placate her uncle, but so as to listen, and soon she could hear the whispers. The unhappy mutterings from Pearl’s son, from Claire’s husband, son, and three daughters. Some about how much more controlling Charles had gotten in his old age. Some about how their plunder on the Isle de Muerta was still in a giant pile and had still not been parsed out evenly between the crew. Some about how much they hated being cursed, speaking longingly of drinking an entire bottle of liquor or eating a bushel of apples or screwing every woman they laid eyes on, once their humanity was restored...blaming Charles’s expedition to Isle de Muerta for their fifteen years of misery.

It all added up to one thing in Carewyn’s mind. As soon as the curse was lifted and Charles was mortal again, Blaise was planning to spark a mutiny.

From what she could deduce, the only people who didn’t know were Pearl, Claire, and Charles himself, and Carewyn thought she could guess why. Pearl had treated Jacob and Carewyn with the most active hostility after Lane and her husband tried to escape with them: she was furious by their attempt at desertion, and Carewyn figured mutiny wouldn’t be something she’d support much either. And Claire had always been the “follower” out of her relatives to whomever was the most powerful, in this case, Charles: she would’ve been far too much of a liability to have in the loop until after the mutiny was complete, at which point she’d probably fall into line.

It was sort of sad, Carewyn thought. The Cromwells had always claimed to be a family -- but there truly wasn’t an ounce of love or trust anywhere to found in them. It made her miss Bill, Charlie, and Percy all the more.

The Revenge docked in Isle de Muerta late that afternoon. Part of that time was spent unloading the loot they’d collected into the cave -- there was quite a large store of it. Considering that pirates usually spent anything they stole right away rather than saving it -- and, more specifically, that her family had always done that before, when she was a kid -- Carewyn supposed that even enjoying the gold and riches they’d collected fell under the umbrella of “earthly pleasure” the Revenge’s crew couldn’t enjoy.

It was as the sun began to set that Carewyn heard the sounds above deck starting to quiet. She peeked out the magic-patched hole in her cell -- because they’d docked, they were in shallower water, and she could see a large swath of dark red heading into a large cave, lit torches held aloft. Among the landing party were Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, and at its head, Carewyn could just barely spot the one lone red hat that belonged to Charles.

‘Five, six...nine,’ Carewyn thought. ‘They’ve left two people aboard. Probably Claire and Pearl’s husbands.’

She could hear raucous laughter from the room below deck, just above the brig.

“Another win for me, then!” said a rather muffled, raspy sort of voice.

“Aye, but can you do it again?” challenged another much more boorish voice. “Let’s have another go at the dice, then!”

Carewyn could hear a rattling sound and then two loud thunks on the table overhead.

‘They’re playing Liar’s Dice,’ she surmised.

“I s’pose ‘Captain Blaise’ and his new mate would be more open to it than old Charles,” said the raspy voice smugly, “but I don’t reckon your biddy would be too happy about it...”

“Look, I’m just saying, I haven’t had a good lay in fifteen years,” said the boorish voice, “I’m sure Claire won’t put up too much of a fuss if I borrow ‘er for a bit, on the side -- it’s not like I can sleep with my own daughters -- ”

More raucous laughter followed. Carewyn cringed, but she quickly put his words out of her mind and got right down to business.

There were now only two people on the Revenge -- sure, they were currently undead, but they wouldn’t be much longer, and they were distracted. This might be the only chance she had, to get the upper hand. And so the Commodore got to work plotting her jail break.

Since she’d been changed out of her Navy uniform against her will, Carewyn didn’t have any hat pins she could turn into a lockpick, but fortunately the dark red jacket she’d been forced into did have thin metal clasps for its buttons instead of holes, even if it was too small for her to button the jacket around herself properly. After some work, she managed to rip one of the entire fastenings and twist the clasp into a flatter wire that she could stick into the keyhole of her cell door.

Within fifteen minutes, there was a click, and she very, very carefully inched the cell door open and sneaked out up the stairs, right past the room the two pirates were playing Liar’s Dice, and up onto the deck.

‘I can’t move against those two until I know for sure the curse is broken,’ thought Carewyn. ‘So I’ll have to bide my time, at least for a short while...’

She glanced around before her eyes settled on the door to Charles’s cabin, just below the helm. She swept over, trying the handle -- upon finding it locked, she took her new lockpick back out and, within two more minutes, had opened it.

Charles’s cabin was much more opulently decorated than Orion’s cabin, with fiery red Persian rugs, black silk curtains, and gold-trimmed mahogany future. Carewyn also noted with some scorn that her grandfather did, in fact, have a pair of ridiculously voluptuous, naked woman carved into his headboard. Fortunately it also held a store of weapons -- so Carewyn stole a cutlass, a pistol, a couple of grenades, and some spare bullets and powder, just to be safe. She’d just been securing the sword’s scabbard when she heard a raucous cheering from below deck.

“AYE! AYYYYYE, YEAAAAAH!”

The two pirates sounded elated beyond reason -- almost gleeful. 

‘The curse has been broken!’ thought Carewyn.

She charged out of Charles’s cabin, ready to seize her chance -- but when she made it out on deck, she was shocked by what she saw.

The whole of Isle de Muerta was surrounded. There were a good ten pirate ships, all hovering just off shore in a noose-like shape around the island. The largest of them, which was also closest to the Revenge, was a pitch black vessel with a winged harpie carved into its bowsprit.

The blood drained out of Carewyn’s face at the sight of it.

It was the Tower Raven.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 2: Accept The Fucking Offer]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​

The floor is quiet. Your patients—all except one—are sound asleep and mercifully keeping their call buttons at a distance. Patricia is camped out in the nurses’ station at the other end of the hall, chomping noisily on sunflower seeds and wailing along to Tammy Wynette on her portable radio. Queen is enjoying their fourth late-night picnic of the week. You close the door and check your watch; you have seven minutes left before your break ends.

“Let’s kill her,” Freddie suggests casually, hanging his smoldering cigarette out of the open window.

“You know that’s extremely bad for you.”

“What? Committing felonies?”

“I don’t think you’d do well in prison, Fred,” Roger says, popping a Cheeto into his mouth. “No sequined leotards. No cats.”

“Smoking,” you correct. “Smoking is extremely bad for you.”

Freddie takes a drag, exhales a fog of smoke, and grins at you beneath gleaming sunglasses. “Possibly. But darling, the aesthetic is divine. And you’ll take care of me if I get sick, won’t you? Ensure I get all the best drugs, procure new lungs for me on the black market?”

Brian rolls his eyes and nibbles a violet plum, then gestures for John to pass him a napkin as juice dribbles down his stubbled chin. John flaps the napkin just outside of Brian’s reach, yanking it away each time Brian swipes. Roger snickers, observing their exchange from his place on the floor, before eventually advising John to have mercy. Brian snatches the napkin and promptly whips John across the face with it.

“So now you have me committing felonies,” you tell Freddie with a smile.

“Keeps things spicy.” Freddie peers over at you, brow crinkled, studying you like an abstract painting. “Do you like your job, dear?”

Brian groans. “Fred, please, don’t interrogate her—”

“I’m not interrogating, I’m inquiring—!”

“It’s fine, seriously, Bri, it’s fine,” you say. Brian raises his hands in surrender. His coloring has improved, he’s gained five pounds, he’s being discharged tomorrow. Then Queen will be whisked across the Atlantic back to London...and that’s a truth you’re struggling to grasp. “I love what I do. Just not necessarily where I do it.”

Freddie nods, puffing on his cigarette. “Because of Nurse Queen of the Underworld.”

“Not just her.” You can remember being a child and worshiping at the altar of familiarity: your home, that old maroon Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple Avenue and Arcadia Street; inhaling New England autumns; burying yourself in your mother’s soft, cream-colored knit sweaters that were dusted with the scents of homemade pies and Chanel No. 5; the creaks of that uneven, tobacco-stained wood floor of your father’s study beneath your bare feet. Whatever existed outside of your comfortable, commonplace universe—whatever monsters or treasures or undiscovered ringed planets dwelled there—held no interest for you at all. You wanted to live here, die here, raise your own family here, take your children to play under the same weeping willows in the Public Green that your grandparents had met beneath. And then one day, in the purging heat of the summer after your sophomore year of college...you woke up and realized that all those comforting things suddenly felt like a cage, that your fingers were threading bars made of your family and your friends and every grain of soil in Boston. Patricia is dreadful, of course, and has been since you arrived at Massachusetts General nine months ago; but she’s not what you’re running from. “It’s this hospital, it’s this city, it’s Boston. I was born here and I cherish it, don’t get me wrong, but I want to see the world. Mountains and lakes and cathedrals and castles and...and...you know. All the rest.”

“That’s how I felt about Cornwall when I was a kid,” Roger confesses. “I’d take my little acoustic guitar out into the backyard and look up at the sky as I played and think, ‘Is this really it? Am I ever going to get beyond all this to something more?’”

“Yes, yes, well no one asked for your autobiography, blondie,” Freddie quips. Roger chuckles, entirely unoffended. “Continue, dear.”

You think before you respond. When you do speak, it comes out heavier than you mean it to, more serious, more pained, whispered, your voice splintering. “I guess I just don’t want to die without really living first.”

The boys watch you for a while: Brian poised and pondering, Freddie seeking, Roger empathetic, John very quiet. John has spoken—at the absolute most—five words to you since you’ve met him; but you know he can get chatty with Freddie or Rog on occasion, and so you’ve held out hope that you can still win him over. Now you’re almost out of time.

At last, Roger raises his beer, smiling, showing the tiny points of his canine teeth. “Cheers to that.” And it sends something through you like a one-way ticket into a brand new world.

You laugh nervously. “Okay. Wow. Enough of all that, I have to go save lives now.” You wash your hands in the sink and pull on a new pair of gloves, dodging Roger’s large, affecting eyes.

“Do you have a boyfriend, lovely Clara Barton?” Freddie asks. They know your actual name, they’ve known it since night one, but they’ve taken to referring to you as whatever famous nurses they can recall from high school.

“Freddie,” Brian admonishes.

“What, I’m just asking—”

“No, actually, I don’t,” you tell Fred. “Why, do you want a Green Card?”

“Darling, no offense, but if I was going to marry for strategic purposes I would aim for someone far older and astronomically richer. With life insurance.”

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“Are you single? Since we’re all sharing our life stories.”

“I’m not,” he replies, somewhat cagily. “None of us are. Well, Brian certainly isn’t, and Deaky wasn’t last I checked, although he’s tricksy and awfully quiet about the whole affair, so I ought to confirm that at some point...how about you, Rog?”

Roger chokes on his beer and wipes his dripping nose with one fuchsia sleeve. “Uh, I, uh, yeah, yeah, uh, I’m single. Yes.”

“Oh?” Brian says, eyebrows raised. “Someone should probably inform Josephine.”

“That’s a casual thing. Super casual. Not exclusive.”

Freddie and Brian exchange a glance: an amused, smirking, what else can you expect from Roger? glance. You try to smirk at Roger too; but he shrugs guiltily, endearingly, with some mesmerizing spell of danger and innocence and wildness and beauty, angels and demons that you didn’t know could coexist without clubbing each other to death. And you mean to file this away as a warning, a reminder to keep your distance; but it feels more like blowing on embers until they leap into flames.

Bad idea, lady. Really, really, really, exorbitantly bad idea.

“Alright, I’m out. Brian, you have the call button if you need it. There’re extra cups and napkins in the cabinet and—”

You open the door. Patricia is halfway down the hallway and approaching quickly, glinting-eyed, stone-faced, keys grasped in her hand. A glimpse at your watch informs you that your break ended two minutes ago. You swing the door shut.

“Get out!” you whisper urgently, and Roger bolts for the window. He pitches his beer outside and helps John climb through the opening and drop safely to the ground below.

“Fred!” Roger hisses, waving, and he lowers Freddie out of the window next as you kick snack wrappers and empty bottles beneath Brian’s hospital bed. Bri smooths his blankets, turns off his lamp, shakes the peanuts out of his hair that John lobbed there. You rush to Roger as you hear keys rattling against the door.

“Here, I’ll help you...” Without thinking, you take his hands as he hesitates in the open window and steady him as he crawls out. You can see Freddie and John down in the darkness, reaching up to catch Roger when he falls. A sudden wave of mourning grips you. I’m never going to see them again. “Bye,” you say, without any cleverness at all. But Roger smiles like it’s the best thing he’s heard in weeks, maybe months, maybe ever. He glances to where your hands hold his.

“Bye,” he replies in that raspy, radiant voice. And then he’s gone.

You sigh shakily. You turn around. Patricia stands in the open doorway.

“Oh,” she says, grinning like a shark, almost gloating. “You are so fired.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re sorry, we’re so sorry, you have no idea how—”

“It’s fine, Roger.”

You’re standing under a lamppost just beyond hospital property at 7:15 a.m. Your shift is over, your very last shift at Massachusetts General; Roger waited outside to meet you all night. There are swollen shadows beneath his eyes, his cheeks are flushed with fury and mortification, he’s edgy and pacing and chain smoking. The sun is bright and already hot, the Arctic terns cawing and swooping overhead.

“It’s not fucking fine,” he flares. “We got you fired—”

“Roger, I was miserable there. I was jaded and complacent and I felt trapped, I felt like I was standing in cement, I felt like I was suffocating and I didn’t know how to bail myself out of it or how to explain any of this to my parents. But now...thanks to Queen...I’m free. I got the shock I needed. I can move on.”

“You didn’t deserve to leave like that,” he insists menacingly. “That bitch isn’t going to write you recommendations. You were good at what you did, you were really fucking good, Brian was despondent before you took over. You deserved better.”

You shrug. “Life’s not fair, Rog.”

“That’s the truth.” He takes a drag off his cigarette and you hold out your hand. He stares at you, perplexed, but passes the cigarette. You smoke a few puffs, then give it back. Roger smiles. “I thought that was extremely bad for you.”

“Most of the best things are.”

“Well.” He shuffles his feet anxiously. “I have a proposition.”

“Yeah?”

“Since you’ve successfully untethered yourself from all your unfulfilling earthly obligations...come to London with us.”

You feel your jaw fall open, feel all the tension in your muscles unravel as the numb shock rolls through you. “Uh. I was thinking maybe the Peace Corps or joining a travel nursing agency or something.”

Roger winks and nudges your shoulder with his. “Transatlantic flights to London count as travel.”

“That’s...accurate...”

“No, seriously!” Rog presses. “Look, every time a band tours, the company hires a medic or a nurse to go with them. They stitch up busted faces, sanitize infected tattoos, prevent us from dying of alcohol poisoning, ice knocked-out teeth until we can get to a dentist, the works. We’re going to be recording as much as possible in London, but Brian will be on bed rest for most of the next few months. You can take care of him. Keep his spirits up. You’re good at that. We’ll all chip in to pay you if the company won’t, Freddie and John have already agreed to it and I know Brian will as soon as I ask. Then, when we inevitably go on tour again...you can be our travel nurse.” He grins confidently, electrifyingly, like he’s figured out all of life’s thorniest questions.

“Rog, I really appreciate the offer, but...uh...this is really too much, and I have no travel nurse experience whatsoever, and...and...look, you are all really talented, I mean that, but you have some seriously chaotic energy and I’m not sure global fame is in the cards for Queen—”

Roger interrupts you brusquely. “You said you love what you do. So you like taking care of people, right?”

“I do, yeah.”

“And you want to see the world.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you think we’re fun, don’t you? Exciting? Audacious? Reckless enough to keep you busy with the fallout of frequent near-death experiences?”

“That sounds about right.”

“So...” He waggles his blond eyebrows. “Come with us.”

You look up into the mid-June sky, as blue and churning as the Boston Harbor, and try to imagine it: packing your suitcase (you really don’t need to bring all that much), digging your passport out of your jewelry box (you know exactly where it is), telling your parents that you’re jetting off to Europe the next day (they would accept it, maybe they’d even be proud; you’d finally be striking out on your own), renting some cheap little apartment in London (you have enough savings to get you started).

“Accept the offer,” Roger says.

“I really don’t think—”

“Accept the offer.”

“—I just couldn’t impose like that, I mean you’re not making any money yet and—”

“Accept the offer.”

“—You guys shouldn’t feel like you owe me this just because I happened to—”

Roger cradles your face with rough hands, gazes fixedly into your eyes, and smiles blindingly. “Love,” he says. “Accept. The fucking. Offer.”

Bad idea, terrible idea, literally the worst idea in the history of human civilization.

“Okay,” you reply softly.

“Okay, like, for real okay?”

“Yeah.” And entirely against your will, you break into a grin. This is the start of the rest of my life. This is the graveyard of familiarity.

“Yes!” Roger cheers. He takes your left hand, raises it to his lips, bites you lightly across the knuckles: some feral, ludicrously on-brand vision of Roger as a Disney hero. I’m the Lady and he’s the Tramp. I’m Sleeping Beauty and he’s the Prince who’s going to finally wake me up, even if it means slaughtering a dragon or two.

“Cute,” you say sarcastically. But, actually, it sort of is.

“Can I walk you home?” Roger asks. “You live around the corner, right? I can help you pack. Oh, wait, maybe I should shower first, I don’t want your parents to see me like this...I am a literal ashtray...my hair is ridiculous...I think I still have some eyeliner on...is the fuchsia jacket too much...?”

You watch Roger as he scrutinizes himself fretfully, his words fading out of the picture, the world becoming a silent film. You can’t look away. If Brian’s a willow tree and Freddie’s a lightning storm, what is Roger? Wildfire, you decide.

He follows you through breezy, shaded Boston streets to the house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia, with the solemn promise that he can borrow your shower and an old pair of gym shorts. You know he’ll charm your parents instantly, that they’ll fall in love with him. Everyone does.

When you look down at your left hand, there’s a vanishing silhouette of a bruise where he bit you; and if you really think about it you can feel that it still burns.