#when the table of ranks was in its full power

[arrimorr]

My ocs, Sir and Ser, aka the eldritch malevolent policemen 😔

[magicalbats]

never fallen from quite this high

Rating: R/18+

Word count: 21490

Warnings: afab!reader, chubby reader, size difference, age difference, desk sex, missionary position, cunnilingus, barebacking, vaginal fingering, cum eating, a hint of enemies to lovers

A/N: I put my whole badussy into this one, guys vmsksjfe I hope ya'll enjoy the fic, and major shoutout to my longtime friend, fellow writer and quality checker for this piece @abbacchiosbelt! Everyone should make sure to check out her page while you're here! She's got plenty of goodies for you to sink your teeth into!

⭐

As far as meetings in the back office of the Northland Bank were concerned, this one was an unmitigated disaster. 

The young man seated across the table had blown in like a veritable typhoon late that morning when the sun was just short of reaching its zenith. He came with neither a formal missive or a courier to precede his arrival, catching all the Snezhnayan natives off guard and woefully ill prepared. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the branch director, a stout bespectacled man in his middle years, hadn’t known he would be coming given the way he’d nearly fallen over in a dead faint at the first sight of him. It was almost nonstop chaos after that as everyone rushed about to prepare fresh coffee and snacks, and to arrange lodgings for their guest. A few staff members even quietly slipped off at the director's behest to double check that everything was in order behind the scenes, silently disappearing off into the shadows like phantoms returning to their dark crypts.  

You hadn’t been sure what to make of it all at first, but had quickly caught on that this was someone important in their ranks. Someone with a great deal of power and influence who was in all likelihood a dangerous individual no matter how disarming his easy smiles were. 

But, truth be told, the mysterious man didn’t look like much no matter how you tried to discreetly size him up from a distance. He was tall yet lanky in build, moving with the thinly veiled grace of a warrior — or perhaps a dancer, but your mora was on the former if he was able to work everyone up into such a frenzy just by showing his face. And despite his lean physique, you could tell he was indeed quite strong simply by the way he carried himself, all boldfaced confidence and self assured the way only a man in his prime could pull off. He was definitely trouble. 

And you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. You were just the PR ambassador, after all, and a token one at that. Your job was to help foster good relations between the icy foreigners and your fellow Liyuean’s, not to insert your nose in business it didn’t belong. 

With that in mind, you’d tried to beat a hasty retreat before anyone could notice your presence and subsequent absence, but the director was a crafty one indeed. You barely made it two full steps before he was suddenly right there beside you, as if he’d materialized out of thin air to cut off your escape route. Summarily ignoring your protests, he’d dragged you with him towards the conference room nestled in the far back of the building where the unknown youth was already waiting, depthless blue eyes dancing with good humor and mirth. The click of the door behind you had sounded like a death sentence.  

The following half hour was occupied (to your surprise) primarily with pleasant niceties and intermittent toasts over that potent firewater Snezhnayan’s seemed to like so much, but which you had primly declined. Even if the stuff didn’t make you gag at just a thought, the current situation was a bit too uncertain for you to risk compromising your faculties like that. None of the northerners in the room seemed to bat an eye at it though; not the director or his personal secretary, nor the ginger haired man who was evidently known to his colleagues as Childe. He seemed almost too casual about everything — the drinks and the banter, and the fond reminiscences of their homeland casually passed between them — to be here on official matters of business. You soon concluded that it was a personal visit, then. Perhaps even a holiday of sorts. 

You’re quickly proven wrong, however, when he unceremoniously flips everything on its head with the procurement of a sealed parchment from somewhere on his person. The director’s reaction to its contents was a stark one and it made you sit up straighter in your seat, half prepared to bolt for the exit should the need arise. But the next few minutes are a terse, confusing whirlwind as the three foreigners revert to their mother tongue, trading rapid volleys back and forth while the director’s tone of voice grows increasingly more tremulous by the minute, and you aren’t quite sure what’s going on anymore. You’re almost convinced that a fight is going to break out at any moment but a surreptitious glance at Childe shows him still at ease, apparently not even invested enough in the discord he’s sewn to give the other man his full attention. Rather, you catch him grinning over at you. 

“Is he always like this?” He poses the question lightly, the lilt in his voice bordering on playful, but you don’t trust it. Not by a long shot. 

The director sputters in thinly veiled offense but you ignore him completely, much more concerned about the yet unknown danger sitting across the table. Making a valiant effort to keep your expression pleasant and neutral, you offer Childe a polite smile. “Not usually.” 

He quirks a brow at that vague non-answer but doesn’t comment on it, swiveling his attention back around to the issue at hand. Finally pulling himself out of his confident slouch, he sits forward to take up the crystalline glass decanter sitting just within reach so he can pour more of that pungent drink into first the director’s cup and then his own. “Come now, old friend. Is this really something to get so worked up about? And right in front of our Liyuean guest too …” 

The director cuts you a sharp, slicing look and you get the sense that he was regretting the decision to drag you back here for this impromptu meeting, visibly struggling to rein his temper in with a deep, bullish exhale. Serves him right, you think bitterly to yourself. You never had any business sitting in on this bizarre exchange in the first place. 

“Apologies, my lord. I did not mean to forget my manners,” Another brief glance over at you, as if he were trying to warn you to keep your head down. As if you really needed any further incentive to do just that. “However, it is my deepest regret to inform you that I’m not confident if this branch of the Northland Bank has the means to accommodate your, ah … needs.”

Slowly, Childe lifts his strange eyes to pin the director with a look that sends shivers racing down your spine. You’d been relatively certain he was far more dangerous than he outwardly appeared but this was something far beyond even what you had anticipated. How did someone so young, still in the prime of his youth with his whole life ahead of him, manage to embody such a deep, dark sense of foreboding at the drop of a coin? 

“What are you saying, Krzysiek? Are we not in Liyue, the very birthplace of mora? There should be plenty to spare in your vaults.” 

The director hurriedly rushes to amend himself, trying to play it off with a laugh. “Yes, my lord. Of course, that is all indeed true. But even the amount of mora in circulation at any given time has its limits. You see, if I were to give you this very large sum here and now,” the director pointedly taps the parchment in his hand with a worn finger. “Then there won’t be anything at all left in our reserves. We wouldn’t be able to give out any new loans, pay our staff their wages or even let any of our customers withdraw from their accounts. I can’t imagine the owner of the bank would appreciate that very much, so I’m sure you understand my hesitation.” 

Mouth opening in surprise when you realize just how large a sum the request must be, you eagerly swing your head towards Childe in anticipation of his next response. 

Luckily for you, he doesn’t even seem to notice with the whole of his attention fixed singularly on the director, and you watch in something not unlike fascination as he slowly leans forward in his seat. “Are you an idiot? It was Regrator himself who signed that order.” He growls, flashing pretty white teeth. “Check it again, maybe a little more carefully this time. I’m not some lackey trying to pull one over on you.” 

“Certainly not, my lord. I never suggested - -“ 

“You may report directly to my colleague but I’m still a Harbinger, Krzysiek. I think Regrator would like your lack of foresight even less than not being able to let people take out withdraws.” 

A pair of sharp gasps echo inside the room and, in almost perfect unison, the director and his secretary both turn twin looks of horror on you. 

Pulse stuttering, you pointedly keep your expression blank even while the urge to reel back in shock threatens to overpower you. You’d heard rumor of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, whispers of their great influence and even greater strength, but the Snezhnayan’s stationed in Liyue weren’t very forthcoming about any of the details or specifics. You’d also never seen one in person before and hadn’t thought it was even possible for one to be so young as this. Childe looked like he was perhaps only a few years younger than you … three, or perhaps even four, but yet he held a title so grand? 

And judging by the way they were looking at you, you probably weren’t supposed to know that. 

Following their line of sight, Childe glances over at you and smiles. “Ah, you’re worried about our little guest here spilling the beans? People will soon start to gossip amongst themselves anyway, so I don’t think it really matters.” His boyish grin fades as he turns his attention back to the director again, tone losing all of its mirth. “I’d say you have much more pressing concerns right now.” 

Nervously, the director drags a stiff hand over his mouth to wipe away the beads of sweat starting to form along his upper lip. “Yes, my lord. Of course. You are correct.” He pauses to clear his throat. “I’m sure we can find a satisfactory compromise. Please allow me a chance to correspond with, ah, my lord directly and confirm his wishes first. Surely there are things you’d like to see or do while you’re in Liyue? This will at least give you the chance to explore the city at your own leisure while I await his response.” 

“You mean to further waste my time, Krzysiek? Is that it?” 

“No, not at all! I would never dream of such a thing and that is precisely why I brought her along.” He gestures at you then, making your back snap straight as board. You don’t think you can hide it any longer, the dread curling like a venomous serpent low in your gut, but if he sees any of the thinly veiled terror in your face he doesn’t acknowledge it. “As I said earlier, this is our personal relations ambassador at the branch and she knows the city like the back of her hand. Why, I dare say there isn’t a single stone she doesn’t know the history of. You’ll have your own personal tour guide to show you everything you might ever wish to see while you’re here.” 

Your mouth drops open in abject shock. You hadn’t agreed to that. Wouldn’t have even if he’d asked, not now and not in a million years. Not ever. 

But Childe turns his head before you can protest and anything you might have said catches in your throat when he gives you a chilling once over. Gradually, his expression thaws and his shoulders relax as he reclines back into his seat with a long suffering sigh for effect. “Fine. You have three days to get your clearance directly from Regrator then. That’s how long I was planning to stay in Liyue anyway so it doesn’t exactly change anything, although I still don’t understand why his signature on that letter won’t just as well suffice.” 

“My sincerest apologies, my lord. I only wish to make absolutely certain I do not go against his wishes in meeting yours.” The director reaches out to hold his cup up to Childe who disinterestedly eyes it for a beat before doing the same with his own, much to the older man’s visible relief. “Our ambassador will take good care of you, and see that your every need is met during your stay. This I swear on Snezhnaya’s honor.” 

“Enough, Krzysiek.” Childe grumps, clinking their glasses together. “Just don’t come up short handed when everything is said and done.” 

You watch them drink to it, tossing their heads back almost simultaneously to swallow down that deceptively clear liquid with neither a grimace or a seething hiss to show for its potency. It’s as if it doesn’t even register in their minds but you, on the other hand, felt disproportionately nauseous considering you hadn’t had so much as a sip of their aptly named firewater. You didn’t even really understand what was happening or how things had gotten to this point but if there was one singular truth you were sure of it was this: 

You desperately needed to find some way out of it. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dejectedly, you hand the fresh grilled skewer of fish out to Childe who takes it with a smile and a quick word of thanks. He doesn’t even stop long enough to blow on the visibly hot meat before biting into it, and you watch him huff and puff between chews to let some of the steam escape from his puckered lips before quickly swallowing it down. Your patience with him was fast unraveling, and not even because of his questionable manners. If you were honest with yourself you would have had to admit that he was frustratingly charming in a boyish, borderline clumsy sort of way. Cute, even. 

But your desperate attempt to weasel your way out of this had fallen on deaf ears, the director insistent that you were the only person in all of Liyue who could possibly play tour guide for the visiting Harbinger. You’d begged, pleaded and even threatened to resign from your position at the Northland Bank right then and there if that was what it would take for you to avoid having to deal with the situation any longer. The director had finally wavered at that, looking like he might be slowly coming around, but before he could actually relieve you of this assignment none other than the devil himself had appeared, right on cue. 

He was eager to set out and get started on exploring the city after freshening up, and hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer when you’d argued against it. Your pleas for a little more time with the director were likewise summarily dismissed, and before you realized what was even happening he’d thrown a friendly arm over your shoulder so he could steer you towards the door. Completely undeterred by any of your hissing complaints or threats of retaliation upon him, he pulled you straight out into the midafternoon sun where he’d made a prompt request for lunch. He was so amicably pushy about everything that you’d had no choice but to comply or risk having him drag you all over the harbor by the arm.

That hadn’t been the best start to your time together but, somehow even worse, is that Childe had proven himself to be every bit as troublesome as you’d first expected him to be. He joked too much, for starters, and his penchant for eagerly pulling you off in whichever direction caught his fancy was quickly running you ragged. Excitable and full of unspent energy, it was all you could do just to keep up with him. You’d tried to tell yourself it would only be lunch, just one place and then you would wipe your hands of him, but he was undaunted and things were still not going in your favor. 

Even stopping at a small kiosk for a quick snack was not enough to keep him standing still for very long and the two of you are soon off again in a seemingly random direction, as dictated by his spur of the moment whims and fancies. You were going to be exhausted by the time this day was finally over. 

“Hey, what’s that all about?”

Bringing your head up, you follow his line of sight to a small congregation of people flocking around a lone figure in the center of all the bustling excitement. You recognize the bonnet immediately, and a smile slowly pulls at your mouth. “That is our very own star of the opera. Her name is Yunjin, and she’s very popular among the general public and aficionados alike.” 

But when you bring your gaze back around, you’re startled (and more than just a bit horrified) to find his attention fixated on you rather than the crowd. 

“Oho, so you do know how to smile! I was starting to wonder if you just didn’t remember how.” 

“W - what is that supposed to mean?” You snip, recoiling defensively. 

“Oh, nothing,” he sing-songs right back. “It’s just that all I’ve seen you do so far is scowl and look like a skittish kitten ever since we met. I’m glad to know you like something, even if it isn’t me.” 

Childe’s lilting laughter makes the blood rush to your face, and you quickly look away so he doesn’t see the fluster you were valiantly trying to stamp down. “Forgive me, xiansheng. I did not mean to be rude. It’s just — all of this was dumped on me so suddenly and you’re …” 

“Hm? And I’m what?” 

This shameless teasing was perhaps the worst facet of his personality of all. The pushiness and the refusal to acknowledge any protests were one thing, the strange dissonance in his behavior another entirely, but this … it was vaguely reminiscent of a boy who either hadn’t yet learned his manners or didn’t care enough about the consequences to keep his mouth in check. You suspected it to be the latter, his confidence as unerring as his energy, and you would’ve had half a mind to give him a good swat on the behind had he not been nearly double your height and only a few years your junior. Unfortunately, you were in no position to correct him. 

So you school your expression into a professional mask of indifference and turn your head to pin him with the most bland look you can muster. “A Harbinger. It’s true, isn’t it?” 

He quirks a brow at you, evidently not having expected that to be your response. “Is that really what’s had you so on edge this whole time? You’re worried about my title?” Abruptly throwing his head back, he laughs up at the sky. “Goodness, I had no idea that upset you so much. If I’m being honest, you were so stoic back at the bank that I wasn’t even sure if you knew what a Harbinger was!” 

You can feel your cheeks starting to turn hot again and you quickly try to wrestle it back under control. “Of course I’ve heard the rumors! It would have been a little hard to avoid them in this position but you Snezhnayan’s usually aren’t the most talkative bunch, you know. I’m sure there’s plenty of information I’m still not privy to.” 

“Ooh, and is that your way of asking me to help you understand a bit better?” Childe sends you a slow, knowing grin, and you have no choice but to admit that you were in a bit over your head with him no matter how much you might try to fight it. He was regrettably adept at embarrassing you, it seemed. 

“It might be nice to know what I’ve got myself mixed up with.” You softly, grudgingly admit, earning a chuckle out of him. 

“Alright. I suppose I can share a few details with you, but I want to ask a few things in return. How does that sound?” 

Your head snaps up and you fix him with a surprised, questioning look. Ever unperturbed, he ruefully wags his skewer stick at you with an unmistakable, mischievous gleam in his strange eyes. 

“It’s only fair, right girlie? I’ll tell you what you want to know and you’ll tell me what I want to know. Isn’t that what alchemists call equivalent exchange?” 

Huffing, you cross your arms under your breasts and pin him with a flat look, trying to impart just how unamused you are with his silly little shenanigans. “Don’t call me that. And I don’t know anything about alchemy, but … okay. I’ll play along. Within reason.”  

Your answer seems to delight him to no end, and he promptly flies off into a rather expressive tangent about Snezhnaya, her majesty the Tsaritsa, the Fatui and the eleven Harbingers that command their numbers. He gesticulates eagerly throughout his explanation, primarily touching on rank and hierarchy, but it soon becomes gibberish that simply goes in one ear and out the other. You were not intimately familiar with the inner workings of either government or military, and you had no desire to be, but you decide to let him keep talking anyway. It was clear he was only telling you very surface level information that would neither give away too much or reveal any national security secrets, but there were still a few things you were able to glean from listening to what he did say. 

One was that the Harbingers were not only a very, very dangerous organization as a whole but even on an individual scale each was more powerful than the last. It was a little hard to believe at first when you were looking at Childe — so young and long-limbed, and seemingly unfettered by any greater concern than where his next source of entertainment would derive from, but recalling the intense shift in his demeanor back at the bank … yes, you were willing to believe he stood among the most elite warriors in Snezhnaya. Although you hadn’t seen his physical prowess in action yet (and hopefully never would) it was a decidedly good idea not to take him at face value. Doubly so for the rest of his colleagues, including the one you yourself indirectly worked for. 

The second was the nature of his visit to Liyue. He danced around the subject for the most part but he did let it slip that he was headed to Fontaine after securing the funds, presumably per his orders to personally transport the mora himself, and you supposed that did make a certain amount of sense. If he was as strong as you believed him to be then it would explain why he would have been saddled with such a task. Though, it also didn’t escape your notice that he spoke on the subject with no shortage of annoyance coloring his voice and it was hardly any wonder why. Childe was clearly the type who preferred hands-on, proactive roles that put him in the heart of conflict rather than acting behind the scenes like this. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, after all. 

Regardless, it was somewhat reassuring to know that many of your initial assumptions about him had been correct and you now knew with absolute certainty that you needed to be careful in how you approached these interactions with him. It wouldn’t do to somehow offend him and invite his wrath upon yourself or your family, because clearly there would be no stopping him in that case. But did that in turn mean you were stuck playing tour guide for the duration of his stay, lest you risk upsetting him?

This was turning into quite the conundrum, indeed. 

“And that’s about it.” He says at last, much too cheery for your liking. “For what I can tell you, anyway. I know it probably seems like I left quite a bit out but trust me, girlie, you don’t want to get tangled up with this more than you already are. Hopefully I was able to satisfy some of your curiosity though.” 

“You did,” you murmur slowly. Then, with more conviction, “And don’t call me that. Didn’t I already tell you that once?” 

Laughingly, he waves you off. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. But let’s put that aside for right now. It’s my turn to have some questions answered. Think you’re up to it?” 

You hesitate, wondering what he could possibly want to know. If it was information about Liyue you would have gladly divulged it without the need for this trade between you and him, but you’d long since picked up on the fact that he just liked being difficult for the sake of it so it didn’t exactly come as a surprise. It was a bit annoying though, having to humor these silly games of his like this. 

“Alright, I’ll do my best.” You say at last. “Just keep in mind that I can’t tell you something I don’t know. Your questions have to be within reason, remember?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure you won’t have any problem answering this.” 

Growing ever more suspicious, you quirk a brow at him but he just offers you that same boyish grin again. If the circumstances had been any different you probably would have found yourself giving in to its magnetic pull despite your (well founded, in your opinion) reservations about doing so, but even that attractive smile was not enough to distract from who — or rather what he was, and you brace for the worst. Was he going to ask you about the Qixing or maybe Lady Ningguang specifically? The Milileth? 

Your thoughts are abuzz with the possibilities but the very last thing you expect him to ask is precisely what comes out of his mouth next. 

“Do you have any siblings?” 

Stopping dead in your tracks, you stare up at him in abject disbelief. That was what he wanted to know? 

“Hey, let’s keep it moving, girlie.” He can’t seem to get his laughter under control as he pivots on his heel and takes hold of your elbow, pulling you back into motion again. You fall in step, stumbling slightly, as he pins you with the most mischievous grin you’ve seen yet — the unapologetic rascal! “Wouldn’t want anyone to run you over, now would we? I’m not sure if my poor little heart would ever recover.” 

Lips pursing, you narrow your eyes at him in warning even while he whoops it up, drawing the attention of more than just a few passersby. How humiliating it was to be seen with someone like this in broad daylight. 

“I’m an only child.” You grit out, snatching your arm from him with a prim huff for good measure. 

Your prickly attitude doesn’t deter him half as much as you would’ve liked though, and Childe merely takes it in stride as if you weren’t doing everything in your power short of stomping on his toe to dissuade him from continuing on in this manner. So on and so forth, he eagerly poses a seemingly never ending series of questions that range from as benign as how old you were (three years older than him, you come to find) right up to your relationship status. You try very hard to shut down his more intrusive queries, refuse to humor them with a real answer, but his pushiness returns with a vengeance. Any attempt to side step or discourage him was just met with the same question worded a different way until you finally gave in with no other choice and no escape in sight. More than once he even pretended to move on from a topic to placate and soothe you before eventually circling right back around to it again when you least expected it. 

He was exhausting in the worst possible way. Unrepentant and shameless, utterly hopeless, he badgers you incessantly for the rest of the afternoon until you could scarcely tell what was what anymore. You’d never felt quite so harried or like a cornered rabbit in all your life. 

By the time you finally make your way back to the Northland Bank, hours later when the sun was sitting low on the horizon and you’d had to put your foot down about returning before dark, you practically have to drag yourself up the winding staircase just to reach the entrance. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so tired, and not just physically but mentally as well. Childe, on the other hand, did not seem to be flagging at all and he takes the stairs with ease and that same innate grace you’d first noticed in him earlier, bounding ahead to reach the landing first. 

Assuming he’d already gone inside, you achingly pull yourself up the last few remaining steps only to come to an abrupt halt when you find him standing there with the door held open. Waiting. For you? 

He snickers at your expression, further putting you on guard. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s the least I can do after nagging you so much.” 

That was the very definition of an understatement.

You don’t budge though, slowly curling your hands into loose fists at your sides when it occurs to you that just returning to the bank did not necessarily mean an end to your suffering. Hadn’t you already endured enough? 

He was incorrigible and confusing, and more than just a little bothersome — like a too-friendly dog with an overabundance of energy that just wanted to play and have all of your attention to himself. You may have been able to make peace with that for the sake of your own wellbeing and that of your family, but when coupled with the barrage of questions that had persisted wherever in the city you’d walked together, whatever you’d stopped to point out in an attempt to distract him from his continuous questioning … you just couldn’t seem to reconcile the problem he presented in your mind.  

If not because you were nothing more than a PR ambassador, not a babysitter, then certainly because being in such close proximity with him was looking even more ill advised than it first had that afternoon. If you didn’t know any better you would have almost thought he was actually interested in you, the way he’d asked you so many personal questions about yourself. But you do know better and you’re well aware that someone like him would never want someone like you. It’s not as if you were blind. The stature of him had certainly not escaped your notice, nor had his boyish good looks. He was tall, a bit gangly at the moment, perhaps, but that was sure to change over the years as he settled further into his own body, into his muscle mass, and finished filling the rest of the way out. And even those most peculiar eyes of his weren’t enough to detract from the high cheekbones of his face or the strong jawline that framed pale pink lips. By contrast, you were soft and round, diminutive compared to him, and not at all the sort of woman a man such as him pursued in good faith. 

Of course he didn’t want you — why would he? It was laughable, if you were being honest. As much as anyone else might have been flattered and charmed to be on the receiving end of his attention, you were finding the whole thing to be a rather nightmarish experience. As if worrying about offending a powerful Harbinger had not been bad enough, now he was teasing you too … And somehow, even knowing all this, that still doesn’t stop it from hurting just a little bit. 

You’d reached the end of your rope as far as he was concerned. You couldn’t do this anymore and you refused to be the butt of his little inside jokes any longer. It was simply too much, even for you.  

“I’m going home.” You blurt out, clearly surprising him given the way his brows shoot up to disappear beneath that haphazard tousle of reddish-brown hair. “My shift ended a while ago. I just wanted to make sure you got back without getting lost, or the director would start to worry if you were late to return.” 

Childe doesn’t even try to hide his disappointment, expression falling as he unceremoniously lets go of the door so that it swings and bangs shut with a heavy thud. The Fatui guard standing on duty, Nadia, sends the two of you a slow look from the corner of her masked eye, making your cheeks grow hot. As if you really needed an audience for this. 

“Aw, don’t say that.” He wheedles you with the added bonus of a frustratingly effective puppy dog pout to really drive the nail home. “At least come in for some coffee and pyshka. I’ll ask them to make it fresh for you, so - -“

“No.” You cut across him with enough vehemence that it earns you another surprised look, those depthless ocean blue eyes widening slightly. Good. Maybe he would finally start to take you seriously now. “I do apologize, xiansheng, but I am tired and I would like to go home and rest. I’m sure your countrymen will be more than happy to entertain you for the rest of the evening, so you shouldn’t be without ample diversion in my absence.” 

He silently regards you for a long beat, the vibrant orange and red cast of the sun washing over him to set his hair aflame, glowing like a hot, smoldering ember. Somehow that same light doesn’t seem to even touch the void in his irises, though, and a faint chill races up your spine with that realization. You’d never seen anything quite like it before. 

But then his smile slips back into place and his posture relaxes — so disconcerted by his strange eyes, you hadn’t even noticed the way he’d been holding himself, as if he were poised to strike — and you quickly take a subconscious step back. For better or for worse, Childe pretends not to notice, merely lifting a hand in farewell while the other comes to rest against his hip in a casual stance. He was completely at ease again. Just like that. 

“Goodnight, then. I hope you rest well. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Every single hair on your body instantly stands on end. There wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. Not with the way he was acting. “Xiansheng, I can’t - -“

“Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to be here first thing in the morning or anything like that.” He smoothly interrupts you, his expression still pleasant and amicable but somehow … sharper. You back up another step when he shuffles forward but your back hits the edge of the bannister and you freeze, knowing the top of the staircase was not the best place to try testing your luck like this. All you can do is watch as he comes closer and closer until you finally have to tip your head back to look up at him. “You’re welcome to sleep in if you want. I’d hate to put you out, and I’ll just come pick you up if it starts getting too late.” 

You swallow hard in an attempt to lubricate your suddenly bone dry throat. “I won’t tell you where I live.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it still gets a chuckle out of him. 

“Perhaps not, but Krzysiek certainly will. Oh, don’t make that face, girlie. I already explained it to you, didn’t I? We Harbingers carry out the Tsarista’s will and our word is almost as good as hers. Krzysiek is just trying to cover his own ass by checking in with my colleague first, but if I’d really wanted to start throwing my weight around he would have given me that mora without a fuss. Don’t assume he would shoulder the same risks just to protect a citizen of Liyue.” 

He lifts his hand then, reaching out for you with a deliberate slowness, and you jerk back. Grabbing behind you for the bannister to steady yourself before you can topple head first down the stairs, you glare up at him with as much vitriol as you could muster. “Stop calling me that.” You hiss. It’s the only thing you can think to say. You believed him. 

There was no need to ask for proof or challenge that assertion, because you wholeheartedly believed he was telling you the simple truth of the matter. The director certainly wouldn’t stick his neck out on the line for you and you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. If appeasing him meant throwing a Liyuean girl to the proverbial wolf then that was exactly what would happen. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept how signed and dotted your fate actually was though. 

Unperturbed, Childe retracts his hand in favor of crossing his arms over his chest instead. “So it’s a date then? I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

You don’t even dignify that with a response. Giving him a quick, bitter look, you turn and start to make your way down the staircase, gripping the bannister so tight your fingers ache in protest. You couldn’t believe him! Couldn’t believe the director for putting you in this situation in the first place. But most of all, more than anything else, you couldn’t believe you’d ever thought he was charming. The pain you’d felt at his insistent teasing was well deserved for ever being such a fool but it wouldn’t happen again. You would continue to play tour guide for as long as you were expected to, for as long as you were forced to, but he wouldn’t be getting any more laughs at your expense. 

You promise yourself that as you hit the next landing, feeling his eyes linger on your back before you disappear down the attached corridor and out of view. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following morning you find Childe already sitting in the lobby of the bank, slouched in a chair and talking animatedly to a masked Fatuus standing next to him. You’d wanted to avoid inviting him onto your doorstep and, having no idea what he might choose to consider as ‘getting too late’, you’d set off from home at the same time you did every day. If he would’ve allowed you to treat it like any other, you would have gladly done just that. 

But as soon as he spots you coming through the door he’s up out of his seat and making a beeline straight towards you, that big, almost dopey smile already in place. You hold your ground though, offering the coppery redhead a look of pure and utter disinterest at his approach. He was not going to get under your skin today no matter what he did or said. If you were not effectively being held hostage against your will you wouldn’t have shown up at all, and you intended to make that very clear to him. 

“Good morning!” He greets you, bright and cheery, and decidedly puppy-like. “I hope you slept well. Would you like some coffee? Tea? Maybe some delicious syrniki to start your day?” 

You quirk a brow at him, a little surprised that there was nary a hint or even a sign of that imposing, dangerously uncanny side of him today, and he wasn’t offering up any apologies for it either. He was acting like nothing at all had happened when you’d last parted ways. Well. That wasn’t entirely true. He actually seemed to be … somehow even more overbearing than yesterday. You hadn’t thought it was actually possible, nor are you sure how he’s managed to find even more energy for today, but you refused to fall for it. The guy was nothing but trouble no matter how overly friendly he tried to be. 

“No, thank you.” Brushing him off, you try to move around him but he surprises you by stepping in the way to block your path. With a huff, you cross your arms and pin him with an unamused frown. “What do you want?” 

“Aww, come on. You wound me, girlie. I thought we were getting along just fine yesterday so what’s with the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” He asks, putting an emphatic hand over his heart as if his feelings were really hurt, and your hackles start to rise. 

“How many times do I have to tell you - -“

“My, my, what’s all this?” The director suddenly cuts in, appearing beside you as if he’d dissolved out of the very shadows themselves. You jump in surprise but a quick look at his pale, vaguely harassed expression tells you he’s likely been faring no better with Childe than you had. Served him right, as far as you were concerned. 

“Good morning, xiansheng Krzysiek. I was just about to go get started on that project you gave me since I didn’t have a chance to - -“

“Nonsense!” He cuts across you so forcefully it makes you snap your mouth shut with an audible click. “Of course that can wait. What’s the rush? I’m sure you’d have a much better time showing my esteemed lord around the city, no?” 

Your stomach lurches and you fix him with a vitriolic glare but he just narrows his eyes and returns the look twofold. It seemed neither one of you wanted to be responsible for Childe today and the resulting stare down between you and your boss is a statically charged one. You’d been hoping to bide some time for yourself so you wouldn’t have to spend the entire day with him, dammit.

“Well, if you ask my opinion,” Childe offers, making you bring your attention back around to him. “I think we should go get breakfast since you don’t want any of our delicious, homemade syrniki and then do a bit more sightseeing. We had a lot of fun yesterday, and there are still a few more places I’d like to go.” 

‘Fun’ was the very last thing you’d call it. In fact, there were an infinite number of things you would rather be doing besides spending more time in his presence, and throwing yourself into the ocean was right at the top of that list. But, seeing that there was no point in arguing when you were effectively trapped, you relent. “Fine. We can grab something to eat first, and then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” 

“Excellent!” The director barks, clapping you on the shoulder a little too hard, and you turn your head to glare daggers at him. Taking the hint, he quickly composes himself with a discreet, appropriately apologetic grumble. “I do hope you two have an enjoyable time together, my lord, and please let me know if there is anything at all you need.” 

Pivoting on his heel, Childe abruptly steps right into the older man to get in his space. “What I need is for you to stop wasting my time, Krzysiek.” He murmurs, that easy, unbothered smile playing at his mouth doing absolutely nothing to distract from the hard edge in his eyes. Growing nervous now, you take a self conscious step back to put some distance between you and them. “But since that obviously isn’t going to happen, I think we’ll be off. Ready, my little pieróg?”

The director suddenly chokes and sputters, shooting a disbelieving look from one to the other even as you suspiciously narrow your eyes at Childe. Something told you you liked this new nickname even less than ‘girlie’. “Now what are you calling me?” 

“Oh, nothing,” he teases, his demeanor flipping just like that as he reaches out to take hold of your arm even when you valiantly try to snatch it out of his reach. “That, as they say, is for me to know and for you to find out. You’ll have to earn it if you want me to tell you though!” 

And with that, the two of you are off. 

Breakfast at a little stall tucked down a narrow side street turns out to be surprisingly pleasant. Shockingly, even. You admittedly feel a great deal of relief when Childe manages to keep his hands to himself for the rest of the morning and he even seems to have given up on the previous day's inquisition all together. He neither says anything out of place nor does he undergo another of those disconcerting shifts in his behavior. Rather, he is consistent and charming again, as if that offputting display in front of the Northland Bank never even happened. Like it was merely a figment of your imagination and nothing more. 

You know better than that though, and you weren’t going to be persuaded by it. Luckily, keeping him entertained was a relatively easy task so you don’t even have to try very hard to keep things moving. After your meal, you take him to the theater hall to show him where the opera is hosted and even get a chance to introduce him to a few of the staff members who were setting up for a performance later in the evening. He does catch you off guard though when he suddenly asks about seeing the show together, not having expected him to have any such interest in the performing arts. But when you tell him it’s too late to purchase tickets when they were in such high demand he, strangely enough, accepts that answer without a fuss. 

You think it all very strange given how he’d acted yesterday — as if the world itself was his to lay claim to and everyone was expected to just go along with it — but you were certainly not in any position to complain. The more he cooperated the better your nerves would fare. 

From there, you take him to a ceramics shop, a bookstore, a calligraphy studio, a toy makers stall and even to a small perfumer after he’d mentioned having an older sister he might want to buy a souvenir for. He truly seems like a completely different person today, politely listening to what you tell him about this or that, attentively focused and tuned in. You’re ashamed to say it almost makes your resolve falter but you hold firm. After that, a lacquer studio, various boutiques and seamstress shops, a few antique stores that quickly prove much too dusty and boring for his liking. You stop for lunch at Third Round Knockout, enjoy some fine food and entertainment together, and then it’s back to the streets. At his request, you take him down to the docks and show him around the markets there, only to realize somewhere along the line that he must have some kind of background in fishing. The way he talks about it, fond yet distant, like an old hobby he might like to revisit some day, strikes an odd little chord inside you. You hadn’t expected him to have room for sentimentality when he was so busy bouncing around from one extreme to the next. 

The day wears on in this fashion until you at last take him up to the Yujing Terrace gardens, having saved (what was in your humble opinion) the best for last. Childe appears to appreciate the scenery well enough, oohing and aahing at appropriate intervals as you show him through the public grounds, but you can tell he found the docks much more exciting. Hardly any wonder there. A hot blooded young man such as himself rarely had any need for flowers or ornamental fountains, decorative lanterns or the architecture laid throughout. You got the sense he didn’t dislike the pavilion, exactly, but rather he just wasn’t as invested in it as he might be in other things … and yet he was still trying to stay engaged and interested. Truthfully, you found this more than just a little odd. You’d taken him for an entitled brat, and with good reason. 

But the whole situation was strange once you got right down to the heart of it, and you’re understandably glad to finally start making your way back towards the bank shortly after dusk has settled over the gardens and the lamps have been lit. Unlike the previous day where you’d had to all but force him to return before full dark, he acquiesces without a fuss or even any attempt to weasel another half hour out of you. Even putting his penchant for cruel tricks aside, it was almost like you’d spent the whole day with a completely different person than the one you’d first met and this was somehow the most confounding detail of all. At some point you’d started to think he was planning something insidious, just waiting for the right moment to spring the trap, so you had truly expected him to put up more of a fight about it. 

So lost in thought, you don’t realize he’s speaking until he shifts close enough to amicably bump your hip with his narrow thigh. Giving a start, you turn your head up only to find a suspiciously eager smile tugging at his rouge’s mouth and you think, this is it. He’s finally going to say something cute or shocking after all this time and, feeling vindicated, you brace yourself for another taste of his nonsense. You’d known he enjoyed provocation too much to resist the temptation forever. 

“I was saying thank you for today. You make a pretty good tour guide, if you ask me.”

You stumble a step, feeling like the ground itself is opening up underneath you to swallow you whole. That hadn’t been what you’d expected him to say at all. “You’re welcome,” you respond slowly, mouth tugging into a frown. “But there really isn’t any reason to thank me. I was just fulfilling my duties, that’s all.” 

“Aww, don’t say that. You did a great job despite all the trouble I’ve given you so I’d say credit is due. No need to be shy.” 

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you quickly look away. “I am not being shy, xiansheng. I just have no need for your praise.” 

“Oho. Is that so, girlie?” 

You suck in a sharp breath, prickling at that insufferable name he insisted on calling you every time you turned around, but you don’t get the chance to snap at him. Before you can utter so much as a word, his hand is suddenly on your wrist and he’s pulling you away from the main, bustling street into a cramped little alley. Your heart stutters a beat but you can’t quite seem to dig your heels into the ground when his forward momentum seemed to be in full swing, so you just inelegantly trip after him with a tiny squawk of protest. 

Finally stopping towards the far end of the path, Childe turns to grin down at you. Issuing an incensed huff into the still air, you give your arm a quick jerk to try and free yourself of his hold but it’s no good. He refused to budge, and you have no choice but to give up, pinning him with a look of pure exasperation. 

“What are you doing now, xiansheng? This isn’t the way to the bank.” 

“I know, I know. I just wanted to properly show how grateful I really am to my cute little tour guide. You just said you’re not shy, didn’t you?” 

Catching on that he was up to something — for real this time — you once again try to extricate your arm from him. Gingerly, this time. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that has to do with this. I think we should go back to the bank and - -“

He suddenly swoops down and silences you with a hard kiss. You jolt, gasping when his fingers tighten around your wrist to make it clear that there would be no escape until he decided to let you go. That hardly seemed the most pressing issue right now, though. Stock still, you just stand there and try to make sense of what’s happening. The sensation of his mouth against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own and the vaguely citrusy scent of him assaulting you all at once. It was just as overwhelming as the rest of him and you can’t figure out how to react. Finally, eventually, he pulls back to peer at you through the gloom of night, far from the dull glow of the distant streetlights. 

“I know you’ve thought about this. You’re so cute, the way I catch you looking at my - -“

Your free hand flies up, hitting him across the mouth as hard as you can. The gruff sound that bursts out of him is surprised, but not half as hurt as you would have liked it to be. 

“How dare you.” Your voice is a barely there, faltering hiss in the relative quiet with only the distant sounds of city life to act as a backdrop. “I’ve thought of no such thing, and you’ve got a lot of nerve trying to force yourself on me like that!” 

The look that briefly flashes across his face seems almost impressed, if not a little cowed by your reaction, and for a split second you’re sure he’s going to rise to the challenge you’ve presented. But then it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once again by that overly confident smile. “Oh, come on. You don’t mean that. I can see how you look at me. I’m not blind, you know.”

“I’m allowed to look at someone without wanting to kiss them!” You insist, vehemently shoving at his chest. 

To your great surprise, he actually lets you push him back a step and he releases your arm in the process. You quickly take that chance to back up towards the waiting lip of the alley but he follows you with his eyes, a predator tracking its prey, and you hesitate to make a run for it. One quick look at his long legs assures you he could outpace you all too easily. You’d never make it far against someone like him and the eager gleam dancing in those strange, strange eyes discourages you from trying. That didn’t mean you had to quietly stand there while he played his stupid little games though, and all at once the dam suddenly gives way. 

“I've had enough!” You shout at him. “I refuse to entertain you at the cost of my own dignity any longer, xiansheng! You have done nothing but harass me the entire time I’ve known you and I am done! I’m sorry, but you’ll need to find a new guide for the rest of your stay in Liyue because I refuse to do it even a moment longer.” 

“But I want you.” He shoots right back, surprisingly calm and collected given the intense state of your own emotions which only spiral further out of control at his response. 

The true meaning behind those words was obvious, and you feel the stab of it in startling high definition. Fighting back the sting of tears when a humiliated flush rushes into your cheeks, you glare at him with as much hate and vitriol as you can possibly muster. “I will not fall for it no matter what you say, xiansheng! I’m not stupid! You can have your fun teasing someone else for all I care, but I will not humor it anymore!” 

His eyes widen, brows shooting up in surprise. “Wait - -“ 

You have no interest in hearing what he has to say, quickly turning on your heel so you can march down the alley and out onto the main street again. Consequences be damned. 

Predictably, the shuffle of his boots picks up behind you and it doesn’t take long for him to catch up. The way he can easily keep pace with your hurried strides without even having to try only further annoys you but you pointedly ignore him, keeping your attention locked straight ahead. Maybe he would take the hint and leave you alone if you just pretended like he wasn’t there. 

“Hey, let’s talk, girlie. You don’t really think I was just joking around back there, do you?” When you refuse to dignify that with a response, he breathes out a quiet sigh. “Look, I’m sure I can convince you I’m being sincere if you just give me a chance, but why would you assume something like that to begin with? I haven’t given you any reason not to trust me, have I?” 

You shoot him a quick, flustered look of warning, and, to your horror, he responds with that charming, roguish smile that speaks of confidence and ego. It was clear he thought he could persuade you to his side with enough time and you weren’t so sure he was wrong about that. 

Whipping your attention back around, you desperately scan your surroundings in an attempt to get your bearings straight. You weren’t far from the Northland Bank now. Thank the archons. If you could just make it to the relative safety of its doors, you could dump him off on someone else for the night and beat a hasty retreat with your tail tucked between your legs. It certainly felt like you deserved that much after enduring all this grief from him.  

“It doesn’t matter.” You murmur, more to yourself than to him, but that doesn’t stop Childe from pouncing at the chance to keep going. 

“Sure it does. I think I deserve to know why my cute tour guide feels this way. Is there someone I need to take care of for you?” 

Finally spotting the stairwell that leads up to the bank, you hurry towards it as fast as your legs can carry you. He doggedly keeps at your heels, looming just over your shoulder the whole time, which does absolutely nothing to lessen the fast pumping adrenaline coursing through your system. 

It feels like your heart is lodged somewhere in your throat when you finally reach the foot of the stairs a moment later and, gripping the bannister with a clammy hand, you pause to look back at him. “There’s not. You can stop following me now.”

“We’re headed to the same place, I’m afraid.” He responds easily enough, still smiling that infuriating grin at you. Stamping down the urge to scream at the top of your lungs, you turn to make your way up and the procession of his footsteps trailing behind you quickly follows suit. “Seriously, I don’t mean to pry but - -“

“Yes, you do.” 

He laughs, but just keeps going anyway. “I want to know why you’d be so quick to write me off like that, that’s all. Am I not allowed to want you in my bed or something?” 

You outright choke at that, practically collapsing right then and there on the stairwell, and he positively whoops it up as if you’d just delivered the most hilarious, knee-slapping joke he’s ever heard. Your face feels like it’s on fire now while you wrestle with the urge to slap him again, thinking he more than deserved it, but you didn’t want to tempt fate like that again if you could help it. Or invite any misunderstandings with the Snezhnayan guard on duty, just another flight up and almost directly above you now. It takes every ounce of strength you possess but, at last, you finally manage to hiss over your shoulder, “Maybe I’m just not interested. Did you even consider that?” 

“Ah, ah, that’s not what you said though. If memory serves, I do believe the exact words you used were ‘I won’t fall for it no matter what you say’. You don’t think I was being serious, do you?” 

Teeth clenched, you turn to look back at him again and you’re not at all surprised to find him still grinning like he was having the time of his life. But once again, and just like every other time, his eyes give him away. It seemed that no matter what he did, they would always show an intimate glimpse into his soul and what you see in them now chills you a great deal. There’s an edge to them, a sharpness lurking just beneath the surface like a blade that has been submerged in a tumultuous ocean current. It was no less sharp for all the salt water buffeting against it though. In fact, you got the sense that it would only add to the sting of the wound once it finally cut you — and it would. Eventually. You harbored no doubts about that. 

Evidently seeing your uncertain hesitancy, Childe softens his expression slightly, as much as he was able to, at least, and moves up to stand on the same step as you. Fingers tightening on the bannister, you lean as far back as you can when he bends close to put his nose inches from yours. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you again, and the thought alone is enough to make your cheeks burn red hot in what you try to tell yourself is indignation. But, to your surprise, he merely studies you up close for a long moment before finally putting his head to one side like an inquisitive dog. 

“Let’s continue this discussion inside.” 

“What is there to even talk about?” You grit out. 

“You,” he says it softly, almost like a prayer. “And me.” 

“This isn’t up for debate, xiansheng. I want nothing more to do with you.” 

The corner of his mouth tugs, inching up into a decidedly mischievous smirk. “You say that, but do you really want Nadia to get the wrong idea? I’m sure she can hear us, you know. It’ll look much better if you come inside with me instead of causing a scene out here on the stairs. I don’t know what she might tell Krzysiek but if you cooperate, I can protect you.” 

“Blackmailing is illegal in Liyue …” 

“As it is in Snezhnaya. But the Fatui operate on a somewhat different rule set, and I’d hate to see you get tangled up in this more than you already are. There’s nothing I can do for you if you don’t meet me in the middle, girlie. Let me help you.” 

You search his face for any sign of deceit or falsehoods, desperately looking for even a hint of insincerity that would give you the push you needed to shove him away again. But he is, frustratingly enough, perfectly sincere. Or so he seems to be. And that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? In the short time you had known him, he’d consistently maintained that same perfect mask of earnest candor no matter what nonsense came out of his mouth … he was either a very good actor who could put most professionals to shame or he really believed what he was saying. Perhaps even a frustrating combination of the two? 

Either way, you could see that you were once again stuck between a rock and a hard place with him. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t. It’s been like this since the very start. 

“Fine.” You relent with a heavy, long suffering sigh. “I will go inside with you but I really don’t care what you have to say, xiansheng. You’ll just be wasting your breath.” 

Evidently that doesn’t bother him one little bit. He’s much too giddy for your liking as he bounds ahead of you, taking the last handful of stairs two at a time so he can reach the landing first. You realize why when, upon coming up after him, you find Childe waiting at the front entrance of the bank with his fingers already wrapped around the door handle, ready to pull it open for you and grant you entry. Same as the night before.  

Surreptitiously glancing at the Snezhnayan woman standing on nighttime guard duty, you’re relieved to find her pretending not to even see either of you standing there. Although she certainly was not on your side in the strictest sense, you still appreciated her discretion. Perhaps if you survived this ordeal, you would treat her to lunch someday as thanks. 

Gathering your resolve before you have a chance to change your mind, you quickly shuffle across the landing, hoping to get inside before he says something incriminating in front of her. The Harbinger looks quite pleased with himself as he pulls the door open and lets you pass through first before following right on your heels. You’re immensely glad to find the lobby all but deserted save the one on duty teller and the older man quietly talking to her about something you can’t quite make out from the entryway. No sign of Krzysiek lurking about in the shadows or any Fatui operatives loitering around. At least that would save you the embarrassment of having an audience to witness the no doubt awkward conversation that was sure to follow. Strangely, that didn’t make you feel any better about being forced to do this, though. 

Discreetly glancing up at the redhead as you make your way across the room together, you contemplatively regard him for a moment. Maybe you could still worm your way out of this situation if you appealed to his ego enough. It was worth a shot, at least. 

“Forgive me, xiansheng. I believe I misspoke earlier.” You murmur, hushed and quiet so that hopefully only he could hear. “I did not mean to insult you or imply that there was some deeper meaning in my rejection. I promise I meant nothing more.” 

“I don’t buy that for one second, girlie.” He says, thankfully matching your conspiratorial volume. “You really think I was just teasing you back there, right? You called it a game, if I remember correctly. Why would you go and think something like that about me, huh?” 

You chew at your bottom lip, weighing the odds. It didn’t exactly look good, no, but neither had the last thirty-six hours. If you gave in now and admitted the real reason for your distrust of his motivations you would simply be putting yourself on the chopping block, inviting further humiliation at his hand, and you weren’t so sure you were ready to admit your own shortcomings like that. But there was no denying his abilities of perception or his quick wit. If you tried to delicately skirt around the subject, would he just try to force your hand? 

So caught up in your own thoughts, debating between the truth or another attempt at deception, you don’t notice him slyly reaching for you until it’s too late. The weight of his hand abruptly squeezing around the plush of your waist nearly startles a squawk out of you, and you choke on it when he pulls you against him. Ignoring your incoherent blubbering, Childe tucks you into his side so he can pull you along even when your legs threaten to give out under you, turning you into deadweight against him. 

All at once you’re bombarded by a million, frantic thoughts as the scent of him envelopes you and drowns out your senses. What if someone were to see the two of you like this? What if they assumed you’d be willing to betray your homeland for this troublesome Snezhnayan man? And what if word of this got back to your mother? You’d be disowned by morning! 

But he pays no mind at all to the shy, flustered stammering going on under your breath as he steers you right past the front desk toward the stairs that are tucked off to the side. You feel faint with disbelief when the teller seems to pointedly keep her attention fixed on the man she’s speaking to and doesn’t even glance up at the spectacle when you pass. A heady rush of relief washes over you but, still, your erratic heartbeat won’t relax as long as you’re in such close proximity with Childe. No matter how good he smelled or how warm his body was, or how firm and invitingly masculine he felt against you, you just couldn’t make peace with it in your mind. 

You try to push away from him, politely at first and then more insistently, but he won’t let you go. Doesn’t even seem to register the weak struggle you’re putting up which leaves you with no choice but to stumble along beside him up the staircase and then down the curved hall. It was either that or risk having him physically drag you. 

“X - xiansheng!” You hiss at him, of course to no avail. 

“Hush. If you’d just tell me what the problem is, I could fix it for you.” He tells you lightly, giving your waist what you think is supposed to be a reassuring pinch. “I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to put your pretty little head at ease, you can count on that.” 

“You could start by knocking that off!” You give him another shove that goes completely unheeded. On one hand you were glad to be away from any potentially prying eyes now that you were up on the second floor, but on the other … you give a frightened jerk when it suddenly occurs to you that he’s leading you right past the row of smaller managerial offices (including your own) and further down the hall. “Wait — where are we going?” 

“Don’t try to change the subject.” He snickers softly. “We’re just gonna’ have a little chat in my office, that’s all. We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry!”

As if that was your main concern right now! “B - but that’s not your office, xiansheng! That room is for the - -“

“Yes, it belongs to Regrator. I’m well aware, of course, but I’m sure he won’t mind. It’s not like he’s using it right now, is he?” Pulling you up to the door in question, he reaches for the knob. All you can do is watch on in horror as he gives it a twist and the resounding click of the inner mechanism giving way echoes inside the space between your ears. You almost couldn’t believe it. Both his unrepentant audacity and the fact he’d already gained access to the owner's personal office space. 

“But how - -“

“Come on, girlie. Where do you think I slept last night?” 

You’re so dumbfounded by that information you momentarily forget to protest or fight him, and you stumble through the doorway under the ever present guidance of his hand around your middle without even fully realizing it. Only when the door creaks shut behind you do you comprehend the severity of the situation, going ramrod stiff as you dig your heels into the floorboards, but he merely pushes you further in before you can kick up a fight about it. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, you wrench away from him and spin around to find Childe already turning the lock on the door with a resounding clink of metal sliding into place. The way he smiles at you, all bright and cheerful, and innocent, turns your veins to ice. 

“Now fess up. I’ve let you stall long enough, haven’t I?” He takes a step towards you, hands coming up as if to grab hold of you again, and yours fly up to defend yourself. It’s as if he expected as much though, or maybe his reflexes were really just that quick, because he switches gears faster than you can blink. Lacing his fingers through yours before you can properly react, he pulls your arms out to either side and backs you up even further into the room. “Tell me why you think I’m only teasing you. I made sure no one would eavesdrop on us so tell the truth.” 

You jolt when your back hits the stately, imposing desk in the office, a fresh surge of fear racing through you with all the thoughts of what he could do to you like this. But to your immense relief he simply pivots to the side, half turning you to stand in front of it rather than pin you against it like you’d initially thought he would. Still, he won’t let go of your hands where he’s holding them out away from your body and you were clearly trapped in here with him and no way out. Dammit. 

Drawing a slow, stuttering breath to calm your nerves, you decide you’ll just have to be blunt with him. Even if it means humiliating yourself in the process, you couldn’t see any other way out of this. Clearly he wasn’t going to let you slink away with your tail tucked between your legs or let you preserve any of your dignity. Not that it came as a surprise considering who you were dealing with but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“I’m sorry, xiansheng. I just … I know I can’t possibly be to your liking. That is what I meant by not falling for your tricks.” 

“Who said that?” He growls, drawing a quiet whimper out of you. 

“It doesn’t need to be said.” 

“Bullshit. Tell me why it’s so impossible for me to want you.” 

“Because I’m fat.” You say it plainly and without inflection, but softer than a whisper, and his eyes go big in surprise. 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

You hate the way your chest tightens, flushing hot in humiliation. You hadn’t expected the sting to your ego to hurt quite so bad when you knew you were merely stating the truth. Maybe it’s the simple act of saying it out loud that drives the nail home or perhaps it’s the way he’s looking at you as if he couldn’t possibly conceive the issue with it, but the backs of your eyes start to burn all the same. Looking at him like this, in the gloom of the dark office, you start to wonder if it’s so painful precisely because you secretly wanted his interest in you to be real, not feigned. Was there really no greater anguish than having a strong, handsome man flirt with you while knowing you weren’t deserving of any of it? You certainly couldn’t think of anything worse. 

“What’s wrong with it is - is men like you don’t like that. I’m not stupid, xiansheng. There are plenty of women who …” You give your head a shake. “It doesn’t matter. You could do much better than me, and I know that just as well as you do.” 

He relaxes his broad shoulders, chuckling faintly as he pins you with a rueful if not taunting look. “Men like me, huh?”

“T - there’s no reason to deny it.”

“Oh?” Childe’s smile sharpens, showing a brief glimpse of the dangers lurking just beneath the surface. “And what else do you know of men like me? Hm?” 

You whimper softly and he gives your hands a quick squeeze before releasing them in favor of reaching tentatively for your waist again. You simply let him do it this time; half in defeat and just wanting to get this over with, and half under the assumption that he would finally drop the act and recoil in disgust at the soft give under his palms. But that’s not quite what happens. 

On the contrary, he actually looks rather pleased as his large hands comfortably settle around your middle like they belonged there. Possessive, almost. 

“I don’t know who made you believe such nonsense but I’ll happily take a list of names though, if you find the time to jot them down for me. But I’m afraid we don’t all think the same way, cutie. I’ve been daydreaming about having you under me since we met.” 

You suck in a sharp breath, still somehow shocked by the outrageous things that come out of his mouth even now. “But you could have anyone.” It’s little more than a whisper. 

“And like I said, I want you.” 

Swallowing hard, you lift your hands to lightly rest them on his forearms. You can’t decide if you want to push him away or pull him in closer, so you just leave them sitting there for right now. “I don’t understand why though.” 

“I could show you.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. Aren’t even sure if you could respond to it without choking on whatever you may have said, because he was brash and provocative, and more than just a little combative, and you weren’t used to dealing with someone like him. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t make you sound like a stammering ninny?

But he evidently takes your continued silence as his cue to proceed, and he slowly palms his way up your sides until blunt thumbs brush the underside of your breasts. A shudder races down your spine at that much too brief contact and you whimper again, louder this time, when he adjusts his hands to cradle your chest in them. His attention remains locked on your face though, intently observing the way your mouth warbles open as if to let out a tiny, faltering mewl but you stubbornly bite it back. Turning your head so you don’t have to look at him any longer, you raise a hand to cover your mouth when he pushes up, lifting your tits slightly, so he can feel the full brunt of them resting in the curve of his fingers. 

You’re ashamed to realize it felt nice having him paw at you like this, your nipples growing stiff and pointed against the brush of his hands. It makes your stomach curl itself into a tight, pulsing knot that has your knees going weak. Grudgingly, you think it might be okay to let this go on for a little while longer. Hesitantly, you have to accept that perhaps you liked him a bit more than you were willing to admit or let on. 

That mental shift must reflect in your expression though because he suddenly grins at you, all mischief and trouble. 

“These are my favorite.” He tells you softly, almost like he was sharing a precious secret with you. Giving your breasts another slow, kneading squeeze to make you sway slightly on your feet, he bends closer until just a scant few inches remain between you and him. “The bigger the better, don’t you think? What else is a man supposed to rest his head on at night? What else should we suck and lick, and bite on until your milk floods our mouths, hm? You seem to know an awful lot about men, so tell me … what would you have us do if not worship the very fertility you represent?” 

Dragging his hands higher, he lets your breasts bounce back into place under your shirt and he watches with a great deal of interest etched across his face. You have to force your lungs to expand, inhaling painfully slow to try and steady yourself. A very real part of you was still anticipating the pin to fall, for him to realize this game of chicken wasn’t worth it and to finally drop the farce, but that wasn’t happening. You were suddenly finding yourself faced with the very real possibility that he wasn’t just running his mouth with no intention of backing it up. He really did want you. He thought you were attractive — innately drawn to your figure, not put off by it. 

And he would have you, right here and now, if you just gave him the chance. 

Childe reaches for the button on your collar with clear, deliberate intent, giving you ample time to rethink this and tell him to stop. But you let him work the first one loose and then the next, and the next, so on and so forth until your shirt was hanging open down to the waistband of your skirt. He grabs at your middle to ruck it up and possessively pinch at your love handles underneath before finally grabbing onto the hem to untuck it the rest of the way. You’re a little surprised at yourself when you lift your arms to help him get it off, but you start to have second thoughts when the cool air hits the front of your silk chemise. 

Feeling uncertain and exposed, you cross your arms over your chest to hide your stiff nipples from his line of sight. He tsk’s softly as he tosses your shirt somewhere on the desk before taking hold of your wrists, gentle yet firm as he moves them out of the way. You can’t quite bring yourself to look him in the face though, self conscious and afraid of what you might see there, so you glance down at yourself instead. The weight of your breasts under the thin, breezy material is obvious, as are the stiff points sticking out in the center of them. You may as well have not even been wearing anything at all. 

With a quiet sound, he seems to reach the same conclusion. He releases your hands so he can slip his fingers underneath the thin shoulder straps and lift that over your head too. You have a split second of thinking you’ll back out after all, that you’re not prepared to have someone as tall and handsome as him looking at your naked body, but the roiling heat deep in your gut seems to have a differing opinion. The thought of walking away from this and going home to an empty bed brings with it a great deal of distress, so you slowly repeat the same arms up motion as before. 

Childe lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the silk slips away and your naked breasts are finally bared to him. That gets tossed on the desk too and then his hands are on you again, groping and squeezing at you appreciatively with renewed excitement. “These are gorgeous.” He breathes. 

“Y - you don’t mean that.” You whimper, desperately glancing around the dark room for something to focus on that isn’t him. 

“I do.” He insists, and his lips are suddenly on the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at the vulnerable skin there between hot, rushed sentiments. “I really do. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” 

You feel well and truly lightheaded when he once again palms your breasts in his hands, lifting their weight the same as before. But this time he allows his thumbs to brush up, and you outright gasp at the first contact to your nipples. The noise he makes in response sounds suspiciously like a growl and it reverberates in your veins, making you shudder against him. He takes his time casually flicking over the stiffened buds for a moment longer before pressing your tits together and leaning back to admire the meaty squish. Abruptly, he lets go and watches the heavy bounce of them before setting his sights on your waist instead. 

“Archons, you’re perfect.” He groans, digging his fingers deep into the cushiony give around your middle. “I want to fold you in half on top of that desk, you know that? How’s that sound? Huh?” 

Your mouth warbles open, cheeks burning up. “Xi - xiansheng - -!”

He stoops down to press his face against your neck, growling again, a little louder this time, and you jolt when he blindly fumbles to grab one of your wrists. With a bit more force than was probably necessary, he drags your fingers to the front of his pants and manually curls them around the weighty bulge there. Your eyes widen in stark surprise, not at the size of him but, rather, at how very hard he is for you. He’s indescribably heavy against your hand, and stiff enough to strain the zipper holding him back. 

“You want this, cutie?” 

Like you really needed to think about it at this point. “I … I do. I want you, xiansheng.” 

Breathing deep the scent of your neck, he lets it out again with a bestial huff that makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. It takes a visible amount of effort for him to unlatch himself from you, reaching to unfasten the single button done up on his jacket. This he carelessly shrugs out of and tosses to the side, eyeing you with a hungry lick of his lips before stepping into you again to take hold of your waist. It doesn’t escape your notice that he seems to be fascinated with this part of you, the way he insists on continuously grabbing and squeezing it in his hands, but you don’t get a chance to comment on it. 

He’s pulling you against him then, all but flattening you against the hard line of his body, and you suck in a sharp, frazzled breath at the press of his cock against your stomach. Never before had you found yourself in this sort of position so you don’t really know what to do, standing there just breathing him in while he yanks at the hidden latch on your skirt. You think you should be doing something, should probably be reciprocating in some way, but your overloaded brain just can’t seem to make sense of it. 

Luckily, he takes care of the decision making for you. Once the band of your skirt is hanging loose around your waist, he lifts his hand to nudge it under your chin and tip your head back. You have but a split second to realize he’s going to kiss you, and then he’s devouring your mouth, kissing you much harder and much more forcefully than he had in the alley. You realize now, as you succumb to the hungry pull of his lips, that he’d only been testing the waters earlier. He was far from normal if that had been his idea of tentative and, evidently, you were just as crazy for entertaining it. 

Greedy hands roam down your body, grabbing tight, pinching handfuls of your sides and your hips before dipping lower still. Childe takes hold of your ass like a starved man grabbing onto a lifeline and you rock forward on your toes with a muffled little squeak. He gladly swallows it down even as he kneads and pinches, rolling the meat of your backside in his palms. It’s just shy of being too much, toeing the line of discomfort, and you blindly reach back to clutch at his powerful wrist. Of course that doesn’t stop him though, and you suck in a much needed lungful of air when he finally pulls back some moments later. 

He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath, quickly swooping down to shimmy your skirt over your hips so you can step out of it. You expect him to go after your garters next so he can get you completely undressed, telling yourself to relax and just breathe while you could, but nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Childe. 

To your squawking surprise, he grabs you around the waist yet again and suddenly hauls you up to perch on the edge of the desk. You can’t even think straight as he bullies your thighs apart with his narrow hips so he can settle between them, pressing himself tight against you. Unable to hold it back any longer with the weight of his cock digging into you and the hard muscle mass of his chest right in your face, you reach up to loop your arms over his shoulders with a needy little mewl. Grunting in approval, he bends at the waist to hunch over you so he can take a nipping bite at your neck and then your ear while his arms snake around you. For as deceptively gangly as they are, the strength in them is staggering and he practically crushes you against him, firmly holding you in place so he can slowly grind up into your core. 

Delirious, you frantically clutch at him when every stilted push of his cock against your panties only seems to highlight how wet you already were for him. That in and of itself would have been inconceivable not even twenty minutes ago, but somehow even worse is how that sedate, repetitive motion of his hips just seems to encourage yet more sticky slick out of your cunt. You can feel it bleeding into your panties, leaving them increasingly damp, and you grimace when they soon start to stick to your labia. 

“Xi - xiansheng! Wait a second …” 

“How do you expect me to wait after all this time, girlie? Huh?” Snarling against your neck, Childe leans further into you and uses his weight to push you back, tipping your pussy towards him. You cling to his shoulders, whimpering and whining low in your throat as he increases the pace, humping into you with even greater enthusiasm than before. “Wanna’ know what’s funny?” He laughs, breathless and hot against the side of your face. “I actually expected you to tell me a completely different answer earlier. You really caught me off guard, you know?” 

Legs quivering around his hips, you dig your nails into his back and tip your head up, gasping at the ceiling. You felt dizzy and hot enough to burn. Was he really going to make you cum, just with this? “Like — ahhn! Like what?” 

Dragging his hands down to grip your plushy hips, Childe shifts against you to look in your face. His eyes were strange and unsettling even now when you felt like you were going to shake right off the desk if he kept digging his cock into you like that, but there was something else in them now … something far removed from the light of day but no less blinding. It was like looking at ice fire — so dark and blue, yet hotter than any normal flame could ever hope to burn. You weren’t sure if you were looking into a vast, bottomless trench under the sea or the very sky itself, so deep and fathomless it would swallow you whole without a trace, never to be seen again, but it doesn’t really seem to matter anymore. You would gladly give yourself over to the void, drown in its oceanic embrace, so long as he kept looking at you like that. 

“Tell me.” You gasp when he doesn’t immediately respond. 

“I thought you were going to tell me I was too young for you.” He suddenly says, surprising you so much you have to do a double take. 

“What?” 

Laughing, he gives his hips one last, lingering roll that has you biting down on your tongue to silence yourself as he unhurriedly moves to extricate himself from you. 

“All that fuss you were making, it was the only thing I could think of. I know you were worried about my title and I probably didn’t help that very much when we parted ways last night … but still, you refused to have me even after I went out of my way to show you I’m just a man. Albeit a supremely powerful one but,” Shrugging as if it didn’t really matter, Childe bends over your lap to start unhooking the clasps holding your stockings up. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with such a benign task and you let him do it without intervention, even when your pussy clenches at the sight of him half naked and focused on the task of undressing you. “I figured you just didn’t think I was mature enough or something like that. Not that that wasn’t bad enough but I certainly didn’t expect your real reason.”

You start to say his name but catch yourself at the last second. “Xiansheng …” You say instead. “It’s true that I’m older than you but it’s not that big of a difference from my perspective. I don’t think you’re immature. Well, not in that way, at least.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Sending you a slow, mischievous little grin, he slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts to slowly slide them down over your thighs, leaving the garter and stockings in place. “Good to hear it. Because I’m prepared to show you just what I’m capable of, and I have no intention of leaving this room until you understand exactly what kind of man I am.” 

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him pull your underwear free from your ankles so he can carelessly toss them somewhere on the floor. Those big, battle hardened hands slide up your inner thighs and roughly shove them apart so he can swoop down, dragging the flat of his tongue through your wet cunt without so much as a word of warning. You jolt so hard you nearly come right up off the desk, a startled ‘oh!’ bursting out of your mouth. He pays it no mind though, keeping your legs spread wide as he devours you, swirling around your entrance to taste the excessive slick accumulated there before directing his mouth higher to knock against your clit. It’s all you can do not to shriek, chest heaving as you jerk and twist against him. 

“Wait —!” 

Coming up off your cunt with an obnoxiously loud slurp and a smack of his lips, Childe gives a breathless laugh. “There’s no time for that, girlie. Today you’re going to learn how a real man handles a woman like you.” 

With a low, hungry snarl, he dives back in and your hand instinctively shoots down to grab at his hair. He pays it no mind though — in fact, he actually appears to enjoy it. Groaning hotly against your pussy, he presses his cheek to one side so he can batter your clit with his tongue, making your toes tightly curl in their little heels. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before; intense and overwhelming, indescribably sticky and wet, and hot, and it doesn’t take long for you to start shaking in earnest. 

Unable to sit up any longer when the tremors threaten to overpower you, you slowly sink back to lay across the top of the desk but he just follows you down. Shuffling closer so he’s bent nearly in two over your cunt, Childe possessively grabs at your thighs so he can toss them over his shoulders and lock you in place. Having your legs up in the air like this is somehow both deeply embarrassing and indescribably arousing at the same time, and you writhe like some mindless beast while he eats you out. Your fingers in his hair start to cramp but you refuse to let him go when it felt like the only thing keeping you grounded to reality anymore. 

You quickly lose the fight though when he slides his hands up your thighs, over the pudge of your belly and higher still to grab your breasts. His long fingers dig in, squeezing them tight enough to hurt before redirecting his attention to your nipples. The way he pinches and rolls them has you arching hard enough to make the desk groan underneath you, legs clenching around his head in an attempt to block him out for even just a moment's reprieve. It’s a losing battle though. He’s as dauntless as ever, and he just keeps working you over with his mouth even when your thighs threaten to crush or suffocate him. 

Blindly, you claw at his wrists and forearms but it is much too late. The scale starts to tip and you feel yourself desperately clinging to the edge, scared of that free fall and what it would mean even as you give your hips one last, pitiful jerk. Just like that, the chord snaps and you plunge into the void, pussy clenching so tight over the course of your orgasm that it actually brings tears to your eyes. Your whole body seems to roil with it, wildly twitching as you choke back your moans until only quiet, gasping mewls manage to escape, but somehow it still isn’t enough. 

You’re not sure when or how it happened, but at some point you’d come to realize that Childe’s mouth on you was perhaps the greatest feeling in the world, and you desperately wanted more of it.  

“Please!” You hiss, blubbering faintly when he starts to untangle himself from you. 

“Well, well,” he taunts, clearly pleased with himself as he straightens up. “I’d say you rather enjoyed that, wouldn’t you? Who would have thought the prim and proper ambassador of the Northland Bank was so needy?” 

Groaning softly in the back of your throat, you cover your face with a still trembling hand and press your thighs together now that he’s not occupying the space between them. You didn’t know whether to beg for more of his attention or cry from embarrassment. Both options seemed perfectly reasonable in this situation, and you finally settle on some combination of the two. 

“I’ve never felt like this before, xiansheng. I'm sorry.” You let out a sound that is half sob, half groan. “My body is on fire but I — I still want you to keep touching me. I don’t really know what I’m doing but I want more. I need more of you.” 

Childe snickers softly, and the sound of him shuffling close again has your heart threatening to jackhammer straight out of your chest. “Aww. Well, when you put it so nicely …” 

His hands find your hips again, giving them a savory squeeze before dragging his palms lower to feel the give of your thighs under his fingers. One long digit slips into the band of a stocking and tugs on it, letting it snap back into place with a quiet smack. He can’t seem to stop pawing at you, kneading along the soft pudge of your inner thigh until broad knuckles brush against your cunt. You shudder at the sensation and lift your head to peer down at him, struggling to keep your voice in check when he presses two fingertips into the meat of your labia and spreads them apart. Sensitive tears sting your eyes as a fresh wave of humiliation crashes over you, threatening to drown you. To be looked at like this was not a feeling you were mentally prepared for but, carefully watching Childe’s face, you’re relieved to find that he doesn’t seem to dislike it. 

In fact, his expression actually pinches with a low, rumbling groan that makes your pussy excitedly clench. His eyes take on a distant, dreamy sort of look, and he bends down to give your cunt another savory lap of his tongue, making you twitch at the contact against your clit. Exhaling slowly, he rises up enough to crowd his finger in and slowly rubs the meaty little nub in faint, barely there circles. You seethe through your teeth, still overwrought so soon after your orgasm, but you quickly relax into it when pleasure rushes in to replace the sensitivity. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs, drawing a quiet whimper out of you. “And so receptive, too. I wonder how sensitive it is on the inside …” 

You realize what he’s saying a moment too late, far too gone in the hazy, post-orgasmic bliss to function at your usual level, and you don’t get the chance to protest. The finger on your clit abandons it’s target in favor of a new one, slipping lower to find your entrance and — slide right in. He doesn’t even hesitate. Just a quick, sudden pressure on your interior and he’s inside of you right down to the knuckle and you wheeze, going ramrod stiff on top of the desk. 

“Shit, you’re tight.” 

“I … I’m sorry.” 

Childe sends you a quick look, his mouth already cocking into a smirk, but the expression on your face gives him pause. “What is there to be sorry about, girlie? It is not a bad thing to be tight, you know.” 

“Yes.” You agree, even though you don’t really know what it is you’re agreeing with. “It’s just … I’ve never done this before so I hope it’s not too much trouble.” 

A terse beat passes through the room, completely still and quiet save the hushed sound of bustling nightlife in the near distance. Then it seems to click, and he blinks up at you owlishly. 

“You’re a virgin?” 

“I'm sorry.” You say it again, because it’s the only thing you can think to say. 

A half choked, disbelieving laugh slips out of him and he straightens, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. There’s a new understanding in his eyes now, as if everything suddenly made sense, and you quickly turn your head so you don’t have to see the way he’s sizing you up. You’d glimpsed that predatory hunger in him more than once in the short time you’d known him but had always written it off as a hunger for life and all it had to offer. Excitement and battle, and the driving urge to test his own strength. Now, though, that voracious appetite was not only centered entirely on you but it also seemed to solidify into something tangible. Something far more dangerous than anything you’d seen in him before. He wasn’t merely going to have you, take you, claim you. 

He was going to devour you. 

With a reverberating growl, Childe reaches out to palm at your lower belly and he gives it a tight, pinching squeeze. You whimper faintly in response but that only further encourages him. His opposite hand, the one between your legs, withdraws for but a moment before returning with two fingers this time, and they slide straight up into you with a wet little click. Your guts are so slippery and soft for him that there’s hardly any resistance at all even when your body instinctively tries to clamp down around the intrusion. You can feel the burn of the stretch in a far off, dreamy sort of way, but it does absolutely nothing to dissuade or discourage you. If anything, it almost seems to spur you on. 

He laughs again, low and raspy, when you stutteringly roll your hips and squirm for him, idly giving your stomach another savory pinch. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this,” he says quietly, in such a soft register that you almost miss it over your own gasping breaths. “But I’m probably not the best candidate for someone’s first time. You sure you want to do this, girlie?” 

You think that’s a massive understatement. He was rough and excitable, easily carried away and impatient. Whatever he may have lacked in fine tuned precision was more than made up for in so much puppy-like enthusiasm that it bordered on being too much, and even now you couldn’t ignore how good just his fingers felt inside your pussy. You wanted him perhaps more than you’d ever wanted anything else in your life, and that wasn’t up for debate. But you hesitate to say it, whether for your pride or just the simple fact that you didn’t know how to say it. 

Faintly wheezing, you struggle to sit half upright so you can look at him, for once unconcerned with the heavy weight of your breasts or the crease along your tummy. You simply look at him, as a woman, and he looks at you as a man, primal and starved, practically chomping at the bit to sink his teeth into you. If he was the wolf then did that make you the lamb? 

“You said you would show me …” Hesitating, you quickly swallow down your nerves before they can get the better of you. “Show me how a man handles a woman like me. I’d like to see that, xiansheng.” 

The snarl that comes out of him is more animal than human, and the most frightening one you’ve heard yet. It sets your guts vibrating, heart hammering wildly in your chest with the instinctive urge to flee, to run, to hide — but you couldn’t have even if you’d wanted to. You were already trapped in his clutches, his fangs locked around your sensitive jugular, ready to tear through you and rip you open for him to feast upon. It flashes across his face, settles deep in those strange eyes. The bloodlust. The thrill of the hunt and the subsequent kill. He was the predator and you, his prize. 

You gladly give yourself over to it when he leans down to claim your mouth again, kissing you so hard and so voraciously it steals the air from your lungs. His hand stays busy between your legs, working your cunt open with those long, calloused fingers, while the other one roams over your body. Grabbing at your love handles, your tits, the small of your back where it’s arched up off the desk in silent supplication for more. More of him, more of the pleasure and the threadbare pain that comes with it. More of his fingers, more of his tongue. You wanted all of it, and you plaintively moan into his mouth when he reaches up to palm the back of your neck. Holding you in place like that, he increases the speed and the pressure between your shuddering thighs, and the incessant clicking increases with it. Already an ache was forming deep in your body and you could tell you were going to be sore for days to come but you revel in it, bask in the heightened pleasure of knowing you were his to lay claim to. 

You think you’re starting to get close to another orgasm when he abruptly pulls his fingers out with a wet little pop, and you tear your kissed-raw mouth from his to groan in disappointment. He doesn’t give you a chance to complain though, and you suddenly find yourself shoved down on your back as he crawls up onto the desk with you, pinning you under the sturdy weight of all that lean, hard muscle. Eyes widening slightly at having him over you like this, you reach up to clutch his shoulders hard enough to make the joints ache. Jostling you slightly while he positions himself, Childe issues a heady grunt into the scant space separating you from him and then you feel it. 

The nudge of his cock. The press of the glans against your slit, seeking out the warmth of your body even as he slips over sticky lips and folds. You gasp sharply, mouth hanging open in a silent scream when he finds your entrance, catches and starts to sink in. It was something completely different from the stretch of his fingers, something much more intense, and you give a small jerk against him as tears spring up in your eyes. He is firm and unbudgeable on top of you though, hissing in deeply felt pleasure when you take him. More and more of him, until your eyes start to roll back in your head. 

Twisting back against the desk, you sob up at the ceiling. It feels like you’re being crushed under him, your guts squishing and compressing against the weight of his cock bullying its way into you. He pauses, shifts slightly, and then his large hand is cupping the side of your face. The blunt of his thumb hooks under your jaw and he demandingly angles you towards him so he can kiss you again, muffling the frantic, whimpering moans you let out when he sinks the rest of the way inside. 

With his narrow hips pressed tight to the backs of your thighs, you’re really, truly trapped underneath him now. It’s so hot and heavy between you two that you can barely manage to squirm, weakly shaking and writhing underneath him instead of wildly bucking like you would like to do. You feel frantic and mindless, your neck lolling bonelessly in his hold while the room seems to spin around you at a frankly alarming speed. You’d never felt so full, stuffed to bursting, or drunk on fast pumping endorphins in all your life. 

“Archons above, you feel so damn good.” He rumbles against your cheek, voicing the very sentiment you were trying (and failing) to come to terms with in your own cotton stuffed mind. You weren’t sure if you would ever be able to fully recover from this. Not this intimate meeting of your flushed, sweaty bodies or Childe’s raucous entry into your life. 

Groaning, he starts to move. The stiff flex of his hips is slow at first, drawn out and savory, like he’s merely enjoying the wet heat of you squeezing around him, but it doesn’t last long. He begins picking up the pace in just a matter of moments, driving his pelvis against your harder, faster, until the embarrassingly loud squelch of your cunt sucking him in deep rings on a near endless loop. You lurch underneath him, clawing at his shoulders and back while he relentlessly carves out a space within you, drilling you into the desk with reckless abandon. The creak of the wood barely even registers though when you’re so swept up in the sensation, the mind numbing experience of being fucked senseless by the beast heaving above you. 

He seems almost feral now, and you can feel the ache within you growing with each plunging thrust of his cock as it drives into you again and again, reaching deep inside to knock something that has you seeing stars. It leaves you reeling, dizzy and overwhelmed, but there’s no stopping it now. Childe is like a man possessed and he eagerly ruts into you, losing himself in your pussy, and all you can do anymore is cling to him in high strung desperation. His hands are everywhere at the same time, a blur of pinching squeezes and kneading gropes, but he soon gives up on trying to press you somehow even closer to himself in favor of reaching higher to grip the opposite edge of the desk. He seems to use it as leverage to reinforce the power behind his thrusts, and he slams into you with enough force to nearly send you into a vertigo-inducing free fall. 

“Shit!” He grunts, fanning warm breath across your face as he seeks out your mouth again. “I don’t think I ever want to leave this pussy, you know that?” 

Tipping your head at him, you catch his lips in another searing kiss and he seems to sink further into you, defying all logic and reason when his body moulds so tightly to yours it’s hard to tell where one of you starts and the other begins. It’s like you’ve become one entity, one being — the wolf and his hard won prey joined together until you were one and the same. Sharing the same body, the same mind, and the same pleasure. His appetite only fed into yours and heightened it, and the reverse seemed to be true as well because he moans, low and faltering, when you lock your ankles around his waist to hold him against you. 

He surprises you then, his heaving motions stalling to an almost complete standstill while his tongue intertwines and dances with yours. Unhurriedly exploring your mouth, claiming it as his own, Childe starts to slow fuck you with a grinding roll of his hips. His cock is wedged so deep inside you it feels like he’s poking at your ribs, and you all but sob at the staggered, barely there thrusts that churn your insides and increase the pressure tenfold. It was like you were on the brink of implosion, shuddering so intensely that the desk heaves a sympathetic groanin response. 

And somewhere in the back of your mind you still manage to find the wherewithal to hope the two of you don’t accidentally break it. 

Gradually, he winds you higher and higher until you’re frantically gasping for air, practically hyperventilating even while he keeps kissing you and fucking you like he has all the time in the world to enjoy this. He just might, for all you know, and you didn’t doubt that he would make the time if he didn’t. So incorrigible, so demanding and entitled to your body … as if he thought you were made just for him and maybe you were. Maybe you’d been born just for this purpose and he, the hot headed man from Snezhnaya, was likewise meant to have you in this way. 

You whine low in your throat as the tremors threaten to overpower you and he finally breaks apart from the kiss to groan heavily into the statically charged air. The reverberation seems to bleed into you and trigger a chain reaction that has every nerve ending in your body lighting up one by one, in rapid succession. It floods your system in waves, working lower and lower until it finally hits that tight, aching coil deep in your gut and it instantly snaps. You cum with a shriek, shoving your face into the bend of his sweat dampened neck to smother the sound while you fitfully twist and jerk underneath him. Your pussy spasms, wildly milking his cock, and he moans in response with a faint tremble of his own sweaty, heaving frame. 

Muscles flexing, he rides you through it at that same, sedately steady pace until you at last start to come down from it, chest heaving uncontrollably as you try to catch your breath. You’re lost in it, soaring somewhere far outside your own body, high above the very city itself, but you’re still acutely aware of the way he seethes and grunts when he moves to push up. Lifting your head, you blearily watch him go up on his knees to kneel between your legs, cock glistening in the sparse light coming in through the window even as he takes it in hand. He strokes it, hard and fast, with his heavy lidded eyes alternating between your well used cunt and your face, panting heavily and groaning softly as his shoulders begin to shake. You can tell he must be reaching his limit by the growing strain in his voice, and it seems to finally hit its peak with a keening, borderline whiny whimper that goes straight to your pussy. 

You hadn’t expected him to sound like that, so needy and desperate, and you find it inexplicably arousing. Your body clenches with renewed excitement and you mewl, very quietly, when his hips give one last little jerk and white, creamy ropes shoot out of him to splatter across your stomach. It’s hot and sticky where it settles, and Childe outright snarls at the sight of his cum painting your skin. 

“Xiansheng - -“ 

He doesn’t stop long enough to hear you out or give himself any time to recover before he’s swooping down, hunching over your prone form so he can drag his tongue through the mess he’s made. You give a jolt of surprise, gasping in shock, but the slow look he sends you under the fall of his tousled hair assures you he was capable of much worse than this and he was not your average man no matter how you tried to rationalize it. 

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath, just looking at one another through the gloom and basking in the afterglow. He touches you with idle confidence, like he was already secure in his ownership of your body and didn’t even need to think about it anymore. Emboldened now, you allow yourself to touch him too, feeling across the definition of his chest and arms, his abdominals and hips. Just like before, his energy seems to be bottomless and it doesn’t take very long for his spent cock to start stirring again when your hands were on him like that. 

Shamefully enough, you have him two more times over the course of the long night — once against the side of the desk, standing up so he could grope you to his heart's content, and once on the ornate chaise lounge, tangled up in a mess of limbs — before finally succumbing to exhaustion in the early hours of the morning. Neither of you spoke of what would come next or what it all meant in the long run, but you didn’t really see the need to. 

There was only so much room for negotiations where fate was concerned, after all. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Pausing outside the bank to check that your hair was still in place, you make a valiant effort to smother the butterflies flitting about inside your chest. You were a little nervous, yes, but you try to remind yourself just how silly that actually was. Childe had not only seen you naked already (which was embarrassing enough) but he had also had you multiple times, in multiple positions. Surely you should have been beyond the point of being shy around him after all of that. 

Though that’s easier said than done, of course, and you can’t quite figure out how you’re supposed to behave now. Should you just pretend that nothing had even transpired between you and him? Should you proceed with confidence and surety that he did indeed want you? He’d made that abundantly clear last night so there wasn’t any reason to pretend you didn’t believe him anymore, and you’d likewise had to accept that you wanted him too. But were you allowed to act on it? Archons, they didn’t make manuals for this sort of thing. 

He’d helped you sneak out in the early pre dawn glow when everything was soft and hazy, and you’d recovered just enough to make the walk home. You’d insisted on it, citing that you needed to bathe, among other things, and he had of course tried to convince you to just stay with him before finally conceding defeat. He’d even offered to escort you but you hadn’t wanted to run the risk of being seen together in such a compromising position. Nadia was bad enough even though she’d politely looked the other way when the two of you had emerged from the bank, completely ignoring you both, but anyone else would have been pushing your luck. Or so it seemed, anyway. The situation was just way too strange for you to say with any certainty but you got the distinct feeling that not everyone would be so willing to look the other way on this. Whatever this was.  

Anxiously, you fiddle with the front of your dress to make sure there weren’t any creases or wrinkles in the fabric. This was so stupid. You had no business acting like a lovestruck teenager over someone like him. He would have outright laughed at you if he saw you right now, and that was to say absolutely nothing of the on duty guard sending you odd looks. You were just going to have to get this over with. 

Steeling your resolve, you push through the doors with your head held high, determined to maintain a confident appearance, but it quickly falls away when you find Childe standing in the lobby with the director and about ten other Fatui agents. Your heart immediately sinks. Had something happened? 

“Oh!” Childe notices you right away, and he perks up like an excitable dog. The stormy glower he’d been wearing fades as soon as he lays eyes on you, replaced by that big, boyish grin, and you stand up a little straighter when he shuffles toward you at an unhurried pace. You weren’t sure what was happening here but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was nothing good. “We were just discussing you, actually. Good timing.”

“Me?” You blurt out, disbelief coloring your voice. 

“Don’t sound so surprised, girlie. Of course it’s nothing bad. Come, stand over here with everyone.” 

You’re so dumbfounded that you don’t even have the presence of mind to act embarrassed about it when he casually slides his arm over your back, steering you towards the small congregation. You frantically search their faces for some kind of answer or clue but you can’t get a read on most of them thanks to their masks. The only one whose face was uncovered was the directors, and you have to do a startled double take at his pallid complexion. He looked like he’d aged ten years since you last saw him! 

“Don’t be nervous.” Childe says, giving you a playful nudge that makes you hope things were not as dire as they seemed. That quaint little notion is immediately quashed, however, when all the good humor drains from him upon turning his attention on the director. “Go on, Krzysiek. Tell her about the letter you received this morning.” 

The older man winces as if he’d been struck, his wild gaze darting from the Harbinger to you and then back again. “Ah. Yes. Yes, of course.” Forcing out a single brittle laugh, he lifts a trembling hand to wipe at his damp forehead. “Lord Regrator sent a very prompt response to my missive. Very prompt indeed. He made it quite clear that the original order had not been signed by mistake and he was well aware how much mora was in question. I’m afraid he isn’t, erm, very pleased with me at the moment but I am working very hard to rectify my mistake at the current time.” 

“And?” Childe prompts, the cold tone of his voice sending chills up your spine. 

“And I fear I owe you an apology,” the director shoots you a harried look. “It was remiss of me to put you in such a vulnerable position. It was not your responsibility nor your place to be in such close proximity with this … ah, particular situation. It was Fatui business and that’s how it should have stayed. Lord Regrator also made that quite clear to me in his letter” 

You have no idea what to say to that. Not that you didn’t agree, because you most certainly did. You’d tried to tell him all of this right after that initial meeting with Childe in the back office but he hadn’t listened, far too determined to foist the problem off on you rather than deal with it himself. But if he’d taken a moment to consider reason and rescind his decision then you wouldn’t have gotten to know Childe the way you now knew him. You wouldn’t have felt his warm hands all over your body or his searing kisses on your neck, and even for as much grief you’d endured because of it you couldn’t be mad at him for it. You were at first, and very much so, but not now. 

“It’s alright.” You finally murmur, turning to glance up at the redhead standing beside you. “Does this mean you’re leaving?” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so sad about that — for all intents and purposes you probably should have been jumping for joy — but his expression softens in as much as it ever does, and he smiles at you again. “For a little while, but I’ll be back. Liyue is a beautiful country and there are plenty more sights to see, people to fight, and things I’d like to do. You haven’t seen the last of me just yet. But in the meantime, Krzysiek here is going to make sure you’re well taken care of for all the trouble we’ve caused you.” 

Your brows shoot straight up to your hairline. What in the world was he talking about? “I’m afraid I don’t understand, xiansheng.”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. Just think of it like … reimbursement for all your hard work. We had a chat about it and agreed you deserve at least that much.” 

“But — but I can’t possibly - -“ 

“Sure you can!” He cuts across you, as boisterous and pushy as ever. Turning to face you now, he pins you with a mischievous if not challenging look that threatens to turn your knees weak. “You won’t have to work at the bank anymore if you don’t want to. You’re free to quit at any time, and I already made sure there won’t be any retaliation against you if that’s what you choose. You’ll still get your compensation for the rest of your life regardless, so, really, you’re free to make whatever decision you want.” He pauses then, seems to think about it and then quietly adds, “Well, I guess that would be for the rest of Krzysiek’s life, wouldn’t it?” 

The man in question chokes, sounding like he was right on the brink of some massive mental breakdown, but you pay him no mind. You just stare at Childe like he’s grown a second head, trying to make sense of it all. Reimbursement? For life? Did he truly think you wanted or were at all concerned about something like that? 

“Is this really your way of saying goodbye?” 

“Aw, don’t look at me with such a sad face, girlie. I already told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” Gently, he places his hand on your shoulder and you let him guide you away from the gathered Fatui who watch on like silent sentries. You were glad for his foresight in moving you away from them because with each passing moment it was becoming increasingly harder to keep your emotions in check. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at him or cry. Of course you’d known he’d be leaving soon but so suddenly? And like this? 

You couldn’t think of anything worse to cap off this whirlwind experience. 

Softly shushing you, Childe pulls you towards the far wall and then moves to stand in front of you so he’s blocking the others and all you can see is him. You try very hard to keep the tears at bay, uncertain if they were angry or sad, but they still well up in your eyes and it makes your bottom lip warble. It was perhaps the most humiliating experience yet but he only clicks his tongue, reaching up to cup your cheek. 

“Stop that.” You hiss, trying to turn away from him, but he persists. Unable to take the hint and overbearing even now after everything you’d gone through together just to reach a tentative understanding with one another. All of it gone, in the blink of an eye. 

“Now, now,” he murmurs in a placating tone, at complete odds with the way he grabs your chin and pulls you around to look at him again. “It’s nothing to get so upset over. I told you I want you, didn’t I? Or do you still think I’m only teasing you?” 

You hesitate, eyeing him warily. A moment ago, yes, you’d started to doubt him in the face of this sudden upheaval. You’d expected at least another day with him, another chance to find the courage to ask about his intentions with you, and now there was so much that was going to go left unsaid. But looking in his face and the grim expression you find there, you realize that he really is serious. Not only was he going to come back without fail, he would come back for you. Not the scenery or the city, or for the duties he carried out for his homeland. This was just his way of making sure you were taken care of in the meantime … and you couldn’t exactly fault him for that. 

Finally, you relent. “No, I don’t think that anymore. I believe you.” 

“Good.” Breaking out into a wide, eager grin, Childe leans down to kiss you, hard and fast before you can react or swat him away. You flush red hot, stammering something about the others seeing, but he just laughs it off without concern. “Let them see! You are mine, and some day we will stand on top of the world together, mark my words!” 

You gape at him in disbelief, hardly even daring to believe your own ears, but he only takes advantage of your shock and confusion to grab your face again. Gently cradling your cheeks between both hands now, he looks at you like you’re something precious and worth protecting, crystalline irises dancing with an inner light that was all his. No exterior illumination seemed to be able to pierce that murky, tumultuous void, but this was something else entirely. It made his eyes look like brilliant diamonds refracting an infinite number of prisms that existed nowhere else on the spectrum and this … it was all for you?

Feeling your resolve irreparably shatter, you lean into him and go up on the tips of your toes so you can kiss him. “I’d like to see that, Childe. I hope you keep your promises.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Crossposted to AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50380030

[cooliogirl101]

(Because I want Reina throwing the canon!verse into chaos)

"Absolutely not. I won't allow it!" Hiashi raged, slamming both hands onto the table.

"Unfortunately, we may have no choice. Konoha cannot afford another war at this moment." The Sandaime sighed, looking every single one of his years at that moment. "Not when we are still recovering from the Kyuubi attack."

"Still, what kind of precedence does this set? That we allow foreign nin to kidnap our children and steal our bloodlines, and yet we are the ones to pay retribution?" Inoichi asked sharply. "You say we cannot afford another war, but surely we also cannot afford to look this weak in front of our enemies."

"What Inoichi said. After what those bloodline-stealing, clouds-for-brains ninja tried to pull? If anything, they should be worried about us declaring war on them," Inuzuka Tsume snarled.

"This move buys us time while we build up strength," Utatane Koharu argued. She shot Hiashi a sharp look. "This wouldn't have been necessary had you the foresight to show a little restraint. I don't know what you were thinking, killing off a high-ranking Kumo nin with diplomatic immunity--"

"He took my daughter--"

"He was evidence--"

"Enough," Hizashi spoke up quietly. "If this will save lives and ensure the safety of the Byakugan, then I am willing. I can think of no more honorable way to serve my village and my clan."

"Try living," a new voice called from outside the doors, a split second before they opened and a vaguely familiar woman walked in. She was startlingly pretty, Hizashi couldn't help but notice-- delicate, almost elvish features, bluish-black hair tied up in a casual twist, deep blue eyes with a hint of mischief within.

Amidst all the ninja stiffening in alarm, Hizashi noticed Uchiha Fugaku letting out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"Kobayashi-san," the Hokage said, eyeing her with...wariness? What was going on? "This is a classified meeting."

"Yes, you really do need to work on your security seals, Sandaime-sama, they're terribly outdated," she mused. "I do apologize for the intrusion but I admit to feeling rather worried after I overheard this esteemed council seriously consider handing one of Konoha's most valuable dojutsu over to Kumo on a silver platter." She clasped her hands behind her back, offering him a falsely bright smile. "As a tax-paying citizen of Konoha, you'll take my concerns into consideration, I hope."

Across the table, Nara Shikaku snorted at the blatant sarcasm in those words.

"Reina-san--" Fugaku growled. The woman--Reina-- waved at him cheerfully.

"Hi Fugaku-san! Mikoto-chan would like you to pick up some tomatoes on your way back. Sasuke-kun got into the pantry again, so we're out." She shook her head fondly. "That boy, honestly. I don't know what to do with him."

Next to him, Hiashi choked on his spit while most of the room stared at her in disbelief (with the exception of Tsume, who was currently stiffing her laughter behind a fist). With an abrupt start, Hizashi remembered where he'd seen this woman before. It had been a popular topic of gossip the past few days, when the Uchiha Matriarch had, seemingly out of nowhere, struck up a close friendship with a civilian woman who made a living decorating cakes and cookies.

Hizashi glanced at the woman standing calmly in front of them, having effortlessly broken into one of Konoha's most secure buildings, completely unconcerned by being in a room full of Konoha's most powerful and influential ninja.

If she was a civilian, he'd eat his shoes.

"We wouldn't be 'handing the Byakugan over on a silver platter,' girl," Danzo scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "Don't speak of things you don't understand."

"Oh? Because by my understanding, you were planning on sacrificing Hizashi-san's life for his brother's and just hoping the Caged Bird Seal does its job and prevents Kumo from utilizing the Byakuyan," she said sweetly. "The problem with that plan, of course, is that the Caged Bird Seal is an absolute atrocity and an embarrassment to fuuinjutsu, designed by someone who cared more about enslaving his family members than actually protecting his bloodline."

"The Caged Bird Seal is infallible," Hizashi interjected before he could stop himself, voice hoarse. It was infallible because it had to be-- because if it could fail, then his and his son's suffering meant nothing.

An unreadable expression crossed her face.

"Is it?" She asked softly. "Why don't you ask your son that?"

She turned towards the door.

"Neji-kun, come inside for a moment, will you?"

His son walked inside, forehead bare as the day he was born, and Hizashi's world shattered.

~~

"How? How did you remove the Caged Bird Seal?!"

"What, like it's hard?"

~~

"So you've proven that the Caged Bird Seal can be removed," Danzo glared at her. "That does not solve our problem; in fact, it worsens it."

"Danzo is right," the Sandaime agreed. "Kumo will still demand payment in blood and--"

"No, they won't." Reina tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I probably should have started with that. Yeah, they retracted their demand for Hyuuga-san's life, and send along their most sincere apologies for what happened, and their most sincere assurances that they had no idea their head ninja was planning such a thing, blah, blah, blah. You're welcome."

There was a long silence. It was the first time Hizashi had ever seen Sarutobi Hiruzen speechless. He probably would have enjoyed it more had he not been so focused on keeping his own mouth from dropping open.

"Um, excuse me. What?" Inoichi asked, sounding as gobsmacked as Hizashi felt.

"How the hell did you manage that?" Tsume exploded.

"Passed along a message?" Reina shrugged. "Although to be honest, it wasn't so much the content of the message as much as the method of delivery."

"Reina-san," Fugaku said, voice low and laced with dread. "What did you do?"

She grinned, twirling around a very familiar looking kunai-- one that Konoha hadn't seen in a very long time. Next to him, Hiashi drew in a sharp breath.

"Did you know A has one of these just lying around in his office? Probably in an attempt to deconstruct it. But oh man, you should have seen his face when I popped in!" She laughed. "Or should I say, flashed in. Never seen a man turn white so quickly! That was totally worth the motion sickness."

Kumo, after Reina breaks into their Kage’s office with an S-Class jutsu that was thought extinct but still gives like half the ninja world PTSD: I’m sorry Konoha, I wasn’t familiar with your game

(In Reina's world, there's like half a dozen people who know the Hiraishin, although obviously Minato's the best at it. Reina learned because after what happened with Obito and Rin, she wanted a way to teleport instantly to her precious people in order to provide emergency medical care (she also was on standby while Minato was developing it, just in case of any teleporting mishaps/he ended up needing any limbs reattached). She doesn't use it for combat though and dislikes using the jutsu as it gives her motion sickness. Kushina also technically knows it but doesn't have the chakra control to use it effectively. Kakashi and Orochimaru also know how to use it, and Minato plans on teaching Naruto one day as well. Which is a sharp contrast to the canon world, where the number is like zero).

[haxorus612]

Arknights Pull Priority Guide - Future Event Spoilers

Pull priority guide from post lucent arrowhead to delicious in dungeon collab. Ranked from highest-value operator to lowest, at the end I'll discuss which banners to prioritize.

#1: Stop playing ga cha games

#2: Odda.

brings Ho'olheyak's previously unique niche of a rapid-fire uplift to a five star package. While he's more limited in what enemies he can lift, he more than makes up for it with better uptime and splash AOE. It's rare that 5 stars get to compete directly with 6 stars. For that alone, he's absolutely worth your time. Just like ho'olheyak before him, he's got excellent synergy with one particular IS4 relic.

#3: Nymph.

so far the only applicator of the "fear" status effect, which is distinct from Degenbrecher's frighten. It's a unique status that forces enemies to walk backwards for a short time. It has a lot of potent use cases, especially against slower enemies. Like most of our entrants here, her notable skill has a reasonably low SP cost.

#4: Laios Touden.

a character fully unique to arknights from one of the manhwas, i think it's called "Dig Dug's Dungeon Dining"? It was part of the konami collaboration. Anyway, he, like odda, brings a 6-star utility to a lower rank. Frighten is a fairly powerful effect, fully canceling an enemy's auto-attacks, but on a purely-offensive operator like degenbrecher, it didn't quite have a central place on her kit. Laios has much tankier stats as a dreadnought, and his frighten has a long duration and low SP cost.

#5: Logos

What logos brings to the table is straight out of the matrix: he can slow down and potentially delete nearly any projectile with his s3. It's flashy, and when used cleverly can save you a lot of grief. However, it's hardly applicable to every situation. Some of the most dangerous ranged enemies don't use projectiles at all, and some "projectiles" ignore his skill anyway. It's certainly not universal, but when it's useful, it's fun and powerful.

#6: Ascalon

She doesn't bring anything fully unique, but what she does bring is a bit stronger and weirder than most operators before her. Like Ela, she has a skill that inflicts "accuracy reduction" on enemies, with a 50% chance for any enemy attack to miss instead of Ela's 40%. It has some distinct use cases from dodge, notably stopping certain damage-over-time effects that would result from a hit. On top of that, she can slow aerial enemies with her s2 without damaging them, which looks very funny. Overall, a useful and unique operator.

Honorable mentions: Chilchuck Tims - Unlike Folinic, who only gives herself resistance environmental effects, Chilchuck gives full immunity. He's also kind enough to share with any allies within his range. Ulpianus - Technically the first operator to be able to redeploy himself with a skill, but it's hardly different from just. Y'know. redeploying an operator normally. Can still be very useful, especially when rapidly swapping between lanes. Narantuya - Also applies accuracy reduction to enemies, but despite the infinite application time, its range and chance leaves much to be desired. Instead of a 50%, it's only 20%. Lutonada - Extremely adorable. Also, shifting utility on a defender is completely unique if you've never heard of croissant.

Which Banner Should I Pull On?

While it's easy to get caught up in the hype of a new limited banner, Logos' cool utility is barely applicable to more than a handful of sick compilations. Try to grab someone more reliable, like Laios Touden, who will scream at your enemies! With that in mind, here are my recommendations:

This banner has two of my recommended operators: Pallas' Bodyguard, and the Janitor Director Ascalon, and one of my honorable mentions, Lutonada. 3 for the price of 1 is the best deal you'll get here!

logos banner: He might not be the most widely applicable, but you can't go wrong with something that entertaining. Still, I wouldn't recommend pulling too hard. Missing out on him isn't the end of the world.

HUH??? what? why is grain buds on this banner? what's she doing down there??? omg save this child

Nyumph is also fully unique! She's got style in spades, too, nothing like those bountiful boring blue banners up above.

And with that, we've come to the end of arknights. I did think it was weird that they did end of service on their Fyodor Dostoevsky collaboration, Dungeon In Delicious, but you never really know how these things are going to go aha. Thanks for reading, hope you have a nice day!

This banner has 1 main pick, Laios, and one of my honorable mentions, chilchuck. With 2, that's greater than one, and therefore much higher value than the other banners except ascalon's where you can Definitely pull odda. Really try to pull odda from that one, i dare you. If you don't you can come to my house and break my legs. I'll even post my address under the cut:

[racefortheironthrone]

Newsom's UI Veto Is a Sign of CA's Dysfunction on UI

Introduction:

While I'm not yet up to a full blogpost, I thought I'd chime in on social media to buttress a point that my colleague Erik Loomis made in regards to Gavin Newsom's veto of the Unemployment Insurance strike bill. While Erik is absolutely correct that Newsom's veto is a pretty nakedly anti-union move, (especially in the wake of a major entertainment industry strike in which management attempted to use the threat of eviction and foreclosure to break the union), I think the veto also reflects the dysfunction in the California Unemployment Insurance system.

California's UI System:

Back when I was a freelance policy analyst in grad school, I had the opportunity to write about a wide range of topics in social and economic policy - and it just so happened that one of those topics was unemployment insurance.

One of the problems with the U.S' social insurance system is that, because UI is a joint Federal-state program that's financed by state payroll taxes that are then forgiven against Federal taxation (or in the case of the pandemic or the Great Recession, Federal loans), there is a powerful incentive for states to under-tax and under-finance their UI systems and rely instead on the Federal backstop to keep the system ticking over.

For all of California's progressive reputation, it actually ranks towards the bottom of the national league tables when it comes to underfunding its UI system:

"Unemployment benefits in California are funded by a payroll tax on businesses, but the tax is so low and generates so little revenue that the state had to borrow $20 million from the federal government to provide benefits during the pandemic. In a veto message, Mr. Newsom said that $302 million in interest is due on the federal loan in September alone. “Now is not the time to increase costs or incur this sizable debt,” he said." (source)

To be fair, California is not absolutely terrible - it's not Texas or Mississippi or Alabama - and a lot of its current predicament has to do with how hard California was hit by the COVID-19 pandemic, but even in good times, California taxes itself so lightly that it routinely owes the Federal government UI money. This creates another reason/excuse for the state government to not follow the California Labor Federation's lead and transform the UI system into something that can fight not just poverty but all forms of economic exploitation.

State Capacity:

Now, to my mind, this only makes it more imperative for the state to get its act together - and a big part of that is adopting labor's proposal for decoupling strikes and starvation through the UI system. As I see it, that goes hand in hand with raising minimum benefit levels, such that UI plus strike pay should allow people to live with dignity even during a long strike of 5-6 months duration, improved administration so that people don't have to wait three weeks to actually get their hands on their own money, and improved financing so that the system as a whole can actually work as an automatic stabilizer in economic crises.

To me, this is the essence of community unionism: we work to improve the lives of our members, and in so doing improve the lives of the entire community.

[honeycloudz]

Perfect Storm | Chapter One: Rough Beginnings

Content Warnings: the Haitani's plant a wet sloppy one on ur hands, reader is nervous for only a little, brief mentions of drug trading and violence (its Bonten what do you expect), Sanzu insults you a lot </3, he calls you "princess" as an insult cuz hes weird like that

Back to- Perfect Storm Chapters

Next- Chapter Two: Klutz

It was that afternoon when it all began.That late rainy afternoon is when your entire life changed. When you got notice that you were going from a prominent, high level Bonten assassin to the top of the ranks in only a few short weeks (props to you going above and beyond on your missions), it came as a surprise to you. Feeling dreadfully anxious, your hands had a slight tremble to them as you gripped the steering wheel driving home to get prepared. To say you were nervous was an understatement. 

With anxious excitement running rampant through your veins, you set down your most expensive dress at the time, (which pales compared to the salary you make now, having been a Bonten executive for almost a full year), and hop in the shower as you braced yourself to meet the most powerful and dangerous men in all of Japan. 

A meeting had been set up the night you were made aware of your promotion, as you pulled into the Bonten Headquarters parking lot, already seeing a reserved spot with your name on it. Stepping out of the vehicle, pulling down the ends of your tight dress that had ridden up your thigh, you began making the treacherous journey to the elevator. Almost getting lost in the big establishment. Adrenaline coursing through your body, you exit the elevator and begin your walk.

The executives gathered in the meeting room awaiting your arrival when they heard the click-clack of heels on their expensive marble flooring, signaling you were nearby.

“Try not to sleep with her” murmured an annoyed Kokonoi, who was looking over at the infamously seductive Haitani brothers who looked more excited than they should have been for your arrival. 

This made Sanzu laugh a little too loud, “Sleep with her? I can't imagine anyone wanting to tap that”. He denied, insulting your character unbeknownst to you. 

Confused, his coworkers turned to him with raised eyebrows and questioned him over his behavior. He hadn't even met you, only seeing low quality video footage of you that they all had seen during their background check. Finding out you were in the high ranks of Brahman. 

To Sanzu, you being in Brahman during your youth years was enough of a reason for him to despise you without having known you. He hated Brahman and the brief mention of it was enough to set him off- so having you in the room with him was going to drive him insane.

Anything closely associated with Brahman immediately put a bad taste in his mouth. Not wanting to explain this, he had told them to ‘shut up’, displeasure obvious in his voice. They were about to argue back when they heard the clicking of heels louder than before suddenly stop when the big wooden doors were opened to reveal you, the very definition of sex appeal, they thought. Curiosity peaked, they analyzed you. 

Stepping into the big room, you saw a big table where they were all seated, sipping their whiskey, gin, or wine, eyeing your every move. You stood still at the entrance of the door, glancing around the room with a cocky smile on your face, confidence radiating off of you. Making eye contact with each of them you continued to walk into the room, scanning it till your eyes met an empty chair.

You had strutted in here with the most confidence to prove you were worthy enough to be in their powerful presence. However, in reality you felt as if you were going to collapse and melt away when all their eyes were on you. 

Afterall, you were in a room with the most dangerous men in all of Japan.

Ran was the first to break the tension, standing on his feet taking a few short steps to reach you, due to his height he didn't need to make many. You looked up at him as he bowed his head slightly down for you, bringing your hand to his lips and giving it a kiss. 

You quickly thanked him and took a seat at the end of the big wooden table, next to a shirtless man with a scar running down one of his eyes. He glanced at you and sent you a sympathetic smile, knowing you were probably very anxious sitting in a room with deadly men as if he wasn't one of them. You nodded down at him and smiled and turned to Mikey, the well known leader of Bonten who began to speak. 

“As you all know, we have had trouble with a gang from the west, constantly attacking our men and stealing our drugs to sell them. Y/n, was sent on a mission to stop the drug shipment, Not only did she stop it, but she subdued them completely by killing their leader”. Mikey paused to breathe while the others turned their focus back to you, putting all their undivided attention on you, making you more nervous. Trying your hardest not to show the tremble of your hands you tucked them under the table, when Mikey began to speak again, they all focused on their leader, making you thankful for him.

 All except one pair of eyes. You felt them bore holes into the side of your face. You turned to meet this pair of eyes and you were met with cold blue eyes staring into you. As if the pink headed owner of these eyes was sizing you up. You noted the scowl on the man's face, wondering why he was looking at you with such hatred. 

You decided if you wanted to live through this meeting, you needed to prove you were tough, that you were worthy of being a Bonten executive, plus you had thought that you didn't deserve this treatment no matter who he was, so you returned the favor, looking him up and down at him with disgust on your face.

To say Sanzu was appalled at your behavior was an understatement. Never, since the day he became Bontens number two, had anyone ever degraded him with such disrespect. Taking in the shock written all over his features you were satisfied and tore your eyes away from his to put your focus back on Mikey who continued to speak about what you've accomplished. 

“From today onwards, Y/n will be the fourth executive.” As soon as Mikey said those words the men shot up from their seats arguing against each other for or against your placement. You heard the purple haired man that had kissed your hand whine childishly about how you were in a higher position than he was. The man next to him, with the longer purple hair and the same infamous Bonten tattoo on his neck, rolled his eyes at the man’s immature antics. The sharp eyed, white haired man with the Bonten logo dyed in the roots of his hair, sat across from them and argued back about how ‘you'd be a good asset to the team’ and how it ‘doesn't matter if she’s in a higher position’. 

The scar-eyed man seated next to you sighed and pinched the sides of his forehead in irritation “If you actually submitted all your paperwork on time and did your job right, maybe you’d be in a higher position” sighed the man. The short purple haired man gasped and put a hand to his chest very dramatically. The sight of this made you laugh which made an already resentful Sanzu more galled. 

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Sanzu’s rudely asked question made the room fall silent as the men analyzed you, awaiting your reaction. 

You turned your eyes to the man again and scoffed at his remark, “Who the fuck do you think youre talking to?” you spat back. Nervousness slowly being replaced with irritation, you talked once again, “You’ve had a stick up your ass since I came in the room.” you paused, leaning into the table, propping one of your arms on it, angry eyes fixated on him.

Laughs, whistles, ‘oooh feisty’ and ‘i like her’ were heard around the room as you held tensioned eye contact with the ill mannered man. “You're in a room filled with a bunch of criminals, sweetheart, you sure youre not just one of our whor-” Just as he was about to continue, Mikey leered his eyes to his second in command.

“Sanzu, stop”. Like an owner telling their trained dog to stop barking, the man whose name you now know is Sanzu, stopped talking to you. Luckily for him, if he finished that sentence, you would've been up in an instant, striking to kill. Mikey was the only one that had noticed one of your hands creeping to your purse which he assumed was to grab a weapon and so he quickly shut his man up before he made an enemy out of you. 

The room fell silent once again.

“This decision is final, Y/n will be our fourth executive, those who disagree, speak now.” You looked around the room, noticing none of them would dare argue against their leader. 

Mikey continued, “Y/n, this is Sanzu, my right hand man” Sanzu, did not return your eye contact this time. “Next to you is Kakucho, the third executive. '' The man next to you smiled again and waved, you reciprocated this, deciding to shake his big hand firmly. “Across from you are the Haitani brothers, Ran and Rindou.” The brothers stood from their seats to reach across the table. 

Ran, the man that had so charmingly kissed your hand when you entered, kissed it again while Rindou grabbed your other hand to kiss that one. As they pulled their lips away from your hands you laughed at their attempt to woo you.

 Mikey began again, “That's Kokonoi, he’s the main money maker for us” you turned yourself to face Kokonoi, taking his hand into yours and shaking it, thanking him for his earlier statement he made about you. He pulled his hand away, liking the feeling of your smaller hand in his. “Back there is Takeomi and Mochi.” Mikey finished introducing everyone to you as you looked into the back of the room to see two older, more mature looking men, smoking and waving to you. 

“Sanzu, Show Y/n to her office.” Mikey demanded, attempting to get you both to get along. 

Sanzu looked over to you with an artificial smile on his face, “Lets go, Y/n”.  

Unsure why he was treating you with disrespect, you forced a venomous smile on your face as well, “Sure, Sanzu”. You both walked out, refusing to look at one another while he escorted you to your new office. 

Which was right across from his.

You lay in your bed, sleepiness slowly creeping up on you while thinking back on this memory. You laughed, remembering how nervous you were to meet them, knowing now that they're all a bunch of dorks who are loyal to one another and would do anything to protect each other's backs, even if they weren't willing to admit it. 

All except one, one who has been hellbent on making you miserable as you returned the favor. One, who's been working hard on trying to get you to quit, or go as far as try endlessly to get you fired. One who’s been openly insulting you to your face since your first day- Sanzu Haruchiyo.

You groaned in frustration just at the thought of the man. Youve been an executive for almost a year and he's still dead set on pushing you out. Why he hated you will continue to be a mystery, choosing not to ask him yourself, not wanting it to seem as if he got to you. Rindou had told you he and the others didn't know themselves, so you couldn't even ask one of them. You were sure one of these days you were going to murder him, tired of the mistreatment he gave you. 

However you were used to returning the same disrespect he had given. You had titled him “your worst enemy”, making an uncaring-of-your-rant Kokonoi tell you how petty that was.

Of course, you and Sanzu have grown accustomed to throwing insults at one another, day and night, never actually referring to each other by your names but rather only endless spews of ‘bitch, ugly, stupid’ coming from you and ‘annoying, useless’- and the one that made you the most outraged; ‘princess’. 

And of course, Sanzu caught on quickly at how much you despised this nickname, and to your dismay this label stuck. He had first used the nickname when he overheard you just a few days ago sitting on the kitchen counter, talking to Kakucho who was making his coffee in the shared kitchen between the Bonten Executives. 

He listened to you speak about how ‘you wanted to go clothes shopping because it's been a while since you had gone’ and how ‘all your other clothes are blood stained’. To which he let out a loud and obnoxious laugh catching both your and Kakuchos attention. Kakucho, knowing an argument was going to break out between the both of you, sighed and quickly escaped the scene, abandoning his unfinished coffee. 

“What's so funny?” You questioned him with venom in your tone.

 He spun around to face you, swirling the teaspoon in his mug, grinning at you. “Oh, nothing” he sighed out contently, “s’ just that princess here is so pure”, he paused, putting emphasis on the word pure before continuing, “so pampered”, he paused again. “That she's scared of having a little blood on her clothes.” he mockingly pouted, nodding his head and scrunching his eyebrows, giving you an annoyingly sarcastic face.

Sanzu has always insulted you, and you always insulted him. But he’s never called you outright weak or even implied it up until this point. And you were infuriated. He looked at you once again smiling so cocky, realizing how much of a blow this gave to your ego. He enjoyed riling you up, seeing you so mad, knowing the only thought left in your head was ‘How dare he?!’

You hopped off the counter walking towards him with your fists clenched and stood right at his feet looking up at his irritating smile, Oh how badly you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face and you would've, if it weren't for Bonten rules against in-fighting, but the things you would do to him if it didnt risk your rank as a Bonten Executive. “Watch your mouth.” you threatened staring up at him only a few inches away from his face. He looked down at you not saying anything, but enjoying watching you get so riled up. 

He bent down closer to your face and you could feel his breath on your cheek when he leans in closer right up to your ear and lets out an airy and short “hah”, that makes your skin tickle under him, a chill runs down your spine as you shiver, hoping he didn't notice and take it as a sign of weakness. 

Unfortunately for you, he did notice.

“What's wrong?”- he whispers right at your ear, you swear you can hear the smirk on his face with the way he speaks, “princess”. 

You both jump out of the position you're in when you hear a fake awkward cough coming from the other side of the room. “The meeting started five minutes ago.” sighed out an annoyed Ran, startling the both of you. 

You turn to Sanzu who's on his way out and curse at him under your breath, grabbing your full mug, pushing past him quickly and making your way to the meeting room, promising yourself you'd get your revenge on him sometime.

He hadn't stopped calling you ‘princess’ since the nickname stuck only a few days ago. You groaned, laying in your bed unable to sleep. 

‘Unlucky me’ you thought, annoyed at the fact that it was that nickname that stuck. You preferred him to call you stupid or anything else but princess. You hated the implication of it. 

You also hated the fact that, Sanzu of all people, was the last thought on your mind before you crashed for the night.

A/n: NEED SANZU TO BREED ME BUT ALSO THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON MY RINDOU FIC! I ONLY STARTED WRITING LIKE 2 WEEKS AGO AND THE SUPPORT ON ALL OF MY FICS HAS BEEN OVERWHELMING IN ALL THE BEST WAY <3 thank you so much and omg, i got my first two requests to be added to the tag list <33 thank you so much!! any criticism and feedback is welcome, i hope you guys enjoyed this mwah

TagList: @gojoscumslut , @farrlord , @bontensbabygirl

[ronansullivan]

Oh, is that RONAN SULLIVAN? I heard the FORTY-TWO year old is SAGACIOUS. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also JADED. Makes sense seeing how they are the PRESIDENT of the GHOST RIDERS MC gang.

pinterest

full name: ronan james sullivan

nicknames: sully, big sully, prez

faceclaim: jensen ackles

birthdate: november 22nd

alliance: ghost riders mc

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/him

occupation: gang leader

hometown: the bronx, new york.

sexual orientation: straight pan but repressing the shit outta that

relationship status: single, divorced

height: 6"4

gunpowder and cigar smoke, measuring the ingredients for a loaf of bread, a smile like a knife, stretching over a pool table to line up the perfect shot, blood on your hands, stitching patches into leather, feeling at home in the shadows, whiskey burning hot in your chest, calloused fingers and a wicked grin, the sticky table at a local strip joint, a trail of hickeys up your spine, a bar with an old jukebox, scars you won't talk about, an engine so loud it makes your bones shake, stubble burn between your thighs, flipping pancakes on sunday morning, split lips and busted knuckles, never knowing when to back down.

knocked around the bronx with his younger brother for most of their childhood, father was a drunk and a no-good who made their lives hell. as the eldest ronan bore the brunt of the spiteful abuse, drawing the ire away from the rest of the family. uncle was a biker, taught ronan everything he knows about mechanics and mcs.

big sully and little sully were inseparable, climbing the ranks through the mc easily with their loyalty and skills. earning the nicknames pinky and brain. tommy was loveable where, ronan was suspicious and street-smart. he had one finger permanently hooked in his younger brother's collar to keep him out of trouble, which worked maybe 50% of the time.

then he got recruited, the navy sank its claws into him and he lost 5 years to them. returning to find tommy embroiled up to his neck in gang business, having made mess after mess in his absence. sully went back to his old ways, harder and without care this time, trying to stop his brother drowning with one hand and watching his own back with the other.

though he started off scared of fighting, his street brawling and time as a teenager fighting in various ny boxing gyms gave him a good base for training and soon he was near-lethal. the power felt good, the hurt felt good.

sully started spending time behind bars here and there, tommy falling faster, using harder and harder gear. during his longest stint in jail, tommy was fatally shot by cops during a job gone wrong, in the 20 minutes after that phone call ronan added a year to his sentence.

as he dragged details out of people in the months that followed his release, the whole thing didn't make any sense. it just stinks to ronan, the whole situation and even years later he wants to figure out just what actually went down that night. most people think he needs to let it go and that he's making up something to solve since he wasn't there for tommy.

ronan got married, to his on-again off-again girlfriend since high school. their love was all-consuming and real but awful for the people around them, for them both. too much of their time spent screaming in one another's faces and then making up to be tenable.

ronan has this way of making you feel confident, filling you with a sense of assuredness with a grin on your face. over time he started to resent how well he could bolster people: when the world would chew them up just like everybody else.

tried extremely hard not to grow up to be as angry as his father. he's angrier. after sully's brother died the red mist descended and he carved a bloody path through new york on his rise to leadership, anyone who knew ronan then will tell you something died behind his eyes when tommy did. a couple of nicknames a few bars have him still banned under are 'ronan the red' and 'ronan the barbarian'.

tries to give back quite a bit? though their work is grimy, the money dirty bills, not honest at all, sully throws block parties in the bronx, supplying food and drink for whole streets during the summers. businesses under the mc's protection get taken very seriously. there are big charity drives, donations. they settle neighbourhood disputes with street-corner town halls. they move abuse victims out of unsafe homes, sometimes still big sully will roll up his sleeves and knock out a husband if he needs to teach a lesson.

whitney and ronan divorced when freya was three, something better for everyone involved. they still had that chemistry that could cause arguments but the space allowed them to revisit the friendship that had kindled it all with their shared custody. whitney died in a hit and run a few years later when freya was seven. until about 5 years ago he wore the ring and told everyone he was widowed to just have some fucking peace for a while: he got married young, fell straight into the life and was so busy with work that a relationship was simply another target to add to the dwindling collection on his back. so he didn't.

sully has mellowed out a lot since rising the ranks. he's learned a lot of hard lessons told in the scars that mark him, eating at and cutting through the ink that covers his fingertips, all his arms, and across his shoulder blades to meet in the middle. those that haven't seen him at his worst, wouldn't know that above the slighter softer middle of his forties the breadth of his shoulders still houses someone strong enough to kill a man in one poorly or well-aimed punch, without blinking.

ronan takes all kinds, the downtrodden and the spat-upon can all find a place with the mc as long as they have heart and grit. sully is pretty hands-on at ensuring no one is abusing power in the ranks. views all of them like his kids but has to divorce himself from those feelings for the sake of his sanity and operations. doesn't stand for intolerance or prejudice either, if you say a slur he's feeding you your own teeth, he's an old dog but freya has taught him a lot.

freya is thirteen now and he shares custody with her grandma, he bought them a house in long island in 2008, one of the big victorian wooden ones, and renovated it. sully spends half his time up here down the big driveway, behind the tall pines with the people he loves most. too self-indulgent to give them up completely.

can often be found kneading huge mounds of dough for the bread at 3-4am in the bakery or enjoying a powdered sugar snowstorm out back while wearing an apron. it's something he, his mom, and his brother used to do together and it's meditative to him.

sully has his left eyebrow, his septum, and his tongue pierced as well as the cartilage of both ears. and his left nipple, you'd have to get one of the ghost riders to swear that on their bike.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #2: Bark

This piece is set roughly two years before XIV 2.0 and reflects part of the aftermath of the 2020 prompt #30 Splinter.

The night before the imperial audit was due to the capital, the 9th Bureau offices of the IVth Legion resembled the aftermath of an explosion - a comparison with which Alma was intimately familiar. Sheafs of paper obscured most of the great meeting room table in Hyur-tall columns that might once have held some deeper organizational purpose but was now more a testament to the workings of imperial procedure than any meaningful function. The air, too, was thick with sweat and breath; the confidentiality of their task prohibited them from opening a window, and the odors that had gathered throughout the evening served only to inhibit concentration. Dona eir Quinta had retreated to the veranda for a smoke break, Sadr rem Albeleo was attending to a security breach elsewhere in the building, and many of the other staff with whom Alma was much less familiar had collapsed after pushing far past their twenty-bell shifts.

As such, when the legatus strode in to the office, only she and Menenius sas Lanatus were there to greet him.

"How fare the preparations?" said Noah van Gabranth by way of greeting.

Menenius bowed his head with much more certainty than Alma had seen from him only a few minutes prior. "Proceeding apace, my lord."

"Good." But he paid no mind to the carnage of bureaucracy transpiring around him. "Velius. With me, if you would."

Her pulse quickened, as it always did whenever he addressed her directly. She stood from the page she had been annotating - a note on the damage done to Dalmasca's historical sites during the bombings under Livia sas Junius - and made to present herself at attention.

"And bring a writing pad," the legatus added.

Menenius raised an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the both of them with unabashed curiosity. Whether out of unflagging obedience or abject fatigue, he simply nodded, and he left Alma to follow behind his superior when the latter made a quick exit.

"The prisoner is a collaborator of the Dalmascan Resistance," said Gabranth as they walked the halls of Nalbina Fortress to reach the keep. "A powerful mage with connections to the void."

She understood then why Gabranth had not simply done away with the prisoner: void mages were rare - those with enough scruples to land them in Nalbina, much more so.

"She has rejected multiple offers of friendship over the decades; nevertheless, we believe non-violent interrogation may yield insightful results. For her records, copy down our conversation in full, without shorthand. Make note of her expressions and any movements of her limbs."

"Yes, ser." The instructions were basic orders for an interrogation of any sort. What she could not yet grasp was why this task proved just as crucial as a half-completed audit that needed to be aboard an airship bound for the capital by the time the sun rose.

That question remained even as the legatus opened the door to the oubliette. The woman within the cage beyond was greatly diminished; Alma would have to inquire later how long her imprisonment had lasted thus far, given that she had been made to hang. All the same, her features were striking: long waves of purple hair cascaded down over her brown skin, and her tired eyes still shone bright amid the single candle that cast its light around the door.

"Ah," said the prisoner. One of her ears gave a twitch, one that Alma supposed was more out of instinct than any true emotion. "The imperial hound returns, now with a shadow in tow."

After serving in the IVth Legion for more than three years, Alma had seen firsthand how Noah van Gabranth was a man willing to tolerate a great deal of uncouth behavior, even rudeness, so long as they came from a place of loyalty. The Viera voidmage's jokes were nothing Alma had not heard before, even from within the 9th Bureau's own ranks - but to hear them from a prisoner was something far different.

But Gabranth did not react to her impudence with anger or amusement. Instead, he raised both hands to his helmet and lifted it from his head to hold it at his side.

It was the first time Alma had ever seen his face - though she recognized it from countless lithographs she had seen of Basch. There, in the dim light of the fortress, he might have passed for his father's ghost.

"State your name, for the record," said Gabranth.

Only then, with the invocation of her role, did Alma remember that she had been brought here for a definitive purpose.

Again the prisoner's ear twitched, this time in the direction of Alma's pen scratching upon the paper. Her eyes were locked with Gabranth's in a way she had never seen before, not even from his officers.

"Hrjt - that's H-R-J-T - of the Graylands. Called 'Brotin' in the Viera tongue. And I would humbly request, for the record, an acknowledgement that the legatus remains unable to pronounce my name, even after nearly thirty years of our dalliances." Here, she inclined her head as deeply as she was able to Alma. "And what is your name, dear scribe?"

"She is of no consequence," Gabranth interjected, and Alma found herself grateful for the words. "But you, Miss Brotin-"

"It may help if you think of it as containing a D, as the R is what is known as a 'flipped' R. 'HED-yet.'"

"-you may yet rise above your name." Alma could not help but abbreviate nearly every word that came through, could not hope to capture in full the crosstalk flying fast between the longstanding adversaries. "To do so, I would present you with this."

A brightness emerged from Gabranth's side, even before Alma glanced up from her furious scrawling. From a pocket inside his armor, he withdrew a piece of auracite.

Hrjt went still in her chains. She took in a deep breath of the putrid dungeon air, deep enough for Alma to make note of it upon the page - and then, in a mere instant, her eyes reflected the selfsame stygian light.

"Dark and cold is this lover's embrace," she intoned. Her voice had dropped several octaves in mere moments. "I lie among the boundless detritus, piled high atop the ruins of the outcasts - a feast for those who cannot sink lower. Look upon me! Partake of me!"

Alma wrote faster than she had ever written before, heedless of all but the need to capture the words as they came to her. Then Hrjt coughed, and murky saltwater poured from her mouth, all down the front of her ragged and stained shift.

"I am here," she whispered. She now spoke as a Dalmascan man would speak, using masculine-gendered grammar. Alma could barely speak Dalmascan, though she knew enough of it from listening to Rabanastran radios for bells on end.

And Hrjt's speech conveyed only desire in its simplest form - words simple enough to piece together through the fervency with which they were conveyed.

"Where are you, my love? I feel you, yet you are not with me. Our son, you-" She turned, then, to Alma. "My son. Do not bring him here. He would only drown in these depths."

"Your son?" asked Gabranth. His voice was both hard and dangerously sweet - a horrific sort of invitation. "Who is your son?"

Hrjt did not reply; she merely coughed again and vomited even more water from some unfathomable depth. When she righted her head, it was with the great fatigue that one would expect of a prisoner who had been hanging by her wrists for nigh on a week.

"No more," she said. "I've had enough of your barking for now, Your Honor. Permit me to go, and I will let you live to howl another day."

Gabranth, inexplicably, thrust the glowing stone back into his pocket.

Hrjt breathed in a quiet, steadying breath - and in an instant, a wreath of dark aether enveloped and subsumed her. By the time Alma blinked to confirm what she was seeing, Hrjt had vanished without so much as a single trace.

"Again," Gabranth mused. "Ah well. We will find her again. She always returns to Valnain."

Alma knew better than to ask more questions about this woman, or to speak of the stone that had been brought to subdue her; and so she followed the legatus back to the office and returned to her work.

[askbloatedbellyblog]

Ohh I don't think I have seen anyone ranking Scaramouche so high in a burping tier list before, though I actually agree, can you tell us more about your reasoning for it?

I will preface this by saying, I'm still behind and haven't finished the interlude with him becoming the Wanderer (though I know more or less the result) His boss music is also some of what I have a bunch of theories about that I might get to if people still want it.

Despite his turn for the better (sort of), Scaramouche still retains a lot of his personality and he's now slightly less of a brat but he's still a brat. He's a tsun with a capital T but as the saying goes, Scaramouche is still full of "piss and vinegar." He's less full of murderous intent but hasn't lost much of his spite.

So how does this translate to Scaramouche as a burper? Well a few things! I think he would have been a big burper before he nearly became a God and got his anemo vision, but after the fact he's only gotten worse since he now controls the power of wind.

I will say, I don't think that size predetermines if someone is a big eater or burper. Scaramouche has been around for hundreds of years, many of them in the Fatui. He's competitive in general and then being in the Fatui and one of the Harbingers for years? That's only going to make things worse. He's definitely going to have to prove his strength over and over through the years and that includes any belching. So he would have been a top class burper and prior to his reformation, be careful if you challenge him because he's just as likely to murder you as much as blast you with a burp that would blow your hair back. At this point, be careful since he would still have his electro power and it's just as likely his burps are going to have a bit of a static charge to them.

Since Scaramouche also has an artificial body, much of his limits are removed. So he could eat or drink you under the table and burp as much as he wanted, it's just a function that he can control. He's going to be just as crass as anyone else in the Fatui and beat out those that are 4x his size. He would enjoy suddenly letting one rip when someone calls him out or he's just present and silence all of them and then leave, firm in his superiority and that humans just can't possibly burp like him, just like everything else.

Much of this remains after his change, he still doesn't like to be looked down on. So he's more likely to let you live but he's also more likely to burp and blow you over. Scaramouche/Wanderer, is definitely going to use his godlike powers and anemo to make burps with power. It also means he can draw out his burps for a very long time.

He's a little more friendly even if he tries to put up a front, so if he knows that someone likes burps or can playfully do it with someone then he definitely will. I do imagine Nahida or Raiden running into him and trying to lecture him on proper behavior and he just would burp even more to mess with them.

But with his anemo powers (especially with them being very precise almost analytical and artificial like he is), Scaramouche can burp on command with control and just generally be as gassy as he wants. Its just going to be rude. If you're into it, he'll burp; if you hate it, he'll burp just to gauge reactions. The only way he does it less, is to show indifference.

One thing I think that Scaramouche could do with his powers is that he could "store" his burps. So say he could burp and spin it into a wind ball like he does or use it as part of his ult stomping on people. He could gather up his belches and he's going to punch or pummel you with powerful (and potentially smelly burps) that will come straight at you. Burp and blow you a kiss? Expect that. Burp and have it hit you with such a blast it is like a punch to the gut? Expect that even more. Have a swirl reaction? Expect that to smell of his lunch. Just hope it doesn't swirl with fire and he had something spicy.

[direwolfrules]

3 Mandos and a Baby AU: The Aq Vetina Crisis

So, as previously discussed, in this AU Aq Vetina is a small colony world just off the Hydian Way under the authority of a Core world. Its distance from said Core world in addition to its lack of valuable resources means it tends to not be a priority.

When the CIS attacks the planet it’s the Mandalorians who save the day. It’s the Mandalorians who give the survivors much needed aid. And ultimately, it’s the Mandalorians who stay and help them rebuild. After all, this Korkie may be different than canon Korkie by virtue of how he was raised, but he is still fundamentally Satine’s boy. He can’t look at people in need and just turn his back on them, not when he’s in a position to help.

The highest ranking survivor of the old colony administration, Rhuya Kadjn, looks around at her people, looks at the Mando’ade helping to rebuild and taking in the many, many, orphans, and she makes a decision. About a month after the attack, a meeting is called of all the surviving adults of their little community. A vote is proposed, and a motion passes.

Approximately three days later Senator Culman Vald of the Jinata sector starts off the Senate session by reading out the ludicrous and offensive message it received from their colony world of Aq Vetina, declaring the planet’s independence from their overlords. The Senator says that the Jinata sector does not recognize the independence of their colony, and would like Republic help to retain control. After all, the system of Aq Vetina is right next to the Hydian Way, and a Republic presence there will further secure the hyperlane.

Senator Vel Batin of Mandalore immediately takes the stage, much to the annoyance of Mas Amedda. She doesn’t even bother trying to hide her smug grin as she reads out the official petition from Aq Vetina to join the Mandalore sector. A petition the Mand’alor is very willing to accept.

As you can expect, things spiral out of control from there and the Senate session ends with nothing much having gotten done and tempers flaring. More than usual for the Senate anyway.

Jinata is rich, powerful, and it’s full of Core-typical entitlement. Mandalore is Mandalore. Neither party is willing to back down, and it gets worse when the Vanquo system submits a similar declaration and petition, thus bringing the mining-focused Meerian sector to the table.

It’s now a full blown crisis, especially considering the locations of these two contested systems. If Mandalore was to acquire them they’d have a direct route to the main Hydian Way, instead of having to take the Mandalore Branch through Bandomeer. The Republic argues that granting the Mandalorians such a boon is an unacceptable security risk for it. Mandalore argues that the Republic’s inability to defend these planets is an unacceptable security risk to them.

There are three major reasons the Mandalorian government is pushing for this so hard. 

For Satine, it’s a matter of commerce. The tariffs and tolls Mandalorian trade vessels have to pay just to get on the main hyperlane is ridiculous. Those fees were strangling their economy and seventeen years of negotiations had barely managed to knock a few credits off. She hopes it won’t come to war, and has full faith that Korkie chose the best moment to press this. It’s not likely that the Republic would risk a second war and lose a valuable ally in the process.

For Korkie, it’s the right thing to do. When he considered this course of action the world had brightened for a second, the Darksaber seemed to sing from its place on his hip, and for a moment when Adonai put his hand on his shoulder, Korkie could have swore he felt it. He thinks it’s the right decision when he attends the wedding of a Protector and one of the Aq Vetina survivors. He knows it’s the right decision every time he sees his little cousin, stuffed Mythosaur in one hand and the other in Aunt Bo’s or Uncle Fenn’s (not relevant at all but Alrich was the one to give baby Din the mythosaur toy).

For Bo-Katan and the rest of the time travelers, it’s about denying Palpatine a foothold. Thanks to the work they did – the spy games and the training and the final, bloody confrontation – it’s unlikely that there will ever need to be a Republic invasion of Mandalore, meaning their local Sith lord needs to find a new excuse to get troops near the planet. A garrison on Aq Vetina would be within the perfect distance to strike once the order came down, and they’re not about to let that happen. Mandalore is their home, and they’re not about to let it fall again.

Threats to blockade the Hydian Way start coming in from both sides, and the Republic sets up negotiations between them, with a neutral Republic team to handle mediations.

I think I’m gonna put that in a different post cause this one is getting too long for comfort + I’m sick and need a nap.

[deadtime-stories]

Adult Dark Romantasy Transmasculine Protagonist MLM Romance

Onyx is a soldier, conscripted into the army of a powerful lord intent on taking the power of the Silverwood for the good of mankind.

Renyn is a human Deadknight, bound in the service of the Banshee King until the curse that would otherwise kill him is broken.

Each is sworn to serve a master the other has no love for. But every battle has a winner, and when Onyx finds himself on the losing side and given to Renyn as a prize, he comes face to face with the true nature of the Silverwood, and the real goal he was drafted to fight for.

Chapter One: Into the Silverwood

The full moon was barely visible through the canopy of twisted branches overhead, not that its light was needed. The achingly beautiful trees of the Silverwood cast their own ethereal glow across the narrow path, its thick coating of trampled grass muffling the sound of the horses. Onyx led his small band of soldiers single file, keeping close enough to the forest edge for the moon to remain in sight.

It was all he could do not to jump at every noise, his eyes darting from each rustling leaf to every shifting shadow. The Silverwood was teeming with illusory magic, and the difference between life and death was looking close enough to tell what was real.

"Keep quiet," he called back to two companions who'd grown a little too chatty. "We don't want to draw anything out."

Their objective was clear, albeit stupid: scout the edges of the Silverwood in search of weak spots for the army's full invasion. It was a fool's errand; in truth, he'd been sent here to die for the sin of rebuffing his sovereign's sexual advances.

"Shouldn't we have hit some resistance by now?" Telsin, one of the scouts under his command, spoke just loud enough for him to hear. "It's too quiet."

"Impatient to meet your maker?" Onyx asked. "Don't worry, they'll show themselves soon enough."

As if on cue, distant wails echoed through the woods, sending a shiver down Onyx's spine. The calls of banshees, enticingly beautiful creatures who ferried the dead to their final resting place beyond...and made more dead when there weren't any around to ferry. They were closer to the wood edge than Onyx anticipated, and while it wasn't the first time he'd faced the creatures, he'd never done so in this cursed forest.

Behind him, the other four scouts froze on their horses. Their blank eyes stared at nothing and their jaws went slack, until Onyx blew the glass whistle strung on a chain around his neck. The spell broke, and they shook off their daze.

"Still think your ear guards are optional?" he asked.

Onyx wasn't a ranked leader, and none of his scouts were scouts. He was a mid-level conscript, known for hacking and slashing his way across the battlefield and surviving purely out of spite, and these were a handful of average soldiers who could be spared as collateral damage. They didn't want to listen to him any more than he wanted to lead, and they ignored every piece of advice he gave.

"So it's true you're immune to the wails?" Amelie rushed to plug her ears, and the others followed suit. "Because you died?"

Amelie was another conscript, from Onyx's own village. They'd known each other in their youth but had become firm allies since being drafted. She was referring to his first time in battle, three years ago, when he'd taken an arrow to the heart only to end up a practice corpse on the necromancer's table.

"Remember the job," he ignored the question. "We're here to scout the border, not engage. If they get too close, we fall back."

He heard her nod behind him, and the murmurs of men who'd experienced banshee thrall for the first time.

"Captain Ashfall!"

Staden Laurent called him far louder than necessary from the back of the line, and Onyx came to a frustrated halt. The fool had been quiet for most of the journey, it was only a matter of time before he started some shit.

"Speak."

"Wouldn't it be prudent to go deeper?" Staden didn't hide his disdain. "Most scouts don't even make it this far, we'd be remiss if we didn't take advantage and press on."

"Not part of the plan. We don't go any deeper than we're sure we can escape."

"Of course we don't," Staden muttered.

Onyx didn't know when Staden decided he had it out for him, but it was probably around the time he got his second lease on life. Onyx was a nobody from a poor border village, marching with the army by force and worth no more than being cannon fodder. Staden was a volunteer from a warrior family, whose life revolved around victory and honor...more Laurent men died in battle than most families produced, and yet Onyx was given the undeserved gift of life.

He was winding up to be trouble, which was exactly why he was here. Staden was brash, aggressive, and arrogant, and the perfect tool for ensuring Onyx didn't walk out of here alive.

"It's just..." As expected, Staden didn't let the matter lie. Onyx gritted his teeth; gods, he hated the man. "I've led several successful missions against banshees in the past, and I think everyone here knows my record is far more impressive than yours. It's curious you'd be put in charge of something as important as this...so soon after being recruited to ride Lord Aurel's dick."

It was ironic Staden could be so correct in such an incorrect way. A pity Onyx was too tired of literally everything in existence to rise to the bait; instead, he turned around in his saddle.

"Did you want to ride it in my place?"

Not the response Staden was hoping for. His face turned an unflattering shade of tomato, clashing terribly with his silver hair.

"I'd simply think you'd want to be safely tucked away in his tower," he tried again. "To protect that legacy you're no doubt carrying by now."

The others looked between Staden and Onyx, watching the one-sided pissing contest in silence. But revealing Onyx was born with female parts wasn't the winning stroke Staden thought it was, and it still wasn't going to drive him to fight.

"I'm not pregnant," Onyx said simply. "And I never will be...a perk of having been dead. As for me being in charge, take it up with General Brennus if you have a problem."

Onyx nudged his horse forward, but had only gone a handful of steps when the complaining continued.

"Perhaps if I was in command, we would already have marched on the Banshee King's palace," Staden muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. "And be returning with his head."

"Enough!" Onyx snapped. "Nobody's going deeper into the Silverwood!"

"Is that fear I hear, Captain?" Staden sneered. "Afraid I might outshine you in the field?"

"You're an idiot." Despite his best efforts, Onyx finally gave into his ire, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword as he imagined running Staden through with it. "Too dumb to see what's right in front of your face. Your ambition's going to be your curse."

"Or our salvation," Staden countered. He gestured to the trees around them. "Look around, everyone. Our illustrious Captain's led us into a dead end."

Bodies shifted in saddles before Onyx could counter the accusation, and Bren piped up for the first time in hours.

"He may be right," Bren's voice held an audible note of fear. "It looks like we're going around in circles."

They weren't. Banshee wails didn't work on the revived, and they could see through the Silverwood's illusions. Although it was difficult to perceive complete reality, Onyx was perfectly aware of where they were.

"Listen up," he addressed the whole group. "If you want to be insubordinate, go do it back at the barracks to someone higher than me. Spend less time whining and more time mapping the trees, and we can all go home."

He glared at each one of them in turn, daring them to say anything else. If Staden wanted to go get killed in the forest he was welcome to do so, but this scout group was sticking to the letter of its assignment and returning home in one piece. Onyx was going to return from this alive, he refused to let Aurel win.

"Captain Ashfall," Bren whispered, breaking is staredown with Staden and pointing through the trees. "Banshee Guards!"

Onyx wordlessly signaled for the group to dismount and crouch down. The horses would blend with the wild unicorns native to the area, but human riders would be targets. Through the undergrowth he spotted several banshee Guards, their pale, beautiful faces framed by long, flowing hair. Their slender bodies were draped in the finest, gold-sewn robes, and their skin shimmered with an otherworldly glow. They stood completely still, silent sentinels on watch.

"By the gods," Amelie whispered

"Quiet!" Onyx commanded. He knew they couldn't take the Guards on, despite their even numbers. This far into the Silverwood, their wails would attract more enemies and bring the whole realm down on them. No, they had to bypass the watchers without a confrontation. "Stay with me. We'll circle around and continue on our path."

"Are you sure?" Telsin murmured, eyes wide. "What if they see us?"

"They won't." Onyx watched the one he believed to be the leader, looking for any signs they'd been noticed. "They're eyesight is mediocre in the day and nonexistent at night, they'll hunt us by sound. Stay close and stay quiet, and we can get past them."

"Is that caution or cowardice, Captain?" Staden's voice was thick with contempt.

"It's rubbing two thoughts together and experiencing an idea, Staden," Onyx snapped back. "Not something you're familiar with, I know. Now, follow my lead."

The air was thick with tension as they crept back to their mounts, gently collecting the horses and leading them off the path. Onyx's eyes never left the Guard Captain, monitoring him for any sign they were spotted.

"This is stupid, they're going to see us!" Staden hissed, his patience wearing thin. "They'll be on us before we can blink while we tiptoe around helplessly!"

"Stick to the plan," Onyx's focus didn't waver. "I'm not going to let your hard on for adrenaline get the rest of us killed."

Even as he said it, he knew it was too late. Staden was going to fulfill exactly the role he'd been sent to obliviously fulfill, and drag them into a fight they couldn't win on impulse. Sure enough, with a guttural roar, Staden drew his sword and leaped from the shadows to charge.

"Oh, come on!" Onyx complained. "All you had to do was be quiet for five fucking minutes!"

The Guards were only barely caught by surprise. Their excellent ears pinpointed Staden before he reached them, and their steel staves easily blocked the swinging blows of his sword. For the moment they stayed quiet and didn't call for backup, but that would change the second they thought the fight was getting difficult.

"Fleet of foot," Onyx ordered the others. "Stay silent, attack from behind while that fool has them distracted."

Swords remained in sheathes in favor of knives and daggers as the remaining three followed Onyx into the fight. They split up as soon as they were close, running on their toes and keeping to the edges of vision, while Staden hacked and slashed and drew attention to himself. One by one the banshee Guards fell, succumbing to slit throats, and one by one the failed scouts were spotted and lost the element of surprise.

Panting and dampened with sweat from the humid heat of the woods, Onyx threw himself at the Guard Captain and wrapped an arm around his neck from behind. Even as Amelie moved in to finish him off, Onyx spotted a fallen Guard stumble to his feet and flee into the woods.

No wails followed; the slit throat didn't kill him but it did stop his voice, now they had to make sure he didn't summon aid some other way.

The Guard Captain crumpled under Amelie's blade, and Onyx rounded on Staden with a surge of barely contained rage.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded. "We could've all been killed!"

"But we weren't, were we?" Staden plunged his sword into the dirt to cleanse away the blood. "Perhaps if you weren't so afraid of your own shadow, we could've taken them out faster."

"And maybe if you shut up when I told you to, that escaped banshee wouldn't be running to set the whole damned legion on us! We'll be surrounded in an hour, thanks to you."

Something flickered in Staden's face as he finally registered the danger. A handful of Guards was all fun and games, but a forest full of hunting banshees was a nightmare come to life. Onyx grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to eye level, staring him in the eye.

"From now on, you do what I say. Is that clear?"

Staden stared back at him, defiant, but begrudgingly nodded in agreement.

"Good. Now you're about to get exactly what you wanted...we need to go find that escaped Guard before it's too late."

The others exchanged uneasy glances, unnerved by both the bickering of their superiors and the idea of going farther without backup.

"On your horses," Onyx commanded. "Run him down like your lives depend on it, because I promise you, they do."

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic. // ronnie and the olive tree.

in which a hand is taken, an olive branch offered.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @monalisastwin , @softguarnere

WARNINGS: brief discussions of war crimes ( killing medical personnel ) , period-typical sexism , ostracization. not all soldiers are feminist kings :/

SUMMARY: two days of parties are one hell of a way to kick off their return from France. Although a pot is definitely stirred at the Officer's Party at Littlecote.

DEDICATIONS: to my sweet Dove — watching you catch up on this fic was not only a RIDE, but a great motivator. I love you very much <3 and a special thank you to @mercurygray for listening to me breakdown this ordeal to its bare bones. such an amazing writer and a kind soul truly <3

At the end of the day — the military was still a job.

It had its ways of reminding its members of that. The check that comes in every month — of which Daisy always sends half home to her mother, because it’s her mother’s insistence that she doesn’t send the full thing — is a more pleasant reminder. However there were other, much more frustrating reminders. The military was a job — which meant that no matter how many people they saved, how many boys would make it home at the end of this thanks to the women at work; the powers that be would always find a way to make it seem as though she and many others didn’t belong.

They’d only just started making what the male officers made thanks to Colonel Blanchfield’s pushing in the States. Upon a very lengthy and detailed report written up by Ginny and a few other head nurses — they’d slowly been able to wear trousers in the field, which was much more practical (and even then, not everyone had received the new uniform). Beyond the obvious power imbalances, they also had their subtler ways of reminding them that the military is a job, and a woman’s place is still at home.

She tries to ignore the scrutinizing stares as she leans into the conversation Ginny’s having with the Head Surgeon from the 42nd — they hadn’t seen him since they departed for Carentan in June. Thankfully, all seems to be going smoothly now that their own nurses are settled in, which was always good to hear.

Daisy smooths out the front of her dress — a dark velvet red number that she probably wouldn’t have worn without Patty’s insistence — smiles and laughs when they crack their jokes even if she hasn’t been listening to everything being said.

The celebrations began a little bit after they made it back to England. Just last night the ANC had a smaller ceremony commending them for their duties on D-Day, which preceded a larger regimental award ceremony and parade for the Airbourne. There’d been a lively party, an airshow, Rita had been giggly and drunk as they made their way back to her billet to tuck her in.

Tonight is a more formal, intimate affair at Littlecote House for the officers. Men and women in dress greens and party dresses are sprawled out across the expansive lawn of the estate — round tables with white cloths and chairs laid about, dinner served and wine glasses and pints of beer filled as people mingled and danced.

At home, Daisy never minded a party. Here — she kind of does.

The muttering of officers who are little more than Battalion pencil pushers sours her mood just enough for her to really pick up on it. It always seemed that the officers who did the least had the most to say about women holding any type of rank. The ones who earned their place through merit in the field had no qualms about a woman’s presence — or rather, if they did, they kept it to themselves. The ones who likely hadn’t held a gun since boot camp, however, loved to sneer and scrunch their noses with reckless abandon.

If she was feeling particularly impulsive, or if she were drunk, she’d probably return the malicious look with a glare of her own.

She refocuses her attention on the woman and man at her table, listens in on their conversation.

“I hear that some of the Germans are shooting medics now,” Ginny starts out. “They’ve been talking in circles about what to do about all that. The answer to it’s right there, it’s not nearly as complicated as they think.” The surgeon simply chuckles.

“That so, Brant? And what answer is that?” The blonde lets out a huff, frustration escaping with each breath she takes.

“There’s no reason why a woman can’t be a combat medic. They don’t want us shooting guns and blowing things up? Fine by me. But I think it’s really close-minded that they’d rather retrain a completely new man from scratch than let an experienced nurse into the field.”

Ginny’s gaze shifts over to Daisy, who’s simply nodding along. Their unit had become something of a unique case — they initially belonged to 128th Evacuation Hospital; new additions to an esteemed 42nd Surgical Hospital that once served in North Africa. However, in the aftermath of Normandy, it seemed now that some of them wouldn’t be remaining with the Hospital after all.

The surgeon also turns to look at her, and it’s only then that she realizes they want her input on the subject.

“I don’t… think it’s a bad idea,” Daisy starts out, taking her lip between her teeth for a moment. “But they didn’t even want nurses as full-fledged officers until a couple years ago. I wouldn’t mind doing it myself — but I guess it all depends on where the brass stands with it,” leaning forward slightly, she wipes her palms on her dress, then cracks a smile. “But I’m also not too crazy about those six-button flies the men have to wear, so I could do without ‘em.” This garners a laugh from the two, and thankfully she’s now out of the hot seat.

They continue their discussion and Daisy wrings her hands as her gaze shifts to the dance floor where Patty seems to be giggling at something her partner is saying to her — another officer Daisy doesn’t recognize, but so long as her friend doesn’t seem off put then that’s fine by her. 

Rita’s notable absence, however, does rub her the wrong way — and she rises from her feet to solve that question, with a quick ‘I’ll be back’ leaving her lips as she does so. The last she’d seen, the woman had been talking with another officer she didn’t know all that well — 2nd Lieutenant Walker, who Rita had introduced as another transfer from the North Africa campaign, the rest of them meeting him at yesterday’s airshow. She wasn’t sure what to make of him.

Daisy moves through the several guests, and finds herself walking into the estate itself. Here, there are notably more men about — she can tell from the distinct deep-voiced clamor and the sea of drab olive. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that most people here want to talk about the war but also don’t, based on how they dance around discussions of Operation ‘Overlord’ and its success, wanting to know what comes next but also not wanting to know. She doesn’t blame them for their curiosity.

She finds Walker first — which isn’t hard because the Lieutenant is obscenely tall and that was one of the few things she remembered about him from the day prior. Before she can call his attention, a man he’s speaking to nods his head at her, narrows his eyes, and Walker turns around. The first thing she notices is the bright red handprint on his cheek. Daisy tries not to cringe.

“Ah… Miss… Clarke was it? Diana’s friend?” he asks slowly, as if Daisy’s going to reach up to smack him next. Depending on his words — she just might. He likely knows that she hates being called Diana. Everybody does.

“Yeah, Rita’s friend,” Daisy can’t pry her eyes away from the handmark. “Where is she? By the way?” There’s a small rumble of chuckles from the other two men that she desperately wants to tune out, but she can’t turn off her ears.

“Probably getting a drink,” his fingers creep up to caress his own cheek, and he says it so dismissively that she’s inclined to believe him — because if he said something to provoke that reaction, then a drink is more than likely her next possible step. Daisy smooths out her dress once more, fixing her gaze on Walker’s eyes. “Please, don’t worry about me, Nurse.” She isn’t sure if that’s meant to be patronizing or not. It sounds patronizing.

“I definitely wasn’t,” Daisy retorts with furrowed brows. Given the expressions of the two men behind him — eyes narrowed, noses scrunched, their gazes fixed on her — and of course, knowing how her friend is, she can come to a pretty safe conclusion that whatever he said probably warranted a slap. Possibly much worse. Still, she has to ask. “Dare I ask why you even got… that?”

“Are you hoping to give me a matching one on the other cheek?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” But I wouldn’t be opposed, either, she adds silently. Daisy stares at him intently, biting the inside of her cheek to retain her nerve, and he meets her gaze. For a second, they stare, and Daisy almost feels like she’s caught in one of those “barroom brawls” from the Westerns that James dragged her out to see when he had spending-money. Who’s going to be the quicker draw? He narrows his eyes, she raises her brows. He takes in a breath.

“Nothing that wasn’t true, Miss Clarke,” Daisy’s never cared much for her rank, but the lack of it is more noticeable coming from his mouth. More chuckling, she can only hope her cheeks don’t flush from her own irritation. This is a battle she can’t win — not on her own, anyway. She doesn’t entertain Walker with a goodbye, making her way towards the parlor room they’d fashioned into a bar. She only takes a brief glance inside, sees Rita amongst other women, and knowing that her friend was safe, she decides to simply remove herself from the mingling until her face cools off.

Bitter remarks didn’t need to fall from a man’s lips like prayer in order for them to belittle the women surrounding them. The chuckling and narrowed eyes and exchanged looks were like a pack tactic — a subtle reminder of us and them, if she’s ever seen one. Her parents taught her that respect came in many forms, and it didn’t take long for her to learn that that was equally as applicable towards disrespect. The notion makes a knot form at the base of her skull, a dull ache as Daisy fingers herself walking a bit away from the party on the lawn, pressing herself against the cold stone.

She reaches in the small purse, also bought alongside the dress. She clicks her tongue in disapproval. Speirs still had her lighter, which meant nothing to fidget with. Or light a cigarette with. Or both. Regardless, she actually needed it back, and she didn’t see him inside with the other men — so Daisy takes to looking around in hopes she’d be able to pick him out.

To her recollection, he never hated parties either. At least, not the ones she’d seen him go to. James had always been the more extroverted of the two — but Ronnie never looked too out of sorts in the passenger seat of her brother’s car. The ones that she’d been at were usually family parties and block parties if that was anything to go off of either. Her eyes scan the lawn, the officers, she even dares to look over at the dancing couples at the heart of it all — but doesn’t see his face amongst the people. So she wanders, looking at the people lingering on the edges of the party.

She has to pause for a moment when she sees him.

He’s smiling — a far cry from the pensive and hurt expressions she’s seen him don in nearly all of their interactions. Hair neatly parted and gelled, ribbons pinned on the front of his jacket, cigarette burning between two fingers as he talks to another man. He’s handsome and she wants to scorn her own cheeks, because if they weren’t flushed before, they certainly are now. Daisy seriously contemplates forgetting about the lighter all together, but Speirs looks up and spots her.

It’s a brief second where they stare at one another before he looks away again — and eventually whoever he’s talking to excuses himself. In turn, she approaches — unsure if it’s willing or some force compelling her forward. He stands by one of the outer tables on the edges of the setup, not entirely detached, but enough for a moment of reprieve from lightly-covered war talks.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Speirs’ brows rise a bit, and she watches as he taps some of the ash off the end of his cigarette.

“That so?” he sounds the slightest bit amused — and she can only assume the mirth in his voice is from whatever conversation he had prior. She shrugs, moving to stand beside him. From this spot, there’s a clear view of the stairs leading into the house, the band, the people mingling. An almost perfect people-watching spot. She’d even call it strategic. Even when the party is, technically, for him, he’s still acting like some kind of presence rather than someone who takes up space himself.

“You did the same thing at Mrs. O’Reily’s last block party. There’s just no hot dogs this time and we aren’t being terrorized by small children.” His shoulders shake in what she knows now, is certainly a quiet chuckle.

Besides their brief moment of… solidarity on the ship to Southampton, they still hadn’t exactly become buddy-buddy. It was starting to feel like they just didn’t know how to be. There were lighthouses all along the shore — brief moments of understanding in the midst of muddled and messy conversation — so far, they’d evaded the rocks, narrowly at that, but where the hell were they supposed to dock?

“So what would you call the people here then?”

“Big children.”

He laughs again.

Lighter long forgotten, her hand drifts to her handbag once again, as she looks out, fingers creeping into its opening. She tilts her head to look at him fully, takes a sharp breath as her fingers meet the smooth texture of the photograph.

“Thanks again for the letter, and uh… you know… I figured you might…” Speirs turns and looks at her and for the first time in her sixteen years of knowing him, she almost flounders under the intensity of his gaze. It’s not like she hasn’t held his full attention before. He always gave his full attention to anyone who spoke to him. Didn’t matter if it was an old man, a girl, or a little kid pestering him at a block party. Her fingers curl around the photograph a little tighter in hopes to not lose her nerve. “Well, my mom sent me this with the mail and she thought you might want to see it too,”

“Your mom knows I’m—”

“More like she was hoping. And she likes to assume. Lucky guess.” Daisy pulls out the photograph, holding it out to him. Tentatively, Speirs takes it and looks it over. She focuses less on the photograph itself, and moreso on his expression. Something softens — the corners of his mouth, brows raising in a way that’s undeniably boyish. Familiar. Like Ronnie. Something in her aches at the familiarity of it, and selfishly, she wishes he would wear such an expression all the time. It’s almost cruel — wishing he were soft when the world around them demands everyone to be hardened, at least to some degree.

“Y’know he actually got me to have a drink at that party,” Speirs recalls aloud, looking at her. Daisy’s brows shoot up, but before she can make some sort of teasing remark, he immediately adds, “a drink, I was still walking in my house myself.” She smiles and nods and folds her hands neatly in front of her.

“I just remember waiting up all night ‘cause you two were gonna tell me about it, and then fell asleep since you took forever.”

“You can blame your brother for that, not me.”

“Are you trying to pit me against my own sibling?” Daisy intentionally shifts her tone to one of mock offense. He rolls his eyes, scoffing under his breath.

“To save myself from your earful? Damn right I am.”

She laughs in a way she hasn’t in quite some time — nostalgia floods her being at the sound of her own amusement. It comes effortlessly, just like it used to, and for a moment they’re not preparing to go back into a combat theater. They’re at some fancy party, laughing and people-watching. If she didn’t know any better, she’d half-expect to see her mother and brother dancing a few feet away to a crackling radio rather than a band in full swing. After a moment, she watches as Ronnie extends his hand again to give it back to her. She immediately puts up her own hand to deny him.

“Keep it.”

He quirks a brow at her, questioningly.

“After all this… they’ll probably send me back to France, or maybe somewhere else. Another hospital. I dunno. Wherever it is — we might not uh… see each other for a while. Maybe we will. I don’t know,” her gaze lingers on the photograph a moment longer. She couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist. But it didn’t mean that they were back to… whatever it was before — nothing had been sealed with that kiss on the cheek, with that helplessness as the train took him away. “So in case we don’t, just keep it. I write to her all the time anyway.”

Ronnie looks at it, and then back to her. She watches as he slips the photo into his jacket pocket with a tentative nod, and for a moment there’s a lapse of silence between them. Daisy can’t look away from him.

“...and I’m sorry,” his brows furrow — but not in the way that would show he was upset. “Regardless of reason, I shouldn’t have iced you out like that when we met up. It’s not fair to you. It was…” Daisy furrows her brows now, attempting to come up with a better word. No dice. “...mean. I’m sorry for that. I still want to be your friend I just…” she bites the inside of her cheek for a moment, looking away from him. “That’s for you to decide. I don’t know. But I owe you that much.”

She doesn’t know what his expression may hold, but it feels like an entire minute passes — Daisy swears she may have drawn blood from her own cheek biting before the man beside her speaks again.

“It’s okay, Dais,” another pause. She feels the back of his hand bump hers, and turns to look at him. “We’re okay. But thank you for that and for this.”

There’s sincerity in it — which she concludes from his gesture more so than his face, which has resteeled into its neutral expression.

“No need to thank me,” Daisy smiles at him, soft and what she can only hope is reassuring.

“Hey! Sparky! Get over here!”

Ronnie flinches at the voice, before smiling once again, although he looks mildly bewildered. Daisy can’t help but giggle as there’s another drawn out, almost melodic “Sparky Speeeeiiiirs!” coming from somewhere on the lawn.

“Sparky?” She questions, and he narrows his eyes halfheartedly.

“Don’t you start now,” Ronnie’s warning is hardly anything, so she just giggles again. His head turns to the officer beckoning him, then back to her. “Will I see you again? In England, at least?”

Daisy pauses and presses her lips into a thin line. She won’t give him a false promise. The uncertainty is glaring both of them in the face, presently.

“I hope so.” she decides on, and that seems to be enough for him. He gives her a curt nod, and then turns on his heel, moving towards the person beckoning for his attention.

She can’t help but feel a little helpless again, watching him go.

[forathousanddays]

Deftones - Koi No Yokan (Review)

Koi No Yokan (roughly “premonition of love”) is the feeling you get that’s not quite love at first sight, but the settling feeling you get when you meet someone you’ll fall in love with eventually. The closest phrase in meaning, as far as English is concerned, would be “it’s meant to be.”

By the time it released, Deftones had already cemented themselves as a monolith of alternative metal, and for good reason. Koi No Yokan builds upon the ideas and soundscapes provided in Saturday Night Wrist and Diamond Eyes, as well as bringing plenty of its own material to the table. Track-by-track below the cut, as well as final ranking.

TRACK 1 - SWERVE CITY

Swerve City sets out with a precise job to do, in introducing the dynamic sound range of the album. The early 2010s were full of bands experimenting with a different range of volume and delivery, usually in the same song, but rarely at the same time. The mixing in this song puts Chino Moreno’s vocals slightly below the instrumental, with the song itself backing away from his airspace as opposed to the mix letting him overpower them artificially. His singing comes off with the impression of being relatively quiet in the studio, but still forward and powerful in the mix. Whether this is the truth or just an effect isn’t something I know enough to speak on.

Swerve City excellently captures Deftones’ ability to not just balance loud and quiet, but let them coexist in the same space. The throughline riff is a strong point, and the surreal soundscape is a strong point of the entire album. Koi No Yokan is just getting started, with this clean 9/10, and a 10/10 transition into track 2. (Seriously!)

TRACK 2 - ROMANTIC DREAMS

This one seems like it can’t really tell where it’s headed. The composition is unintuitive, and what seems like a lead-in very frequently drops off right when it’s about to reach a peak. I’m not sure how to feel about it. It’s a run-on sentence of a song that doesn’t really work with itself, but not in a way I really mind. Where it sounds good, it sounds great, and the lyrics are so perfectly Deftones. The break at 2:40 is refreshing, giving the awesome low tuning room to breathe and show off just how heavy the guitar feels. The drums are a consistent highlight as well.

The strongest point in the song is arguably the transition in from Swerve City, but that’s not necessarily a negative. One of the weaker songs on the album, but no lower than a 5/10. 

TRACK 3 - LEATHERS

Again, the transition between tracks is seamless, and makes playing the album in the background of writing this complicated. Despite an off-guard intro, Leathers quickly makes itself distinct. You get just under 40 seconds of an uncomfortable, almost queasy, ambling guitar that could very feasibly still be the outro to Romantic Dreams. The vocals (the best part of the song) get zero lead-in, with frontman Chino Moreno immediately bursting into his iconic shouting, almost spitting, of the lyrics. Leathers has a lot of personality, especially in the lyrics themselves, and at no point does it shy away from showing it. The guitar doesn’t let up for a second, maintaining the same chugging drone for the entire track in a perfect encapsulation of Deftones’ specialty. 

As a band, Deftones perfected the art of immersion in a way nobody else has done as artfully before or after. Leathers is a great example of this, with a sound that completely envelops you. 7/10, loses points for the intro. Sounds good, but not for a song.

TRACK 4 - POLTERGEIST

This is where we break the trend of smooth, subtle transitions. Leathers doesn’t even get the time to fade out before Poltergeist comes in with a clapping sample and a gnarly riff like a beating heart on the low, chugging guitar. The vocal delivery is punchy and aggressive, and captures a frustration balanced on the knife’s edge of attraction; the kind of exasperation you can only feel for something you adore. The instrumentation and vocals blend together perfectly in this one, splitting their melody off and coming back together at just the right times to capture a dichotomous sound. Whichever you choose to focus on changes the listening experience drastically, feeling like two different songs with the same chorus.

The delivery on “keeps me hanging” around 2:45 is an excellent teaser for Chino Moreno’s more melodic delivery on some of his side projects. 8/10.

TRACK 5 - ENTOMBED 

When I think of Deftones’ sound, this is one of the songs that I hear in my head. Possibly the most outright shoegaze sound on the album, Entombed starts out warm and longing. Not the kind of longing for something far away, but the kind of longing you feel pressed against someone where you wish you could sink into them like a male anglerfish, or something. After the introductory tone gives way, though, you have a much more raw performance in the vocals surrounding the main motif (I’m hesitant to call it a chorus.) The song has a relatively simple pattern, but if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. The back and forth of gentle vocals and rasping projection are so perfectly Deftones, in a way that’s reflected in my final ranking.

Bonus points for dropping the (admittedly awesome) transitions, just for ease of ranking. 10/10. (Prior statement is a joke, it’s a 10/10 regardless.)

TRACK 6 - GRAPHIC NATURE

Hello whiplash, my old friend. There’s no connecting factor between Entombed and Graphic Nature, aside from the iconic hazy sound in both the voices and instruments that Deftones fans know and love. The opening measures are harsh and chaotic, and it’s not that they necessarily change in structure, but the introduction of Chino Moreno’s vocals seem to calm the panic around them with something solid to focus on. The guitar follows it up and down, precise and unwavering in the chorus, but still chaotic and hungry in the verses. This track is incredibly easy to personify in a review, with the raving instruments and their unblinking attention, like a predator following prey. Occasional stings break out from the ordered playing in the chorus, in a way that forms such a perfect sense of chaos.

I was picturing Chris Pratt with the raptors in Jurassic World when I described the chorus. 8/10, loses one point for making me think about Chris Pratt.

TRACK 7 - TEMPEST

Don’t let the odd, pulsing intro scare you off. Tempest is a slow, swelling power of a song. It gets the second longest spot on the album, which it uses incredibly effectively. Tempest makes full use of the time given to build a slow, thrumming energy, creating an electric atmosphere and tension to contrast with the quiet, gentle vocal lead-in. When the full instrumental comes in, it crashes down into the rest of the sound to reshape the song with its arrival, turning a slow, almost reverential chant into something powerful and resonant. The last three minutes are a masterful use of space and mixing, with just enough going on to be a sonic experience closer to swimming than to just listening, but not enough to be all the way confusing.

Tempest is a perfect name for this typhoon of a track, 9/10.

TRACK 8 - GAUZE

Tempest ends with an uncomfortable drone, and I’m relieved to find Gauze doesn’t continue it. It’s not a terribly cohesive experience, but it hosts some of the strongest guitar work on the album. The sound is full and sure of itself, and the presentation of the song as a whole suggests the vocals aren’t supposed to be the focus. They prop up the instruments more than anything, and I think I’m completely fine with that. The vocals in this track aren’t bad by any means, but the mixing leaves space for the guitar to dominate the soundscape in a much less cooperative fashion than the rest of the album. They make way for the vocals where it really matters, though, with a rising and dynamic chorus that’s a total treat to listen to.

Unfortunately, one of the more forgettable parts of the album. 7/10.

TRACK 9 - ROSEMARY

There’s a reason this is one of the top 10 Deftones songs by streaming numbers. This is the most immersive song on the record, if not one of the most immersive in their discography. Every moving part works together, cogs turning the teeth of their neighbors as one cohesive unit. The surreal, hazy sound belies an equally hazy setting detailed in the lyrics. The shifts in tone never feel misplaced or out of nowhere, and each and every one is welcome. When the song takes a gentler approach, it doesn’t feel like it’s taking away from the sound I’m here for. Rosemary presents a plethora of different sounds, all of which could be their own song entirely, and all of which work perfectly together. Rosemary is more than the sum of its parts, and a highlight of Koi No Yokan as a whole.

Talk about a premonition of love! 10/10.

TRACK 10 - GOON SQUAD

If the title was less funny, this song would be incredibly powerful. The intro is vulnerable and tender, and everything outside of it is the quintessence of nu metal. This song singlehandedly makes it difficult to remember this album was 2012, with a distinctly nostalgic atmosphere and guitar that feels like I’ve known it all my life. The slight dissonance in the solo halfway through feels like a pang of sapience, signaling the comedown of the high that has been Koi No Yokan. If you condensed every song and sound of the record into one, Goon Squad would be the closest thing to that sound. It’s no wonder they used it for all the merchandising surrounding the album.

I really wish I could look past the name. 8/10. We gooning rn?

TRACK 11 - WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?

This one doesn’t really pull any punches. The whole thing is more or less just weird. A fitting send-off to the dynamic and entrancing sound of Koi No Yokan, if Goon Squad is the comedown, What Happened To You? is the hangover. The lyrics are gorgeous, and the distortion works off of itself in a way that makes the clarity cut through in a really touching effect. Everything sounds dissonant in a delicate way, like a plate half-off the table, but balanced without tipping. Once again, Koi No Yokan has a distinct vulnerability to it, much like the intro to Goon Squad, but in a more self-reflective and complete way. Goon Squad drops off that feeling of vulnerability (but maintains uncertainty) after the intro, whereas it’s the forefront of What Happened To You? 

Overall, I wouldn’t pick any other track to close off the album, even if it’s only a 7/10.

RETROSPECTIVE

Koi No Yokan has a really unique sound, even among as varied of a discography as Deftones. It works hard to claw itself onto my list of 10/10s, with a hard-earned position. Bear in mind a 5/10 on Koi No Yokan might be something like a 7 or an 8 on any other album, entirely so that not every song being ranked on a 10/10 album is a 9 or a 10. Overall, the record is immersive and dynamic in a way mechanically “better” albums from Deftones can’t quite match. There are individual songs I like more on White Pony or Around The Fur, but Koi No Yokan has such a strong sense of identity and such an all-encompassing sound that it’s hard to leave it out of the discussion when it comes to my favourite albums of all time.

[evediaphoenix1123]

I love Trollhunters and it's saga (not movie tho don't like it) but I'll admit I honestly saw Wizards being different?

Like I knew it would probably have time travel, but part of me hoped it wasn't gonna include that. Like part of me thought it was gonna be a telling of a Future Camelot that's been frozen in time ever since the Kilahead Bridge war-

So after talking to @casualdreamworksenjoyer the both of us put our minds together to create the Time Capsule au. This is the first au I've posted on Tumblr and I plan to release others (I am just a bit scared of posting sometimes).

The au is still under development, I've got a good saying on past timeline but I'm working on current timeline events ! I've got ideas on how I really want it but it's still a process.

( The pictures are made by the picrew Gentleman of Hera and Lady of Hera)

╔═════════《✧》═════════╗

What started out as a normal working night for Douxie is suddenly shattered when he is suddenly attacked by a man in Green Knight armor. Suddenly he finds himself saved by Merlin and brought to new Trollmarket. Once he gets there Merlin informs him of the recent attack of the Arcane Order to New Trollmarket. With these violent attacks, Merlin realizes the Order is trying to capture them to find Camelot again.

Douxie, Merlin, and the Trollhunter gang travel to the hidden land of Canelot and discover the kingdom has been frozen in time and still ruled by King Arthur. Camelot will test everyone, from hidden history to betrayal of allies. The risks will test everyone and lives will be in danger.

══════════《✧》══════════

╗Camelot history╔

The kingdom of Camelot was at its prime, full of promise. It was advanced for its century, full of magic and the newest invention. It was ruled by King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. But one day everything started to fall apart one by one. So many events happened at the same time, it was hard to really figure out which one was the fall of Camelot. Still, even most of the true stories that caused Camelot to be known today were burned by the King and Knights themselves to hide the sins. What the public knows is that Morgana betrayal, Sir Modred attempted assassination, the war of Kilahead, and the Order led to the dark years that almost wiped out the lives of Camelot. Even so, King Arthur held his head up high, siding with powers of magical beings they made a shield to Camelot that held them in time and held them hidden from the world. Even so the Order is still trying to get inside for something that was buried in the walls.

Douxie had been outside the gates when Camelot was locked away, he had been taking Merlin to his tomb. When he returned he was greeted with nothing so he assumed Camelot was destroyed. So he moved on trying to live his life through grief, so to say he is angry about Camelot actually being around still and no one telling him is an understatement. Still he will find out hidden truth about his true legacy, truths that where buried.

King Arthur is mostly silent, tired from everything he has went through. He has lost his sister and a few friends but he is determined to keep his kingdom healthy and to find the traitor along his ranks. He is still hiding secrets among secrets about his past, only Gwendolyn knows them.

╔The Knights of the Round Table╗

Sir Lancelot - Arthur right-hand man. The leader of the gang. He is Arthur most trusted ally. He is boastful and strongest, even though he keeps himself held high there easy to tell he is hiding something. Maybe it's secretly feeling of hate.

Sir Galahad - Another close knight to Arthur but is Merlin friend. Knows Merlin secrets. He doesn't differ much from the cannon Galahad in the show.

Sir Dodinel - A knight with the mysterious ability to tame any birds. His violent behavior scares anyone nearby and he loves to scare people. Even though he loves to scare, he does his job. He isn't scared to spill blood for the castle of Camelot, even if it is the blood of his own friends.

Sir Bedivere - A mysterious man, not much is known about him. He is as quick and strong like a snake. Even though he is considered scary by outside people, he is honestly a very sweet guy who tends to be awkward in social situations.

Fallen Sir Mordred - The Traitor tried to kill Arthur. He has been executed for his crimes. Even after death he still haunts Arthur. Even though he isn't talked about much, he was a good friend to the people. Even though he could sometimes be standoffs and cruel he was still someone dear.

Fallen Lady Morgause - Mordred sister. She was sealed away secretly, Arthur couldn't kill her. She still has many secrets hidden. She was like her twin, standoffs and cruel, but she held loyalty to her brother even when he threatened Arthur.

Sir Lucan - the Butler who can kick anyone butt, he is serious about Order and clean stuff. He stays mostly quiet and cares for King Arthur and guests.

Sir Galeschin - Arthur long lost relative who stuck up. Always known to bully Douxie to no end, due to his royal connections he takes everything way too seriously and will try to use his title against you.

Lady Flonesse - One of the strongest woman to ever exist, she was said to have faced an army of trolls by herself. She was married to Morgana, to say she still hurt by everything is an understatement. Even though she doesn't talk much about it anymore she still got some hidden truths

Sir Erec - Housewife knight. Loves his wife more then the job. He is still one of the greatest Knights around and is like the caretaker of everyone here. He is kinda like the Maes Hughes of Trollhunters.

More to come soon

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Part I – The Wreck

TW: shipwreck, implied mass drowning

Word count: 1340

Table of contents

Part II – A Night to Remember ->

It is nearing sundown. The Sun’s yellow rays finally pierce the storm clouds as the seas calm after what had been an intense storm. The HBMS Resolute, a rather lacklustre cutter with a noticeably shorthanded crew, heads toward a mass of debris. Quinn stands toward the bow, looking out. Even without saying a word, they appear slightly standoffish.

“Careful! Don’t get too close to the rocks,” they call out, “I recommend we stop advancing here, sir.”

Carroll, easily picked out as captain despite their contemporary lack of uniform, responds. “Agreed. Full stop! Get out the boat.” He turns to the rest of his ship’s command – Quinn, Helen, Ethel, and Rowan – and points out the obvious, “It’s definitely a shipwreck. And a bad one at that.” He turns to his surgeon of a second mate, “Looks like you’ll have work, O'Friel.”

Helen, a powerful-looking woman held together by sarcasm and wit, turns to Carroll and points out dryly, “If there’s anyone alive.” Her eyes scan the wreckage in vain.

Under Carroll’s direction, a selection of their crew row out among the debris. The tiny rowboat makes the wreckage seem even larger as they navigate between torn canvas and driftwood that was once a ship. The Resolute’s crew seems to collectively hold its breath as the rowboat manoeuvres gently back and forth, scanning. They ready themselves to turn back.

A commotion over what looks like the remains of a mast. Somehow, it had kept two people afloat. The rowboat team helps them out of the water gently but efficiently. They check further along the mast, finding a third person. He is slender, barely holding his head up in the frigid water, and tangled in several ropes. After a brief struggle, the exhausted rescue is free and slowly helped into the rowboat before they head back to the Resolute.

The rescues receive a subdued but warm welcome when they arrive, shivering, drenched, and exhausted, on board the Resolute. The first two find a quasi-sheltered place to sit nearby. The third, now appearing even skinnier as his sodden clothes cling to his frame, lies coughing up saltwater on the floor of the deck. Helen moves swiftly to make sure he’s all right, kneeling without hesitation on the damp wood of the deck next to him.

Carroll, ever the captain, reluctantly presses, “What flag do you sail under?”

The first rescue, sitting a little ways away with his companion, replies, “The Union Jack, sir…” He trails off, glancing up at the bizarre flag the Resolute is flying – a White Ensign sporting a deranged Union Jack with rather less white and prominently displaying the Cross of St. Patrick. He shakes his head, confused, before looking again to Carroll. “As do you,” he finishes the sentence.

Carroll acknowledges with a sharp nod and presses on, “Rank?”

“Don’t quiz them,” Helen interrupts, soft but firm.

The first rescue responds, “Midshipman, sir.”

As does the second, “Able seaman, sir.”

Carroll acknowledges each with an efficient nod. He turns to the third rescue who is now sitting braced against the rail, dazed but recovered slightly at Helen’s hand. He is shivering violently.

“And you?” Carroll asks. “Rank?” he tacks on when the rescue looks confused, having misplaced the thread of the conversation.

He responds timidly through chattering teeth, “Name’s Kyte, sir. I haven’t got a rank. I’m not a sailor and I’m certainly not Navy.”

Helen interrupts once again, this time through her teeth, “Stop quizzing them!” She punctuates her order by turning on her heel and ushering the midshipman and able seaman below deck and out of the wind.

Carroll takes off his jacket and drapes the thick dark blue fabric over Kyte’s shoulders, hoping to quell his shivering slightly until he gains the confidence to move. “If you’re not a sailor, how did you wind up in the wreckage?”

Kyte wraps his arms around himself, sitting up slightly straighter and drawing Carroll’s jacket closer. “Got pressed, sir. I work as a sailmaker ‘round the port.”

Carroll, noting Kyte’s returning confidence, calls out to his crew, “Get us back to port, our escort was over half an hour ago.” His eyes soften as he turns to Kyte, “Let’s get you below deck.”

They head below deck, Kyte slowly, shyly, following Carroll, struggling to stay upright with the ship’s motion. Carroll guides him patiently, sending him down the hatchway before he struggles down himself with practised inefficiency. The first two rescues are sitting on a bench, wrapped in a blanket together to warm up quicker. The way they lean into each other suggests they are closer than the law permits. Not, however, closer than Carroll encourages.

Helen pipes up, her concern now beginning to fade. “How long were you in the water?” she asks, directed at no rescue in particular.

The midshipman, who understandably seems the most comfortable, responds, “Corsairs got us just before the storm rolled in, ma’am.”

“That’s a good half hour.” The concern returns to Helen’s face along with shock. “Let’s get you all back to port and warmed up.” She tosses a blanket to Carroll, noticing Kyte swaying slightly next to him, independent of the ship’s motion. “Get him warm,” she instructs.

Carroll nods, unfolds the blanket and drapes it over Kyte’s sodden clothes, giving the shaken sailmaker a quick hug. Kyte presses himself into Carroll at the opportunity, trembling. His arms move around Carroll’s sides and he seems unable to command them to let go. The young captain, feeling Kyte’s clearly-mostly-subconscious resistance, holds him more firmly despite his wet clothes.

“Ethel,” he calls to his first mate, “Get us back to port safe for me?” Carroll glances subtly but pointedly at the shivering sailmaker gathered in his arms.

“Yes sir,” Ethel responds, efficiently. She heads to the upper deck where the rest of the crew remains.

Quinn, now astern but with an entirely unchanged demeanour, stares at the mass of wreckage receding slowly behind them as they make their way back to port. Their fingers rest on the open page of their weather logbook, unmoving over the neat columns of numbers. Their experience as sailing master shows in the decisive scrawl, the way “Master’s Log” presides over the page with unimpeachable authority, the slight pause before the last two digits of 1763 as they reflect on the few but long years that have ticked by.

“Three people…” they whisper to themself. Three people are all we pulled out of the wreck of what had been a massive ship, they think, What if we left someone behind, they continue, unable to free themself of the quicksand of ‘what-ifs.’

Rowan shows up behind them, over six feet tall and towering above Quinn who isn’t slight themself. Despite his size and tank-like build, he has an ever-present kind look in his eye and a slight fragility about him. Only the slight creaking of the deckboards alerts Quinn to his delicate presence.

“You all right?” he inquires softly, concerned in his heavy Scottish accent.

Quinn, in sharp contrast, grows prickly, “Yes. Fine.”

Rowan matches their tone but warmly, “No. Not fine.”

“Go away.” Quinn takes a breath. Rowan is just concerned. Wrongfully so, but concerned nonetheless. How is he to know? “I’m tired. Sorry,” they explain gruffly, hoping this is enough to shake Rowan off for the time being.

“Not all wrecks end badly, eh?” Rowan pushes, “It’s how we ended up with you.”

Quinn withdraws into themself. This isn’t what they need to hear. This isn’t what they ever need to hear. No one wants to be reminded of a wreck, let alone one like…

They respond softly, almost in a whisper, “Yeah…” and walk off to yell orders at someone. They’re heading back to port after all. How dare the gunner get in their way? There’s no discipline here – not like a Navy ship anyway. Carroll could really do to bring some around.

Rowan shakes his head, equal parts exasperated and worried as he takes Quinn’s place in watching the receding wreckage float lifelessly into the rocks.

Edit: fixed the soft-return that was bothering me, changed a first name to surname in dialogue, historical accuracy

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XXIX

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4.8K

14 Kelona

The sun breached the tops of the Square’s stone buildings. 

The rays illuminated Bash’s bloodied face. 

A spell seemed to becharm Eluca, slow time, as if the earth itself had grumbled to a halt in its rotation. 

Conflictual decisions pulsed within Kazi: rapid, furtive, demanding. A self-preserving urge to run far away. A twisted loyalty to help Carinthia. 

Her indecision kept her rooted to the spot.

And then the spell snapped.

Locals surged from their momentary lapses.

Chairs scraped. A flower barrel crashed. Doors slammed.

Kazi continued to stare at Carinthia. Tried to decipher her fellow rebel’s nonsensical ploy—

A large body collided with Kazi and she crashed to her knees, her hands scraping against the cobblestone. An itchy pain pricked her palms. 

More bodies fled around her, pressing and clamoring. She scrambled forward, trying to regain her feet. A booted foot slammed onto her hand. Agony screamed in her fingers; she yelped, hauling her bloodied palm to her chest.

Gritting her teeth, Kazi lurched toward an overturned chair and used it to regain her feet. A shoulder clipped hers, nearly toppling her over, and she clung to the chair, steadying herself. Frantically, she scanned the clearing. 

The stormtroopers had Carinthia on her knees, a blaster pressed to her temple. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Blood leaked from a wound at her temple.  

A majority of the morning patrons had fled, and yet a significant crowd remained. Macabre curiosity. One of the stormtroopers hefted his blaster: an order to stay back. 

Holding her bruised hand to her chest, Kazi slipped between tables and bodies, a cloaked wrath absconding from the sunlight. At the edge of the crowd, she hesitated. 

Under the Empire, justice was an arbitrary concept. If she spoke on behalf of Carinthia, she could be implicated in Bash’s murder, too. The murder of a high-ranked government official. She could be subjected to interrogation, imprisonment, torture. Her sister, Neyti, the men would be endangered.

Maybe it made her a coward, but Kazi didn’t move forward. Instead, she relied on the remaining crowd to provide her cover, keeping her gaze on Carinthia’s face. Briefly, her fellow rebel glanced in her direction. Red hair streamed around her shoulders, a river of blood, as she dipped her chin. A subtle, indiscernible gesture. 

Carinthia surveyed the amassed locals with a perceptive look. 

“The Rebellion was forced off Eluca”—a hush fell across the Square at Carinthia’s equanimous tone—“courtesy of the dictatorial leadership in both the local government and that of the Empire—”  

One of the stormtroopers slammed his blaster against the back of Carinthia’s head. She keeled over, wincing. An outraged cry rose from the crowd, and the other stormtrooper aimed his blaster at the people. The woman next to Kazi staggered back a step. Some retreated a few paces while others took a step forward: teeth bared, expressions full of umbrage.

Carinthia straightened, her pride unbent, and raised her voice. “We have been forced out,” she said evenly, “but the will of the people cannot—will not—be silenced.”

It was a performance, Kazi realized. A performance intended to convince the magistrate—possibly Moff Harpy, as well—that the rebel network had consolidated and moved off planet. A performance that required the sacrifice she and Carinthia had argued about four months ago. 

The stormtrooper near Carinthia gripped her hair, yanking her head back, yelling at her. But Carinthia closed her eyes, uncaring. A slow smile crept across her mouth. A smile of relief.

And then a blue current electrified her face. The white bones of her skull spasmed beneath her nearly-translucent skin.

Kazi gathered her cloak, her bruised fingers protesting, and turned away.

Screams flowed around her. People ebbed in her periphery as she strode toward the nearest alley. Another shoulder knocked against hers. The pain went unnoticed.

Eventually she found her way to the aircar, started on the path to the capital. A military vehicle was rumbling toward the heart of Hollow’s Town. She ignored it. 

Parked outside the Security Institute of Eluca, she hastily changed into her uniform. A professional gait and composed countenance dominated her exterior as she strolled inside. Her aloof demeanor blended into the imperialized Institute. 

The least visited data chamber stood at the back of the building, its computers slower, outdated: a blemish compared to the streamlined perfection expected of Imperial technology. Most employees avoided association with the chamber.

A ring of computers surrounded the three towers housing physical datafiles. A darkness enshrouded the room; white and red lights blinked from the towers. A single overhead light cast the room in its white embrace. 

With a quick appraisal of the empty data chamber, Kazi keyed into a proxy server, obfuscating her presence, and then logged into a computer. She plugged the datastick into a port. Its white light blinked rapidly.

Her fingers twitched their impatience. A droplet of sweat tickled the knobs of her spine. A glance at the door revealed an empty hallway beyond. 

“Come on,” she growled at the computer.

She tapped her foot against the floor. She rubbed her clammy palm down her thigh.

The datastick blinked once more and then dulled. The computer screen flickered and the access codes for Veridian Sector’s citizen database appeared. 

Ten minutes later and Kazi locked herself in the closest refresher. Leaning against a sink, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was pallid, sickly; her lips were bloodless. The appearance of the guilty.

A splash of cool water to her neck cleansed her of sweat, and an adjustment of her uniform’s sleeves refined the sleek appearance of her attire. A pinch to her cheeks renewed the color in her face; a deep inhale and exhale released the rigidity in her spine. A slow blink schooled her features into apathy, insouciance. Innocence.  

Always, she was careful to avoid cams and alerting security firewalls. Always, she was meticulous in her data manipulation and scrubbing.

No one would know what she had done. And now that Carinthia was dead, no one could trace the stolen information to her—information only a well-positioned data courier could purloin.

No one would know she had deleted all records of Daria and Neyti from the Imperial databases. 

No one would know she had switched her own profile with Carinthia’s. 

According to the Imperial database, Kazi, Daria, and Neyti no longer existed. 

Fluttering wings and flashes of bioluminescent chitin etherealized an amorphous cloud of summer blue butterflies. They rose atop the canopied jungle, swelling. 

With the onslaught of summer, the butterflies had returned, eager to pollinate. Nearly as eager as the little girl who watched their flight memorized. 

The pink flowers Neyti and Wolffe planted two months ago, scientifically known as sweet zinnia, were expected to attract large quantities of the keystone insects this year. However, Neyti wouldn’t have an opportunity to enjoy the butterflies’ rare appearance. On account of their departure from Eluca. Hence the late evening hike to witness the first wave of the insects’ mass migration to Eluca’s southern towns. 

Kazi felt a twinge of regret—for deciding to leave Eluca before Neyti could see the butterflies pollinate her pink flowers. But the little girl had accepted the decision with only slight disappointment. She wondered if the draw of the ocean—the call of home—prioritized Neyti’s wants.

“I was called to a meeting today,” Kazi said, licking the bitter remnants of citrus-star juice from her lips. The blooms had finally matured, and when she returned from work that evening, she’d found one of the fruits snuggled in the soil at the base of its tree. Three more citrus-stars were nearly ripe for eating, too. “A tracking device was found on one of the classified ships leaving a doonium mine.” 

Daria blinked her intrigue, reaching for her necklace’s locket. “Was it the network?” 

For a moment, Kazi didn’t answer, too focused on her sister’s spasming fingers. The reestablishment of her Ceaian funds reprieved her former financial concerns regarding Daria’s medicine. Now, she could export the twice-daily potion, regardless of cost. However, leaving Healer Natasha at such a critical stage in Daria’s disease was unnerving.

Daria’s worsening conditions were prevalent on the leisure hike: harsh breaths at a slight incline, easily exhausted strides. The moment they arrived at the outlook, she’d collapsed onto a boulder, her expression wistful as she took in the sunset. Like it might be one of her last. 

Refusing to dwell on that thought, Kazi returned her attention to the orange sunset, the clouds a field of citrus-star blossoms.

“I think so, but I have no proof,” she said, glancing in Neyti’s direction. The little girl sat crisscrossed on a boulder, her hands on her thighs, her eyes closed. Evening breeze tousled the strands of hair loose from her braids. Beside her, Fluffy sat straight-backed, white fur rustling, amber eyes alert. Sitting, he was taller than Neyti. “The problem is that this happened weeks ago,” Kazi said, her voice pitched low. “And we’re only just now learning about it.”

“It begs the question—”

“What else are they hiding.” She rubbed her fingers together—to dispel her apprehensive energy. But her bruised hand ached in protest, and she forced herself to unclench it. “The Imps aren’t happy, and Magistrate Aro is more paranoid than ever. I’ve heard there’s another execution planned.”

Daria pursed her lips. “Do you think they’ll close the spaceports again?” 

“Yes.” She twisted toward her sister. “Carinthia”—her skin grew cold at the reminder of that morning but she pressed on—“got me new chain codes. I’ve booked us a flight. The night of Primeday.”

“Two days from now?” Daria said, shocked. Her nod was perfunctory; her sister grew thoughtful, studying her. “What about the men?”

Kazi winced. “There’s no guarantee they’ll return tomorrow night—”

“They do.”

Her heart slowed to a tepid beat. Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Cody commed me,” Daria said simply. She scrutinized Kazi with a quirked eyebrow. “They’ll be back tomorrow evening. Just in time for dinner.”

“Oh.” Kazi mustered a strained smile. “That’s good. We can tell them then.”

Hesitation coiled in the air between them, thick and palpitating, like the swarm of butterflies. 

“Are we inviting them?” Daria asked. Her voice was impassive, her demeanor imperturbable. A well-honed skill from years of finishing school to conceal her opinion. “To live with us?”

Selfish desires quarreled with self-preserving tactics: an insistent longing; a clamant fear. Kazi pressed her hands between her tautened thighs and looked away.

A stray butterfly tittered near the outlook, arrogantly independent. A black bird surged from its hidden branch and plucked the butterfly mid-flight, soaring away. A startled gasp came from Neyti.

Kazi massaged her chest and said, “If they want to, they can live with us.”

With the sun bobbing along the horizon, the trio started back toward the house.

Neyti and Fluffy took the lead, the former sporting a headlamp, the latter her protective companion. The success of the anooba’s training was obvious: his ears remained perked; his head swayed, searching, assessing. He was loyal, protective. Exactly as the men—exactly as Wolffe—wanted him to be.

Multiple meters separated the sisters from Neyti; their headlamps lit the darkening path. Moss sunk beneath their booted feet. Tree roots crawled across the ground. 

“Kazi.” Her name stalled her next step and she glanced back at her sister. The white light from the headlamp nearly blinded her, and she stumbled backwards. Her exasperated scowl earned her an apologetic grimace. Hesitating, Daria fiddled with her necklace, cautious curiosity wrinkling her forehead. “What happened between you and Wolffe?”

Kazi stiffened at the random, probing question, and she levelled a blank stare on her sister. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Zee.” The damned nickname evoked too many old memories, happy memories, and she recoiled. Determined, Daria took a step closer. “What happened?” 

A blue glow sputtered and flared, white and silver threading the jungle’s ecosystem into a frondescent tapestry of bioluminescent beauty. The glow was soft, tender. A reminder of the glow within: the quiet yearning, a small yet undeterred hand reaching through her chest, reaching for him.

“I wouldn’t make a decision on him,” Kazi said. Her voice was inflectionless; her hands hung limply at her sides. “On us.” Her sister loosed an exasperated breath. She swallowed. “He wants to be someone’s choice. And he deserves that.” 

“So be that for him.” 

A hollow laugh seared her throat, and she smiled sadly, pitifully. “I want to be that for him… But I can’t.”

Daria considered her. “What’s holding you back?” 

“What if he stops loving me?” The words escaped, unvoiced fears from years of intentional ignorance and self-sabotage. Kazi wrapped her arms around her stomach. “What if he grows bored of me? What if he gets disappointed? What if he decides to leave me? What then?” 

“What if he doesn’t leave you?” Daria demanded. “What if he never stops loving you for the rest of your lives?”

Kazi rolled her eyes. “That’s not possible.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because.” With an aggravated scoff, she balled her hands. “It’s just not.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s not possible, Dee—” 

“But why? Tell me why.”

“Drop it—”

“Tell me why it’s not possible—” 

“What is there to love about me?” Kazi snapped. Her breaths were unsteady pants, her arms stiff around her stomach. “How could someone love me, when I don’t even love myself?” 

For a majority of her life, Kazi had ignored this fear: the fear that she was unlovable. That she wasn’t good enough to be loved. That she hadn’t earned it. 

It was easier to mistrust and blame others; it was easier to fear abandonment and rejection and potential hurt as a result of another person’s actions rather than her own insecurity and self-preservation.

Over the years, her hyper-independence and self-righteousness convinced her to ignore the fear. Most days she could pretend she was worth something. That she deserved to be loved.

And then the fear seeped through the bars of its cage. 

(Because she couldn’t hide it behind a wall. Walls kept others out, but they failed to protect her from herself.) 

She wasn’t sure when, exactly, the fear took root. It was probably the day she ran away from her dying father. More than likely, it developed the year after, when she was alone and lost. The exact date hardly mattered. Little Kazi had stopped loving herself, and she stopped believing anyone else ever could. 

For whom would love someone like her? Someone who was obstinate, controlling, mistrustful, cold, cowardly?

“You’re being pathetic.”

Kazi reared back at her sister’s matter-of-fact tone. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re being fucking pathetic,” Daria said plainly. 

A slow blink succeeded her sister’s words, and then Kazi straightened, glaring. “What the hell is your problem?” 

“My problem?” Daria released a mirthless laugh. “My problem?” Her sister took a step forward; the bioluminescence emphasized the striking anger in her eyes. “You are so pathetic, Kazi, it makes me angry. You choose to push everyone away. You choose to self-sabotage everything good in your life. You choose to be alone because it gives you a semblance of control. And I am fucking tired of it.” 

A tear slid down her cheek and Daria wiped it away. Kazi could only stare at her, unmoving, mute. 

“I love you. Neyti loves you. Wolffe loves you.” Daria shoved a finger in her chest. “How don’t you see it?” 

“Fuck off,” Kazi snarled, shoving her sister’s hand away. “You’re being an asshole—” 

“I’ve looked up to you my entire life,” Daria hissed. “Even when we weren’t talking. Even when you left home. Even when I knew you thought of me as nothing but a burden. I never stopped loving you because you have always been enough.” 

“Stop it.” Kazi staggered back a step; a tree root taunted her. “Just stop—” 

“You’re enough for Neyti.” 

“Stop—” 

“You’re enough for Wolffe.” 

“Daria—” 

“You’re enough as you are, Kazi.” Her sister threw up her hands. “Get out of your head and look around you. Look at Wolffe. He’s here. He’s still here. Give him a chance.”

Kazi was trembling: with rage, with indecision, with yearning. She whispered, “It’s risky.”

“What if it pays off?” 

She swallowed.

“What if everything goes right and you spend decades together, and you grow old together, and you raise Neyti together?” Daria lowered her voice; a plea softened her voice: “What if all that is good happens? Do you want that?”

It was a dream—the wish of a little girl who wanted to love and to be loved—and it seemed so utterly unrealistic. Outside of her control. The risk of falling, the risk of being seen, known, was a surrender: total abandonment. 

“Do you want that?” Daria repeated.

Always, Kazi had always wanted it. 

15 Kelona

“They’re back!” 

Neyti’s excited shout cut through the jungle’s lazy silence. Dusting her gloved hands free of soil, Kazi sat back on her haunches, taking a moment to observe the organized garden. To endure the relief rushing through her veins and loosening in her chest.

The men had returned. Wolffe had returned. 

Late evening sun burned her cheeks as she angled her face toward the sky. She wanted to see Wolffe; she wanted to hide her face from him. She wanted to reach for him and touch him; she wanted to avoid him. She wanted to be known by him, but…

A slow inhale and Kazi pushed herself to her feet. Though the garden was fecund with summer growth, Wolffe’s meticulous layout paved a clear path to the gate. A path that let her leave untouched. Unlike the plants tackling her shins and tickling her shoulders whenever she visited Daria’s garden.

The gate snapped behind Kazi; her sister was closing the gate to her own garden. A basket full of winged beans and pale potatoes sat in the crook of Daria’s arm. Her sister tossed her a pointed look that she chose to ignore.

Nearing the front of the house, Kazi smiled at the sight of Neyti hugging Wolffe. Fluffy wagged his tail. His tongue lolled—from a combination of the heat and eagerness—as he knocked his head against Nova’s thigh. 

“—and me took care of your plants,” Neyti said. Leaning against the front porch’s railing, Kazi didn’t miss the quick look Wolffe shot in her direction. “I watered. Just like you showed me.”

Wolffe tapped the underside of Neyti’s chin. “I appreciate it, kid.”

With a toothy grin, Neyti skipped toward Nova and Cody, both of whom she hugged tightly. The distraction of the reunion allowed Kazi to appraise Wolffe. Blaster marks scorched his black armor. A bruise darkened his left eye. Wearied lines harried his face. 

Their eyes lingered on one another. Her smile was small; the dip of his head was curt. He started toward her but a different reunion caught her attention. 

Fox had approached Neyti. A glower sullied the youngling’s former grin, and she toed the ground, playing with her dragon necklace.

“Neyti.” Fox sighed her name and dropped his duffel bag. His hands went to his hips; exasperation narrowed his eyes. “Don’t sulk—”

“You promised.” Neyti levelled a vitriolic glare on him. An impressive feat considering she had to tip her head back to look into his face. “You lied.”

Fox worked his jaw. “I told you that I was sorry.”

Neyti sniffed her disdain and returned to toeing the ground.

“Come on, kid.” Tension lined the rigid planes of Fox’s shoulders. He scoffed. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Neyti muttered.

“Fucking hell,” Wolffe muttered under his breath. Kazi felt her lips twitch in response. 

Fox let out a long-suffering breath. He shook his head and then knelt before the little girl. “I’m sorry.” His stilted apology was belied by an undercurrent of grudging softness. “I know what I promised you. And I’m sorry I didn’t keep it.”

Neyti clung to her baleful glower as she stared at Fox. But the reproach in her stormy eyes lost some of its severity. Accusation. She wavered on her feet, indecisive, and then her anger collapsed. 

A small step forward closed the distance. Neyti rested her forehead against Fox’s shoulder. Carefully, with a concentrated frown, Fox scooped the little girl into his arms. 

“He was great to be around,” Wolffe murmured. Hefting his duffel bag, he leaned against the railing, his gaze on hers: searching, calculating. “Thought about dumping him out the trash chute.”

She chuckled quietly and assessed the swollenness along the left side of his face. “The others?”

“They…made it out.” At his hesitant response, she frowned. Unease flattened his mouth and he grimaced. “There were three groups. We got separated. Lost contact with the third. We’re waiting to hear back.” 

Kazi nodded, knowing words were little comfort. Instead, she raised her uninjured hand to his face, her fingers skimming his temple. His bruise was hot, abrasive, beneath her touch. “From sparring?”

“Nah.” He watched her through hooded eyes. “Shrapnel from an explosion.”

Her fingers twitched. “Oh.” 

“I’m all right.”

Gently, she brushed his cheekbone, studying the planes of his face, losing herself in the depths of his gaze. Being near him, like this, felt so natural, instinctive: an easiness to breathing, a steadiness within her body.

A call from Daria urging the men to shower before dinner broke them apart, and an hour later, plates heaping with grilled vegetables, cooked rice, and loaves of buttered bread, their small group gathered at the outside table to enjoy dinner. 

Rain clouds smeared the horizon, like a youngling had wiped her charcoal-smudged hands across the heavens. A tolerable temperature beckoned their company. 

Most of dinner passed with Kazi focused on the sunset and the surrounding scenery—an appreciation for Eluca’s distinct climate. 

As much as she despised the heat and humidity, she would miss this place. The lake and its morning solace. The lightning bugs and flora that fascinated Neyti. The garden that allowed her and Daria to reconnect. The lake’s depths that she and Wolffe explored—

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” 

Kazi jerked her attention to Neyti. She started to shake her head—

“We’re going home,” Neyti said. Twin dimples creased her cheeks as she looked around the table. “To Ceaia.”

Four sets of identical eyes—one set marred by a silver cybernetic—landed on Kazi. A thick silence descended, seconds ticking as she scrutinized the varying reactions among the men: polite intrigue, shrewd eagerness, reserved neutrality, guarded displeasure. 

It was the last reaction—the mounting tension in the man beside her—that encouraged her to seek out Daria. For a diplomatic approach to handling this situation. Instead, her sister offered an unhelpful shrug.

“You’re leaving.” Wolffe’s accusatory statement cut through the silence. His gaze was knife-like on Kazi. 

“Yep,” Neyti answered with an infectious grin. “We’re going sailing and swimming, and we’ll visit the shore every day.” 

Wolffe released a sardonic breath and leaned back in his chair. Tapping his fingers against the table, he set his eyes on the jungle. A gesture dismissive in its intent. 

Distantly, Kazi was aware of Nova and Cody engaging Neyti in conversation. Asking her about Ceaia. If she was excited or nervous. The first she wanted to see.

“Things have happened,” Kazi told Wolffe. A defensive note cut through her words, and she curled her fingers into her thighs. Her swollen hand throbbed. “We decided a few days ago—”  

“When we were gone,” Wolffe said flatly. 

“Yes.” 

“Huh.” He continued to study the jungle, refusing to look in her direction. The absence of his gaze left her feeling bare, exposed. Even his ire was preferable to intentional disregard.

“I was going to tell you.” She ignored the frustration warming her cheeks, staring at him, openly, blatantly. Still, he ignored her. “I made this decision—”

“When do you leave?”

She gritted her teeth at his rude interruption. “Tomorrow.”

With a resentful scoff, he reached for his beer. A long gulp downed the remaining liquid. When he lowered the bottle to the table, his expression was remote. Stolid. He muttered, “Good to know you can make a decision on something.”

The inflectionless betrayal in his tone made Kazi flinch. 

Kazi stared at the printed photo: frozen, mute. The voices gathered upstairs faded; the cloth she was using to clean the kitchen laid unused atop the counter. 

Her finger trembled as she skimmed the edge of the photo. Its crinkled edges spoke of its constant use—of being touched, held. Within its frame, she and Neyti stood in front of the plexiglass windows of the men’s ship, smiling. The photo was taken the day they flew to space.

She hadn’t meant to violate Wolffe’s privacy. However, the photo’s wrinkled edge poking between the pages of a familiar, black notebook had caught her eye. Yanked her from her unspooling thoughts about Wolffe and his comment at dinner.  

The sight of a broken page—as she wrongfully assumed—beckoned her. A gentle tug revealed the inconsistency between the notebook’s thin paper and the thicker flimsi of the photo. The inconsistency between the notebook’s page size and the photo’s smaller trim. 

It was too late, though, to renege on her intrusion. Her curiosity was piqued.

Gently, Kazi thumbed the notebook open. Its pages spread easily, its broken spine allowing its two halves to rest atop the counter. She exhaled a shallow breath.

Another printed photo was nestled between the notebook’s pages. Unlike the first, this photo was full of color. 

Baubles of light. A curtain of pale yellow and dark blue flowers. 

A black dress. A gray, knitted sweater.

Soft smiles, bodies close together, a lingering look.

It was the random shot Neyti had taken of Kazi and Wolffe during the winter holiday.

The photo captured their relaxed dispositions, the warmth in their eyes, the easiness in which they were talking. A tender moment Wolffe had clearly cherished.

Swallowing, Kazi tucked the photos back into the pages of the notebook. Before she could close it, though, she noticed the three inked names bleeding into an otherwise empty page. Three names written in Wolffe’s scrawl: Kazi, Neyti, Daria.

The last page of the names Wolffe had preserved over the years. The page he’d stopped her from seeing.

Because he was hiding their names. 

With shaking hands, Kazi closed the notebook and retreated a step. To know that Wolffe didn’t want her to see this—the proof of everything she’d tried so hard to ignore, to pretend didn’t exist—made her burn.

Deep within, something flickered. It sputtered, faltered, and then started to glow. Bright, unburdened. Alive.

A swift escape through the back door and elder trees embraced her.

Bioluminescent mosses guided her path, squishy beneath her feet.

The lake’s surface reflected the faint stars winking into existence.

A quiet, beautiful sanctuary that opened its arms for her as she strolled the lake’s perimeter. Sand stirred beneath her feet; a few waves dampened her boots. She didn’t notice.

All that mattered were the conflictual emotions pressing against her chest. 

For she was standing on the edge of a shelf: the point where the ocean’s floor disappeared. 

Behind her laid the ocean’s floor. Safe, well-known. 

Before her was the unknown. Risk, adventure. 

One step backward and she could run. 

One step forward and she would fall.

A twig snapped and Kazi spun on her heel. Stalking through the trees, anger daggering his eyes, was Wolffe. 

“I’ve been waiting months for you,” he snarled. Long strides closed the distance between them. Mere centimeters separated their bodies; she could observe the flecks of stars in his cybernetic. “Months, Ennari. And you can’t give me the fucking courtesy to let me know you’re leaving?” 

Kazi held her ground. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” He lowered his face to hers. “When were you gonna tell me?”

“Tonight.” At his dismissive scoff, her spine went taut. “I was. I was going to tell you after I put Neyti to bed.”

“Yeah?” His nostrils flared. “And that was it?”

Her lips pressed together. “You’re upset.”

“Nah. I’m fucking pissed,” Wolffe hissed. “I’ve been giving you space. And you still haven’t made a decision about us.” He rolled his shoulders back, eyeing her. “Trying to run again?”

“I’m not running from anything,” Kazi said. The fury flushing beneath her skin betrayed her attempt at apathy.   

“Bullshit.” Wolffe ran his tongue along his teeth. “You’re leaving this fucking planet—”

“That was an easy decision,” she snapped, shoving her palm into his chest. It hurt. The hard contact made her bruised fingers spasm, and yet she refused to pull away. “Leaving this place was the easiest fucking decision, Wolffe. So much easier than making a decision on you.”

He reared back. His heart jerked beneath her palm; his features went slack with incredulity. And then he grabbed her wrist, gentle yet desperate, holding her hand against his chest. Lowly, he demanded, “What’s so fucking hard about making a decision on me?” 

“It’s hard because I am scared.” Vulnerability emphasized the vehemence of her glare. “I’m scared because I’m in love with you.”

Masterlist | Chapter 28 | Chapter 30

A/N: Alan Watts on Falling into Love:

"Well now really when we go back into falling in love. And say, it's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it, the idea of the fall. And it goes back, as a matter of fact, to extremely fundamental things. That there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble. The moment you take a step, you do so on an act of faith because you don't really know that the floor's not going to give under your feet. The moment you take a journey, what an act of faith. The moment that you enter into any kind of human undertaking in relationship, what an act of faith. See, you've given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done: surrender. See. And love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment. I give myself to you. Take me. Do anything you like with me. See. So, that's quite mad because you see, it's letting things get out of control. All sensible people keep things in control."