#while Bow is whispering ''what are the safety standards I know there's safety standards what are they? I'd feel better if I knew!?''

[neverchecking]

Yoo, can I request sub!wild w/ reader? i was thinking like reader could just be teasing him by sucking on his neck, marking him up, ykyk and he's below them desperately trying to grind up against them. bonus points if he comes untouched >:)

have a good day!! or night!! or evening!!!!

You have a good day as well, anon! You absolutely can request that. I mean my favorite boy, being a big ol' sub? Sign me the F U C K up. This is also kind of an apology since my last Wild bit kind of, admittedly, wasn't up to my own standards. It was rushed and not as polished as I normally like. It was deleted twice and I was just over it at that point but that's no excuse. Anyway, I hope this makes up for it, Darling!

And you know I'm going for those bonus points.

Smut, so 18+, MDNI.

Smut CW: Wild is a subby baby boy, you edge him a little, he busts a little prematurely with no touching (BONUS POINTS), and you know me. He cries just a little.

His Home

The difference in the way people treated him varied. It varied a lot. It ranged from people taking one look at his scars and treating him like some form of monster that had escaped from it's cage to people automatically bowing to his every whim-- deeming him some form of warrior who had faced battles far past their comprehension. Some people tried to hide their whispers behind cupped hands and side glances while others outwardly made their disgust known.

It was just the way it was.

At least in his Hyrule, however, he had a safe haven. A home. A place he could go to, to hide and recollect himself enough that dealing with the public was palatable once more. The civilians of his Hyrule knew he was the Hero, yes, but that didn't stop them. They still talked about how he had failed. How he was a century too late. How it didn't matter what he did, because they had grown accustomed to the Calamity. That he had done it for his own pride when that wasn't the case at all. Of course, he knew why he did it. He did it to avenge the fallen champions. He did it to free Flora, who had been fighting non-stop for a hundred years. He did it to ensure his home remained safe and sound.

Because you were his home. You were his sanctuary. You were the one to collect him into your arms and hold him close, gently whispering soft comforts into his ear, the one who was humming a half-remembered lullaby to sooth his nightmares. You remained a stone pillar of patience and comfort for him to follow. Like a beacon calling him to his Goddess.

Then he was dragged away from his home. He went kicking and screaming, make no doubt about it, but it didn't stop that Fraud from pulling him away. He was dropped with his sword brothers, which was...fine (Fine was a good word for it). But they weren't you. They had nothing on you. They could dream of being half of the comfort you were.

That wasn't even the worst of it, however. No, the worst was the face that he had now lost his safety blanket. His one hold over his own crumbling sanity was eons away and the only way he could even hope to reach them was through luck alone and Hylia's filthy grace.

Neither of which he would bet any amount of rupees on. If he were a betting man, that was. But he wasn't.

He wouldn't bet anything on making it back to you in a timely manner.

But life had a way of surprising him, he supposed, as he blinked bleary eyes open only to find familiar surroundings. The stale smell of the forest, the cool feeling of dew and dirt under his palms, even the drifty breeze flowing through his hair. It was all enough to remind him that while he wasn't quite home just yet he was close. Closer than he had been in so long.

He could practically taste you on his tongue already, the salty tang of your sweat; hear the lustrous harmony of all the sounds he could pluck from you. Just thinking about the heat of your skin under his palms, smooth and unmarred unlike his own, had him buzzing with epinephrine. He was sure even the others could pin something was different with him as the minute they entered Hateno they had wandered off to the inn and allowed him to wander off. Which was perfectly fine with him.

He had it all planned out as well. He'd get home, scoop you into his arms tight enough you would never doubt his love for you. His absolute devotion to your being. How nothing, not even time itself, could separate the two of you. Nothing could keep him from you.

Then he'd pepper an absolute flurry of kisses all over your face, neck, anywhere he could reach, just to hear your giggles ring out in pure glee. Feel your arms wrap around his own neck, fighting to return the affection only for him to make the action nearly impossible. How could he break apart from you long enough?

Of course, he would, only to press your lips together in a heart stopping kiss. Just so you could steal his very breath from his lungs. And he'd let it happen. Just to make you happy.

It didn't happen. The reason you and him paired so well together was because you surprised him at every turn. At any given point you could turn him onto his head and throw him for a loop. And he lived for it. The excitement and the rush of following you into unknown waters. It was so addicting.

This was all proven when instead of him trapping you in his arms, you pounced first-- as if waiting for him by the door. You didn't even give him the chance to act before wrapping your arms around his neck, crashing your lips together in a flurry of desire and fondness. Distance does make the heart grown fonder or something, he didn't know. His brain had began the shut-down process, too overwhelmed on emotions and a lack of blood.

When you dragged him to the stairs leading to the loft, positively filthy promises leaving your lips making him stutter. His heart was in his throat, pumping wildly in an effort to make up for all of his blood rushing to his cock-- which stirred to life in his pants.

He hadn't even known he was so pent up until you were pinning him to the bed, hips a familiar weight against his as you dragged your clothed core over his own. It was like being hurdled into the deep end within seconds as something hot and fiery and untampered roared to life in his veins.

His hips bucked wildly, aching for some sort of friction that he desperately needed. He would take anything you gave him, of course, but couldn't you take mercy on his poor, tattered soul? He would slaughter Ganon a million times over should you just lower yourself a bit more. Just give him a little more, please.

The feelings of your lips on his neck had him jolting as his own hands latched onto your hips in a positively bruising grip. Teeth gently nipping at skin before your molten tongue was lapping at the indents, soothing the slight sting. It was all so erotic, positively prurient, and he could barely contain himself. He knew he was whining. High keens full of begging and pleading pleas. He knew he was whimpering. Bordering on too overstimulated to actually do anything, but not stimulated enough to actually burst. It all felt tight and frustrating, with salty tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

"Wildflower, please-" He cried out, nails clawing up your back as you moved from the hickey you had previously been working on to an unmarked patch of skin. You hummed against him before gently snapping your teeth on the skin again.

It was too much, but not enough. Just enough to keep him right there, but not enough to teeter over, not yet. At least you seemed to take into account his plea, humming in consideration against his skin before pulling off with a positively lewd pop. You weight settled onto his lap, at long last, before you were returning to your previous endeavor.

It only too one roll.

One roll of your hips, plump and perfect, with just enough weight to stoke his cock in just the right way. One salacious rock of your lower body, pushing against his own in a rush of lust and heat. One roll to have him absolutely shattering underneath of you.

Just the push he needed to have him jutting up into you, in an embarrassingly juvenile move, crying out in pure ecstasy with fat tears finally rolling his cheeks. It was an uncomfortable feeling to be reminded of how tightly wound up he was, but to be reminded of how tightly around your finger he was wound? It was pure bliss. To know that he was yours in such a way that you didn't even have to touch him to have him coming undone was salacious enough to have him remaining hard.

To know that you were such a comfort to him, his home, to have him this `devout to you was enough to have him restarting his entire being as fast as he possibly could if only to pin your stunned form beneath him.

He had to show his faith somehow, didn't he?

[nny11writes]

No six sentence sunday today, have a silly wip idea that I do not know enough about and do not have the time to research to write it lol.

She Ra, Modern AU, College AU, either glitra or general, G or T rating

Glimmer does contact juggling, she learned as a kid because she thought it looked super magical and really kicked her fairy costumes up a notch at the ren faire (look me in the eyes and tell me that Bow does not go to ren faires, he would absolutely go and do archery demos/play his lute). It’s a fun hobby, and when she finally moves out of the house to go to college she feels super lonely.  Glimmer chose to not go to the private school her mom picked out specifically to be more “normal” and to follow her only friend. But Bow is busy all the time now with his major and new extracurriculars, and no amount of him inviting her will let Glimmer enjoy the experience of a robot club not building battle bots. She eventually finds a club on campus that is basically a juggling club although a few people also do tight rope and slack rope walking or other fun circus tricks. She grabs her favorite orbs and wants to give it a real go!

Catra learned to juggle because she was bored and Adora gave up. Adora begged for a set of soft cubes to learn to juggle and then got so frustrated that she couldn’t get it done quickly enough for her liking that she stopped. Catra found them and was just goofing around, but it was also a little bit of a “Wanna play N64 with me?” where your friend who ones the console is the only one who plays and you have to watch a little excited a little bored and a little frustrated that it’s never your turn. She gets decent at it and eventually starts juggling other things for shits and giggles, teaching herself through trial and error to juggle knives and eventually even use a whip. Adora was accepted to a private school and Catra never even applied to it. She ends up going to college because “it’s what you’re supposed to do” but she doesn’t know what she wants from it if anything. Catra learns there’s a juggling club and decides that she wants to do flaming torches and is wondering if there’s a fire eater who can teach her some tricks too.

Glimmer and Catra are what you would call frenemies. They are easily annoyed by one another but don’t actually hate each other. Despite not doing the same sort of juggling at all, they’re always trying to out do one another. Their friendly rivalry can get Intense at times but most of the club is just waiting to see what happens. 

Sea Hawk teaches Catra how to eat fire, so Glimmer demands to be taught as well. Perfuma teaches Glimmer slack line, so you bet your butt Catra decides to learn it too.

Eventually the whole club goes to do a performance at one of the small theaters tucked away on campus and Glimmer and Catra decide to do an act together where the whole thing is designed to look like they are seriously trying to sabotage one another but keep failing because of the other’s talents or obliviousness.

They have a grand ol’ time and when the performance is over Adora and Bow have bonded because THAT WAS AWESOME AND ALSO SO DANGEROUS BUT MOSTLY SUPER COOL!!

[falling-pages]

Bend the Knee: Kyoya x Reader

Thanks @ouranbound for the idea <3

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“I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present."

-

Sometimes Kyoya's betrothed needs help adjusting from their commoner life to one of splendor.

-

Kyoya Ootori x gn! Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship, arranged marriage, Commoner! Reader

Warnings: None

-

“Quit.”

“What?”

“Quit. You complain about that job every night, so just resign.”

You sit up on the couch, gasping to even begin to make the young heir understand how preposterous his words were. He barely even noticed, just kept his eyes glued to his novel as you were having a crisis. Just another normal Tuesday in this household. “I can’t quit just like that, without two weeks’ notice.”

“The other employees did.”

“But I’m their best,” you scramble, “I can’t bail while they’re still looking for two more people.”

Kyoya scoffed, licking his fingertip and turning a page. “Is that how they treat their best? Overworked and underpaid? They don’t sound like very good bosses to me.”

“It’s not that, it’s…”

It was that. It was exactly that, which made his smug smile all the more frustrating, igniting that fire under your nails to just punch his lights out. But then you’d have to admit it’s bothering you, and he would win, and even though you were engaged to marry this man, you just couldn’t have that.

You ran your hands through your hair, dropping back down onto the couch. His office futon wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, perhaps to discourage relaxation during work hours, but it’s what you dealt with in order to spend time with him in the evenings, a change you would certainly implement once your name was on the deed and in the will--a revamp of his working space was imperative.

But you supposed you couldn’t complain. It was your little life together, where he manages a multi-billion dollar empire and you whine about your job, where he pretends to not pay attention while you spill your guts. What was the sense in commenting when he knew you wouldn’t take his advice?

“I’ve worked hard for this position,” you settle on, closing your eyes and letting your brain do the work. “I’ve climbed the ladder and gotten promotions and I used to feel so important, and it isn’t my dream job, sure, but I’ve enjoyed the process.”

“Then it’s time to move on to something different,” he suggests, and his tone is softer than usual, though still careful to sound detached. “You know I have more than enough money to provide for you and our family someday. Is that not enough?”

You open your eyes when the voice sounds closer, right above you, and you see him kneeling down beside you on the couch. You start to sit up, but he pushes you back down, helping you stretch out your spine, shake out the stresses in your limbs. And when he takes your hand, drawing his long fingers over the arch of your wrist and against your palm, you were startled to see him at eye-level.

Kyoya Ootori bent his knee to no one except you, and only once, when he slipped that pretty gold ring on your finger. But here where you lay, your faces were on the same level, and you felt like an equal.

“The world I come from isn’t black and white, Kyoya,” you say, as he strokes the back of your knuckles. Such tenderness was seldom seen from him, but you revel in it, grasp onto it with dirty fists and brazen recklessness. To have him so attentive to your needs and listening to you was rare. It was a privilege, a standard you would soon be held to, as well. “To be just...launched into fame because my dad won the lottery is hard, I still need to adjust. It can all be gone in a second, so I can’t just drop something. I can’t...sever the safety net. They need me to keep the place afloat, and even as tough as it has been, I can’t leave on such bad terms. They need me. Just for a little bit longer.”

He sighs your name like the afterthought of a prayer, settling his other hand beside you on the couch. His fingers dig into every indentation, as if joining your discovery of its stiff cushions. The sheen in his glasses signaled he’d look into it, but there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

He remained silent, odd for a man with all the answers, but he continued to look at you, not like he was trying to drill a hole through your head, but like you were a puzzle he was just beginning to figure out.

“Have I really been so absent, my love?” he whispered, raising his hand to your face. One finger stroked along your cheek, slowly, lulling you into peace. “I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present. Please, forgive me.”

All of the air was knocked out of your chest as his gentle words, so soft that you almost didn’t recognize him. When your parents betrothed you, and when you fell in love with him, agreed to marry him, even, you knew that he would always be an Ootori, with every string attached. You were ready for the challenge, ready to be with this man no matter what--but his sudden kindness was unexpected, the poetic words unfamiliar in your ears.

“Kyo, you think I wouldn’t forgive you?” you ask, taking off his glasses.

He let you, and when you set them on the nearby stand, his dark eyes glittered with something you had never seen before. Deeper than love, deeper than compassion, a feral protectiveness mixed with sadness skating across his face. It was so rare you saw him without this shield of his, you had almost forgotten how his eyes were like galaxies, like the murky night sky, expansive, swallowing everything in its path.

“If I had been suffering so, I wouldn’t forgive my partner had they not noticed,” he said.

“I’m not suffering...”

“Mmm-mm.” He shuttered your lips closed with his finger, and you couldn’t help but return the affection and press a kiss to it. He smiled, softly, and you thought about how long it had been since you had seen that smile, and how long it had been since he’s seen yours, too.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing my feelings,” he said, and when you snorted, he rolled his eyes and leaned away. “See, this is exactly why.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, giggling. The feeling was foreign in the pit of your chest, drumming near your spine. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, softly wiping where you had kissed him, a repetitive, soothing motion. “I’m not the best at expressing my feelings. I’ve been raised to think that if you throw money at something, it will go away. It’s a powerful position to hold, knowing you can change everyone’s fates on a whim, but…” he swallowed, breaking eye contact, and you felt his energy shift into something vulnerable. “But you changed that. You make me feel...you make me feel. And at first I didn’t like it. I loved you, but I didn’t like what you did to me. I didn’t like how you made my world shift off-balance, until I realized my world was no longer my family’s company or stocks or what other stiffs thought of me. It was you.”

You tried to lean up and kiss him, but he grabbed your hands and held them in his own. “Please, let me finish, I want...I want you to know. We’ve been betrothed for so long, but I’d like to think we were only truly engaged when I bowed to you with that ring.”

“Okay,” you breathed, shallowly, taking it in, squeezing his hands to help him along.

“Because that took everything in me,” he continued, and his voice shook, his hands shook, and all you wanted was to gather him in your arms and hold him till he relaxed. “I was raised as a superior, but I’m not. Not with you. You are my equal, and I love you, and there’s no future with us if I can’t look beyond my own problems to see yours.”

Your stomach quelled in light of his confession. The life of luxury and fame you had so recently come to know was a blur compared to his childhood swathed in privilege. Only six years ago you were waiting tables to save up for college when your dad bought a lottery ticket for the hell of it. Now you were attending charity balls and engaged to the son of the richest man on earth.

He took a shaky breath and kissed your forehead, seeming to only find the courage once his lips met your skin.

“I notice. I swear I do,” he said. “I tried to act disinterested when you vent to me because it was a protection, it was a way to stay cold, because that was all I ever saw from my mother and father. They were separate people who happened to live in the same house. That’s not us. I’m not my father. I swear I notice. I notice your tired eyes and your tense shoulders and your fake smile and I want to fix it, but I don’t know how, so I clam up. I shut down. And I’m sorry. I truly am, my darling. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

It was an absolute miracle that you could even breathe at the end of his speech, panting almost as heavily as he was. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, this time he didn’t object, but pulled you even closer, shrouding your body with his, his sharp scent overwhelming your senses, clouding the air around you, even when there was no distance between you. His mouth was hot with passion, yet reserved, and though it wasn’t the first time you kissed, it was the first time you thought he meant it when he told you he loved you.

“Kyoya, I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I have for so long. I wouldn’t have stayed with you if I didn’t, no matter what our parents said.” He laughed, nipping your bottom lip lightly. “And I don’t want you to change for me. You’re under so much pressure, I understand why you act like you do. But our home isn’t Wall Street. My heart isn’t some business bargaining chip. You don’t need to fight your nature to love me. It’s one and the same.” One of his tears splashes down onto your face. “So just see me. Love me. Choose to be vulnerable. I promise it won’t scare me off.”

“I will. I promise.”

He kissed you again, burning his brand against your tongue, hard like a handshake to know he meant it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, like you were breathing the same air, using the same lungs, the same heart beating in tandem.

When you let go, his forehead remained pressed against yours. His eyes were slightly open, watching you, eyelashes fluttering against your skin. He was so soft, like this. You wanted to hold him forever.

“Come to bed with me,” you whisper, trailing a hand through his hair. “I just want to spend time with you.”

He kissed your forehead, rubbing his nose against yours in compliance. “I’ll spend all the time in the world with you, beloved,” he sighed, capturing your lips once more. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

-

Kofi

[aenaxes-moved]

momentum

[hunter x afab!reader] hunter thinks it's a good idea for you to learn hand-to-hand. and if it's a way for you to see him sweaty, sleeveless, and in close quarters, who are you to turn down the perfect opportunity?

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i'm a simple creature—i see the sexual tension of hand-to-hand combat, and i am brought low. also the marauder has a cargo hold for literary purposes, now. anyways enjoy my first nsfw fic on this blog. reposting bc tumblr censored me :/

“Try again,” Hunter orders as he crouches down beside where you lie sprawled, chest heaving and arms limp on the training mat. “Just like I showed you: trap the wrist, lock the arm, twist and throw.”

“Unlike you,” you wheeze, struggling to lift your head off the floor, “I’m not exactly built to throw people around.” You forego your weak attempt to get up, and you swear you feel your teeth rattle as the back of your head hits the mat with a dull thud.

You turn your head, meeting the sergeant's piercing gaze with a weary half-grimace half-grin. There’s a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes—maybe incredulity—that he might be training a half-fledged jedi in the brutally graceful art of floorslamming an opponent over a shoulder while the others had taken Omega on a trip to meet the natives. It’s something you should know well, having spent your youth under the wild and unrelenting martial acrobatics of master Voss, but at the end of the day, you would choose swordplay over brute physicality without hesitation.

Especially if you’re facing off against an opponent who can and has hefted you high above his head and practically launched you across the training mat.

If Hunter’s amused at all by this knowledge, he only makes it known with a huff.

“Empire’s out for your head; you need to learn to fight in more ways than your fancy jedi training. That includes hand-to-hand just in case you lose your lightsaber. Again.”

“That was once, Hunter!” you whine, warmth spreading across your cheeks. But he’s right. Loathe as you are to admit it, no amount of force pushing would have gotten you out of that mess on Onderon, and it was a miracle (otherwise known as Echo) that you’d found your lightsaber at all.

It’s an embarrassing memory and, deeper down, a dangerous one that could have ended in more than stray blaster fire. Petulant as you would like to be, Hunter has a point. So you reach up, flapping your hand about until you feel Hunter’s hand wrap around yours, callused and firm, and yank you up to your feet. You stumble as you regain your footing, but as soon as you’ve collected your bearings, you’re shaking your hands out and bouncing on the tips of your toes.

“Fuck it. Let me try again.”

“Do you want me to go slower on the approach?” Hunter asks, this time, a sure note of playful teasing dancing over his tongue. The corners of his lips curl up, imperceptible to most, but you’ve flown long enough with the crew to pick up on his slight giveaways. You narrow your eyes, fixing him with an accusatory frown.

“‘Imps won’t slow down for you y/n,’” you parrot his words with a sour expression, begrudging theatrics complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

Hunter laughs, but he’s already drawing back into a low crouch, arms raised and muscles coiled, ready to strike. You take the brief moment of clarity between your warm up and readying stance to admire him, his hair tied with his bandana, piercing eyes set in a razor focus as his chest rises and falls, even, steady. The sharp clarity is made complete, authentic, with his garb. Having swapped his standard blacks for a sleeveless top, a sheer veil of sweat glimmers brushed over the toned muscle rippling under his skin. It’s an appealing point of motivation, a reward for the small price of being thrown around for the past hour.

“You’re learning,” Hunter smiles, small and crooked, but a smile that breaks past his stolid stoicism nonetheless. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters, and you lunge.

Two rapid steps, and you’re meeting Hunter in the middle as he rushes towards you. Right foot, anchor heel, pivot, and the sharp wind of his arm shooting forward nearly knocks the breath from your lungs as it just barely brushes past your cheek.

He’s fast. But you’re faster, you challenge, and you shoot your left arm up, closing your grip with your right hand and trapping his forearm in your hands just beneath the hem of his glove. And when you find secure purchase, confident enough that he can’t counter, you yank with a sharp, vindictive shout. For the first time today, your grip holds.

You feel him roll over your shoulder, guided by your hand, compelled by gravity, and you’ve won. After all the blocks and parries and attacks-turned-scrambling-defenses, you’ve got Hunter exactly where you want him. Hunter may have size, bulk, experience—well, everything other than the Force—that you don’t, but if he’s taught you anything during your time with the batch it’s that timing is king.

You whoop as you feel his back roll off yours, squeezing your eyes shut as you claim your victory into the empty cargo hold.

You forget, however, the unspoken and very important step of letting go.

As soon as the split-second of simple victory flashes through you, you yelp, pulled off your feet and centre of balance flung off to the far reaches of the room. You’re reduced to an ungraceful flail of limbs and panicked disorientation as you fall, bracing yourself for an imminent collision and a sure promise of a bruise the day after. But instead of the forgiving, plasticky foam of the floor, you land with a soft oof on something else, harder than the mat, damp, bony…?

When you open your eyes, you’re propped up on one elbow, your other shoulder dipped close against Hunter’s chest, and your nose just a breath away from his collar, and, Maker help you, you can see his collarbones, sharp and clean through his blacks, rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy, straining breaths. You lift your head just in time to meet Hunter’s eyes, lightly curtained by one single swath of perfectly mussed stray hair, pupils blown wide with pride, wonder, and—

Shit.

“Uh, yay me?” you offer weakly, hoping you can blame the tremble in your voice on bone-deep exhaustion, not the blooming heat roiling in your gut.

“Yeah,” Hunter says, eyes trained on yours, steady and still.

It doesn’t take force sensitivity to feel the tension buzzing high in what little space separates your faces, the boundaries of playful sportsmanship bowing under the weight of testing curiosity, circling, prodding. The breath that passes your lips quivers, of which you’re only aware when you see Hunter’s eyes flick briefly to your lips. He lingers a moment, and you swallow hard, almost audibly, when you catch a flash of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

It might be an adrenaline high—his dilated pupils, the wild thumping of your heart against your ribs. High velocity combat and being thrown flat onto your back would do that.

You hope it isn’t.

The silence is enough to steal the sound from your tongue, just low breathing as you hover above him. It demands to be broken, something to be the first push back into the rhythm of which you have become so accustomed, the comfortable banter and competition devoid of anything more than meaningless flirting. Because for his ruggedly handsome looks, his commandeering presence, an aura that had men and women sending him drinks from across the bar, you had never let yourself seriously entertain the idea of being able to have him.

It’s hard to entertain attraction, much less romance, when you and the batch are high priority on the Empire’s list to shoot on sight, but the possibility has kept you awake at night, fingers shoved between your thighs while he sleeps two doors down. The fantasy of having, breathing him in like air, makes you feel alive, makes you feel the rare and fleeting feeling of safety. You, exiled jedi. Him, one of millions, the dedicated soldier sworn to a cause.

And yet, here you are.

Hunter lifts one hand from the floor, reaching up to brush the hair from your eyes, and you find yourself having to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from turning your head and nuzzling into his palm, from pushing close and staying, indulging. And while your mind blurs in the frantic flurry of fighting it, he gives in freely, turning his wrist to run his gloved thumb over your jaw. It’s the softest you’ve ever found standard issue blacks to feel, but more importantly, it’s the closest he’s ever been.

“Yay you,” he whispers.

Hunter leans forward, sliding his hand across the side of your neck, his thumb soft at your ear as he curls his fingers into your hair and closes the distance. One moment there’s a vast breadth of space between you; the next, you feel Hunter’s nose brushing over your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin for that last moment of separation. Then you’re moving with him, meeting his lips with soft motions pleading for more as you slide one hand up into his hair and press your chests flush.

He doesn’t taste quite like your dreams, all smooth, sweet freshness dancing over your tongue. Instead, there is raw exhaustion and strain bitter and heady on his skin as he licks over your lower lip. But no matter; it is real and present and Hunter all the same.

The training room silence is broken when he nudges a knee between your legs, pressing close between the want pooling low in your belly, as you barely manage to muffle a whimper into his mouth, breathy and high as you break away to gasp. Hunter grants you that moment of rest, and he’s pulling you back down against him again, holding you tight.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “We stop, and we forget this ever happened. But.” He pauses to nip at your lips. “You give me the word, and we take this as far as you want, y/n. Understood?”

You nod, too busy chasing his tongue to feel his gaze fixed on you. And, as always, your blissful ignorance does not escape Hunter’s watchful eye. You whine as you feel his fingers close around your chin and lift, pulling away just enough that you can see his dark eyes steady on yours.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper, reduced to little more than pleading submission, doe-eyed and dreamy as he slowly runs his thumb over your lip. “Want you, Hunter. Need you.”

“Attagirl.”

He makes a noise that sounds like quiet laughter, but all you care about is that he’s nuzzling against your skin and holding you close. Hunter kisses you with a trembling restraint that you practically feel vibrating under his touch, the excitement of being able to have, the roiling fear of intimacy, vulnerable and open under your palms.

It’s something you know well. You feel the same.

“We should really wash up,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“‘Fresher’s big enough for two,” you say a bit cheekily.

“You really want it all, huh?” Hunter chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never get anything if you don’t ask,” you smile against his lips.

“Can’t disappoint the lady, then, can I?” he grins, dropping his head back down onto the training mat. You sigh, resting your cheek on his collar for a single breath before you feel him shift beneath you, pulling you into his lap as he sits upright. Hunter offers you a final peck, a promise for more in just a short while.

You silently promise you’ll return to the hold come morning and clean up the mats before Echo can chew you out for any sloppiness, but cleanliness is the least of your concerns as you stumble with Hunter towards the threshold, all soft laughter and kisses strayed off their mark. Whatever concerns about anything other than the bliss of the now are even more obscured as the refresher doors slide shut behind you. You laugh as Hunter twists out of his blacks, which almost has you tripping out of your own, but he’s there to catch you, sturdy arms and warm skin to pull you into the stall and under a startling shock of cold water.

Maybe it’s that brief shock of cold before the showerhead runs warm that offers you a moment of clarity, the space and quiet to realize where you stand and take in the man before you. You’re no stranger to proximity, having spent more than one mission squeezed up against Hunter’s side, but closeness doesn’t begin to describe where you stand now, bared to each other beyond simple undress.

A smattering of scars stretches over Hunter’s skin, an organized chaos of milky pockmarks and slashes so often hidden under his armor. You recognize a few, blaster fire and frightened memories of blood and acrid fear, and the rest you save for a later night when you’ve sated the flutter in your chest as your eyes drift lower.

It would be embarrassing, how your mouth waters when you catch sight of his cock, half-hard and framed by a dark thatch of curls. But any need for shame is dismissed by the sheer gravity of want because he’s thick. You had always imagined him to be big—that isn’t much of a surprise—but your stomach churns delightfully at the thought of him stretching you open, making you feel him for days after.

“You’re staring,” Hunter huffs softly.

“Can you blame me?” you breathe.

Hunter laughs, rich and resonant over the patter of the shower spray, and he reaches that short distance forward, gently taking your hand in his and lifting your palm to his lips. You step backwards, letting him crowd you between the wall as you cup his cheek.

His hands, rarely bared to his brothers, let alone you, are strong and weary with scars of war, and he lets them follow the slope of your arm, tracing down your shoulder, your waist, and coming down to your hips, seeing in full clarity under his fingertips.

“Hold on tight.”

“Hunter, wait—ah!”

You yelp as he slips his forearms under your thighs without warning, hefting you up against the cool metal. In your hazy delirium, it occurs to you that you’re both exhausted from sparring and that him holding you up would only wear him down further. You want to tell him you’re perfectly fine on your feet. But whatever protest you may have had planned dies on your lips with a choked sob when you feel his fingers knead into the soft skin of your thighs and tug.

You arch off the wall, breath catching in your throat when you feel Hunter shift his hips forward and anchor you in place as he grinds his cock over your clit. Any hope of forming coherent words, let alone sound, is completely beyond you, now. Heat coils in your gut, all-consuming, white-hot tension pulled tight and ready to snap with each slow motion he makes.

And—the bastard—he’s good at it, too, leaving you squirming under his grip when he shifts away, cruelly aware of the brief moment just as your pleasure crests. Hunter lets you whine, filling the space with firm, insistent kisses over your collar: enough time for your high to ebb, enough time for him to stoke the frustration, the need tight in your core. Then he’s pressing your hips against the wall again and chasing you forwards, hips flush as he nips over your jaw.

All you find yourself able to do is dig your nails into his shoulders and sob.

“Shit, are you crying?” Hunter gasps, nearly dropping you down into a helpless heap under the warm water.

You shake your head wildly, locking your ankles around the small of his back as you keep him in place. It’s enough to startle him back into stillness, and he readjusts his grip on your thighs, the weight of his cock heavy against your throbbing cunt as you gasp for breath.

“I just—I’m fine,” you laugh, bordering delirious as stray drops of water catch on your tongue. “Just fuck me, Hunter. Make it better,” you breathe, chest heaving as you lick your lips. “Please.”

You know the expression that flashes across his face, the need to tease and prod, making gentle light of a dire situation. But this time, Hunter does not entertain it with his signature deadpan drawl, instead meeting you with a soft, imploring kiss.

“So pretty when you beg,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to offer a snappy retort; even in your desperation, there must be some dignity. Instead, your ears fill with the sound of your stuttering gasp over the water pattering against the refresher walls as, finally, finally, you feel the blunt head of his cock dip into your cunt.

Hunter pushes into you with a maddening slowness, one that reduces you to breathless whimpering broken between what gasps you can take. You dig your heels into his back and meet him with a straining moan because Maker, he’s even bigger than you thought, and it’s everything you’ve ever needed.

“Gotta breathe,” Hunter grunts, sinking deeper into you.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a reminder for you or for him, but you manage to slip in a gasping breath before he’s nudging up against a spot that has tears blurring your vision in dizzy euphoria. And when you come down from that high spark, legs jerking over his arms, he’s still pushing impossibly deep into you.

You watch him in a dazed trance, fixed on how his brows furrow with each quiet, flinching gasp that passes his parted lips as your cunt flutters around him. And how, through it all, his eyes never leave yours, boring into you with a fierce intensity, devotion, demanding your attention and pleading for your touch. It’s more than pure physicality, sex under the crushing uncertainty of a bounty and the shadow of conquest at your heels. He reaches for you, as open as he’s ever been, and you reach back.

“Hunter, I—”

Your words give way to a long, aching moan as you feel the sharp dip of his hips finally press up against your ass, filling you like you’ve always been meant to take him. (And you have, you swear, to him, to everything you know.)

“Gonna start moving, okay?” Hunter says through a shuddering sigh. He trails one hand up your side, thumbing over your chin while you tremble in his arms. “Cyar’ika, tell me I can.”

“Please,” you whimper.

And he delivers. You whine, feeling the slow drag, the toe-curling burn as Hunter eases almost completely out of you then pushes back in, just as slow as the first. He’s measured in his motions, and if you could see past the tears welling in your eyes, you’re sure you would see the razor focus over his features. There’s a tense edge you can barely make out from your slack-jawed disorientation, a restraint behind each careful thrust. He’s savoring it, you think as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

But when Hunter jerks forward, punching the breath from your lungs as he drives up hard, pulling an obscene noise from your lips with a stuttering apology, you realize it’s not some way to draw this out as long as humanly possible. And as good as it is now, it’s not enough.

“H-Hunter,” you start. “Hunter, you—you don’t have to hold back—!” Your voice rises to a wavering pitch when you feel his thumb trail down your stomach, nestling close above where you part around him as he starts to rub gentle motions into your clit.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps sharply with you when he presses deep again.

“You—you physically threw me across the cargo hold—like an hour ago,” you laugh through hiccupy sighs.

“That was different,” he chokes out a soft chuckle. “I want this to be good. For you.”

Trembling wildly, you muster the strength to lift your hand to his cheek, stroking over his wet skin as the refresher patters down around you. The aching stretch of Hunter’s cock between your thighs ebbs into something sweet, warming your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“You are good to me,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I want this. I want you.”

You hear him inhale sharp, holding his breath as he meets you with dark eyes, wide and searching. To his gaze, you offer him a soft smile. And it’s enough.

You barely have enough time to loop your arms around his neck and hold as Hunter shifts his grip, firm and high up on your thighs, and starts a brutal pace that has you near screaming into his neck. Your legs jerk helplessly with every relentless thrust, and you find yourself knotting your fingers into his hair, cradling his head for some—any—purchase you can find.

It’s reminders like this that while Hunter doesn’t have the imposing stature or towering height of his brothers, his sheer presence alone is overwhelming, surrounding you and consuming you whole in ways the others simply could never. The power is intoxicating, crushing in its pressure, the submission and release to pleasure it demands of you, and you sob, a whiny, choked sound you barely hear over the frantic, wet slap of Hunter’s skin against yours. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and it’s so, so achingly good.

“Fuck, I’ve always—” Hunter gasps, craning his neck to nuzzle up against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted to do this. To have you like this.” You turn your head, meeting him in a lopsided kiss, all tongue and shared breath. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“More,” you whine, crying out when he pins you against the wall, just so he might reach between your thighs again and thumb insistently over your clit.

Even with the water showering over your skin, you’re distinctly aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks, only fitting for the overwhelming sensation building in your core, cresting in blinding heat with every drag, every ridge of his cock moving inside you.

He fucks into you with soft noises, low enough that they might be drowned out by the sound of water if you weren’t pressed so close. It’s fitting, that the stolid discipline of a sergeant might follow him off the battlefield and into the bedroom, but as characteristic of him as it may be, you can’t bring yourself to particularly care—not when he’s holding you up like a ragdoll and bending you to his pleasure. You cling tighter to him with a muffled sob.

It’s nothing like your nights alone in your bunk, wishing for a warm body and something more than hopeful fantasy. Where your fingers only offered you a shot of momentary bliss, this feels like you’re falling apart in his hands, utterly powerless in only the best of ways as the coil in your gut draws tight.

“‘m close,” you croak as the heat seeps bone-deep, spreading down your spine, blazing in the tips of your fingers, and finding home in the buzzing haze between your eyes. “Hunter, I’m—I’m so close.”

“Let go,” Hunter croons, bearing the rough pad of his thumb harder against your clit, pressing firm with every thrust forward, soothing as he draws back. Your cunt squeezes down around him with the spike in want pooled in your gut, drawing a low moan from his lips, and he meets you with a thrust hard enough that you squeal. “Doin’ so well, cyar’ika.”

Trembling, you bury your nose in the juncture of his neck, but you’re pressed backward instead, a light, unyielding pressure at your neck before the back of your head is guided against the metal wall. Hunter holds you at the throat, nothing but a hovering presence of his warmth over your skin, but enough that he commands your attention, steady gaze, pupils blown as he thrusts up against you, pushing you higher and higher against that mindless gap of pleasure with every intent to pull you apart.

“Look at me, y/n,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Look at me when you come.”

He drives into you once more, hard, and the tension mounting in your gut breaks like a dam, flooding over your tongue in sweet, simple pleasure that pulses and shudders through your core. You feel it like your body, your visceral pleasure, is not your own, floating in a mindless state of bliss no longer anchored to anything but your rapidly beating heart and the shivering tremors buzzing at your fingertips. Lips parted in a silent cry, your lashes flutter as you let yourself be swept up in the peak of your pleasure, swept up in him, his gaze trained firm, fond on yours.

And you’re too fucked out to do more than gasp, breathy, stuttering inhales as Hunter settles his hands around your waist and starts a pace impossibly faster than before. Somehow, through the aching tremor in your legs and your limp form pressed up against the wall, you manage to keep your grip steady and keep your arms wrapped snug around Hunter’s shoulders. He pulls your pleasure, agonizingly long with no end in sight, chasing his high as you whimper and plead unintelligibly into his ear.

“C-Close?” you manage, digging your fingertips deeper into the sinew of his back.

Hunter hums, a feeble attempt to keep what little composure he has left, but you feel his movements lose the steady rhythm he had maintained thus far, forgoing fluidity and grace for the raw and primal need to satiate. Lucid sensation beyond you, you simply let him take his fill, lazily running your tongue over his lips and holding him tight as he continues to fuck into you with erratic, stuttering thrusts.

And not a moment later, Hunter bears your hips down hard on his, gasping like he’s taken his first breath of air as his climax thunders through him. You squirm in his hold with a thready groan, reveling in the warm spurts of come filling your cunt and oozing down the curve of your ass onto the refresher floor. For all your exhaustion, you curl your fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him close into a slow, lazy kiss, more languid touches than an actual kiss, but a promise of intimacy all the same.

Hunter tips forward and shifts one arm to wrap snug around the small of your back, propping you both against the wall with the other as the tension drains from his coiled poise. He sags forward with a final, shuddering sigh, pulling out of you and setting you on your wobbly feet, to which you promptly pitch forward against his shoulder.

He laughs and catches you with breathless ease.

“I have no idea how we didn’t slip,” you gasp through heaving inhales, shuddering as you feel warm rivulets of come dripping down the skin of your inner thigh. As the pleasure subsides, you return to your surroundings in a haze, faintly aware of the running showerhead, the steam, and you drop your head forward, knocking your forehead gently against Hunter’s.

“Neither do I,” he laughs and nuzzles close. “Next time, we’ll pick somewhere with less water.”

“Next time?” you prod, knowing full well that neither you nor Hunter were particularly fond of mindless flings.

“Next time,” Hunter grins, tipping his head forward and brushing his lips over your brow.

“If you two are done in there!” Echo’s voice, exasperation weary and gruff, cuts through the patter of water against the metal paneling with a bang, nearly sending you and Hunter scrambling apart if the refresher stall wasn’t already so narrow. “We need showers!”

“What do you mean ‘you two?’” Omega chirps from outside the door. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud as you watch the rosy pallor drain from Hunter’s face as you hear her muffled protests as someone (likely Wrecker) coaxes her away.

“Not it—you’re giving her the talk,” you quip, biting back a smile as you peck his cheek.

“Maker help me,” he mutters.

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Apocalypse - Ch 9

I'm running out of chapters that I've written, uhoh. Looks like I have hunker down and really write again.

-

You looked at Loki, then back to Tony, then did a double take and winced, “Surprise?”

“Honestly, this would happen to me.” Tony shook his head. “Really. I was having a relatively normal day in the face of an apocalypse, and now my cousin shows up with one of the Asgardians. Great. We haven’t seen Thor in ages, and just, boom. Out pops Loki. That is absolutely what I needed.” Tony started nodding as he spoke. “So what are you doing here Rock of Ages? Are you behind this weather? Global conquest, being a little shit, just ruining humanity’s day, killing for fun,” Tony held out his hand towards you, “What is that thing on his neck, did you capture him? Why are his eyes covered? Good job if so.”

“Well if you took a minute to stop talking, he could answer you.” You replied coolly.

“Is that thing on his neck the reason you wanted the cutter? Because nope, no thank you, whatever it is, it’s staying on. It looks like it’s,”

Loki stepped forward and pulled off the gauze. It wasn’t a normal step, it was a threat.

Tony looked at him and his Ironman gloves came on, hands at the ready, “Back off, I will shoot.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Loki sneered, “that things have not changed between myself and humanity since we last saw each other?”

Tony blinked taking in Loki’s eyes, “Uh, what’s up with,” he waved his hand in front of his own eyes.

“I wouldn’t know.” Loki replied, his voice colder than the outside, “I can’t see.”

“That’s part of why I asked you to come.” You piped up timidly.

Tony looked between the two of you, confusion scrambling his features.

“Please can I have the cutter?” You asked, reaching your hand out towards Tony, “look at him, those spikes are digging into his skin, he’s bleeding constantly.”

“Maybe he deserves it.”

Loki rolled his red eyes. “Oh yes, my loving father, torturing me continuously, I’m sure you would agree given your history with your oh so wonderful father.”

Tony clenched his jaw, “What do you know about my father?”

“I know a great many things about all of the Avengers. You will recall my time on Midgard when…” Loki paused and picked at his hand, “I was not quite myself.”

Tony laughed sarcastically, “Yea, we remember.”

You interjected, “And we also remember how you heroically died trying to kill Thanos.”

Loki looked up from the vague direction of his palm where he had bowed his head slightly, his blank eyes searching for your voice.

“And all the other Avengers are no saints by their own standards either, they’ve had their crimes they’ve committed in order to do good, or to come back from it and turn their lives around. Surely everyone deserves a second chance, no?” You elbowed Tony.

“He’s had his second chance.” Tony grumbled.

“When he died stopping dark elves from invading earth?” You offered.

“Ok, hello, since when are you so knowledgeable in all things Loki?”

“I talked to him, you should try it some time. When he was recovering, asked him about his life. You know, when you ask people about what they’ve been through, really listen, sometimes they share things. You could stand to learn a thing or two about people around you.” You narrowed your eyes at Tony.

Loki stood there unmoving.

“Fine! Fine! Throw in with him, betray humanity, I’ll have nothing to do with it. Take the damned cutter, but we’re hunting you down as soon as I leave. This is the last we speak.”

Loki sighed, “You really are an imbecile, Stark. Is your pride so great?”

“What?” Tony rounded on Loki, pointing a finger at him, though it had no effect.

“The monsters you humans need fear are frost giants. Those are what are hunting you in droves, and if I would stand to guess, I imagine they brought some of their beasts along as well.” Loki replied, crossing his arms.

Tony looked at you then back to Loki.

“That’s the information we were going to give you in exchange for the cutter.” You said, holding your hand out palm up.

Tony slowly set the cutter in your palm. “Expand.”

“Your cousin and I were attacked in a produce store by three of them. I am… not at my best at current, and they got the jump on me. They are also enhanced by some means, their weapons are different than normal Jotun weapons.”

“Which means?” Tony asked.

“That even if I were at my full power, healing my vision wouldn’t be a possibility. They’ve used ancient magicks, magick that goes back into the depths of time. It is very difficult to learn such techniques.”

You furrowed your brow, “Why didn’t you learn it?”

“Surely Doctor Strange would know it then?” Tony asked.

Loki sighed, “I’m very young, it takes centuries to learn and master, one has to commit fully to it. I have been working on other magical practices, so such things fell to the side.”

“You got a physics degree instead of a mathematics?” You offered.

“Essentially.” Loki turned in Tony’s direction. “That half rate sorcerer would not even know of such magick. What he knows is from books, and mostly books on Midgard. No, you need to travel the cosmos to learn this, even if he still had the time stone he would need to know where to travel, where to look, who to ask, what to seek.”

“Oh.” Tony leaned over towards you and muttered, “he’s still arrogant as hell, you really let him sleep with you?”

“Fuck, Tony, we shared a bed, and he can hear you.” You cried out, shoving Tony away. Though you were too busy to notice the pink on Loki’s face.

“Ok so fine, fine. What’s the creepy collar thing for then?” Tony asked.

“I’d rather not say until it’s off,” Loki paused, “If it can be taken off.”

“Fine, god of lies. Have at it, cousin.”

You stepped forward and gripped the collar carefully, looking at Loki’s face intently. Unbidden, Loki’s hand reached up to grip your arm. You could feel his warm breath on your face as you looked up at him. Your eyes lingered on his thin, pale lips, his square chin and sharp nose and cheekbones. Trying not to bite your lip, you whispered, “Do you trust me?”

You could see Loki swallow before he replied, “Yes.”

Pressing the cutter on, you held it to the metal. A thin beam of energy passed between the two prongs at the end of the red tube. The cold metal hissed and screamed as the energy beam pressed against it, your hand vibrating dangerously. Loki reached up and gripped your hand, steadying it.

“Easy, love. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.” Loki murmured, the disappointment evident in his voice.

You pressed against the metal harder. The tool screeched and shook violently, threatening to slide up and down the metal columns of the collar but you held fast with Loki’s help. Your heart pounded in your chest, you knew it was going to give, you just knew it, and you knew if you pressed in on the metal too hard, it would give and your hand would fly through and strike Loki in the throat.

Pulling your hand back, you tried to keep it in place, just enough that the beam would eat through the metal but not move forward. The beam was so bright, you wanted to look away, but you couldn’t, you had to be sure you did this right.

One final ear-wrenching screech and your hand shot forward. Lightning fast, you snapped the tool off, succeeding in only grazing Loki’s throat and leaving a mark resembling a small hickey.

You let out a soft gasp of relief.

Loki pulled his hand away from yours, feeling the broken metal. He had cried out softly at the burn but compared to other pain he had felt, it may as well have been a curling iron. The tool cooled fast for safety reasons. Loki touched the cut part that slid down, one side no longer digging into his throat. With a mixture of giddy relief, he laughed.

Tony leaned around and saw the cut metal, “Well not bad me.” He squinted at the mark on Loki’s neck.

You narrowed your eyes and held up the cutter.

Tony opened his mouth to say something.

You cut him off with an angry look and mouthed, “Don’t.” Then you turned back to Loki, “How are you feeling?”

“I believe as long as it’s on me it’s going to keep working.” Loki sighed, “assuming taking it off even works.”

“Well, hey, even if it doesn’t help, at least you’ll be able to move.”

“Yes, thank you.”

And so the process continued, this time with the one by his chest. You wanted to delay the one under his chin as long as possible since it was so close to skin. Even as fast as you moved, that one would burn the bottom of his throat in a long strip before you could turn it off.

“Can you put like any nanites or something to protect him, Tony?” You asked as you struggled with the lower bar. “The last one is going to be nasty if not.”

“You know? I probably could.” Tony said thoughtfully. “But you owe me.”

“I assume you want to know what this contraption does.” Loki replied dryly.

“Bingo.”

“It makes me mortal.”

“Wait what?” Tony blanched, “Woah now, cousin, wait a minute, I don’t think cutting that off is the right idea.”

The lower bar snapped, the cutter shot forward and just in time you managed to only lightly singe Loki’s armor.

“We had a deal, Tony.” You growled.

“Nonbinding contract, oral agreements aren’t technically legally binding.” Tony replied.

Loki narrowed his eyes, looking slightly to the right of Tony. “Even without my sight and powers I am plenty lethal.”

“Yes well, I like my odds way more if you can’t go around using magic and surviving explosions and like fifty foot drops.”

“Tony! We had a deal!” You slapped Tony’s chest.

Tony looked at you stunned. “Did you just hit me?”

“Loki has been nothing but kind to me throughout the entirety of me knowing him.”

“Minus the murder of eighty-six people in a SHIELD bunker and two-hundred fifty or so people in New York plus billions in property damage.”

“As I recall, the SHIELD bunker was your director’s doing, he was the one playing with the tesseract, attempted to bury me in a last ditch attempt to stop me from escaping, failed and blamed it on me. And while I did hurt some people in New York, I do apologize for that, I wasn’t quite myself but that is neither here nor there. How is your Hulk, did the civilians he traumatized appreciate him? And the chitauri which you by now know wasn’t me. In fact, if the Hulk hadn’t shown up, you might have been better off, given the sheer amount of damage he added to the wreckage.”

Tony opened and closed his mouth pointing a finger at Loki.

“I assure you, whatever gesture you’re making at me is wasted.”

“Fine, you can use my nanites.” Tony grumbled. “You fell hard for this guy, huh?”

“That is none of your business and neither here nor there.” You huffed. As you turned back to Loki, a lingering ghost of a smile stayed on his face.

Then the nanites were on his throat and you began to cut.

[twstheadcanons]

Usage of Incantations in TWST

Thoughts on the use of incantations in TWST, the ancient incantation class, and students’ UM incantations

What is an Incantation? Magicians believe that words have a power of their own, and that strong intent and concentration can manifest those words’ powers.  Through a special, intentional use of a word of phrase, Magicians can cast basic and advanced spells.  These words and phrases form incantations.

Incantations are words or phrases that evoke a Magician’s magic.  If one considers magic gems to be to casting magic that a key is to starting a car, then using an incantation operates as the accelerator.  Even a simple, single-worded incantation can trigger a simple spell, just as a light press of the accelerator moves the car forward a small amount.  As such, single-worded phrases often trigger simpler, basic spells, whilst chants ‘build’ a spell’s power, with the Magician’s intent behind the phrase influencing the spell’s manifestation.  Considering the personal nature of magic, a Magician’s imagination and emotional/mental well-being heavily influences an incantation’s effect over more complex spells.

‘Universal’ and Advanced Incantations The more appropriate the phrase for a spell, the better the effects.  For some spells, a random word or phrase has no effect.  Typically, these are ‘universal’ incantations, such as for simple spells like summoning a ball of fire.  Throughout history, the effective nature of “fireball” for the incantation became the standard, and thus the most effective incantation for summoning balls of fire.  More complex spells, like large pillars of fire or fire constructed into specific forms, require more advanced incantations.  Although uniform incantations do exist for more advanced elemental magic, many Magicians opt for their own incantations.

Considered both an art and science, incantations vary from ‘universally’ accepted concepts, to those more personal to individual Magicians, with the emotion and intent behind phrases influencing the spell.  The ‘science’ behind ‘universal’ incantations links traditional incantations to specific, well-known spells.  The ‘art’ behind other incantations develops from certain phrases having a unique meaning to each Magician, allowing them to tailor more complex and elaborate spells to their needs.  

In a class such as ancient incantations, students study both ‘universal’ and historically significant incantations of past Magicians.  The study of ‘universal’ incantations emphasizes how language and jargon evolved throughout history, whilst analyzing known meanings behind past Magicians’ unique incantations both help students understand the complexities of advanced spells and guide them to reflect on their own style of incantations, especially those for Unique Magic.  

Mental Incantations It is possible to cast spells without audible incantations, especially for basic, simple spells.  That said, a Magician must at least recite the incantation in their mind, considered a mental incantation.  Given their practicality and time efficiency, mental incantations became a basic and generic skill of even novice Magicians.  It’s easier to cast mental incantations for simple, basic spells that require a small amount of words than it is elaborate spells or longer phrases.

Incantations for Unique Magic As opposed to other spells, Unique Magic tailored to a Magician requires a unique incantation.  In other words, the incantation behind Unique Magic must have a personal connection to the Magician.  Depending on the Magician’s skill, their incantation can be as short or long as they need, but it’s generally accepted that phrase is more effective, as it can ‘communicate the true intention of one’s Unique Magic better than a few words, both to the Magician and the spell.  Of course, exceptions always exist, such as a Magician tying their incantation to the name of the Unique Magic.

For the sake of conserving magical energy and minimizing blot, strong Unique Magic often discourages using an internal incantation, as a verbal incantation ‘gives life’ to the spell, and shows stronger intent than keeping the incantation to oneself.  A clever Magician may find a way to bypass this if necessary.

Incantations of Students’ Unique Magic All translations of the incantations courtesy of @twstarchives To an extent, a discussion such as this requires knowing whether or not a Unique Magic develops as a result of a Magician’s personality and overall circumstances, or a decision and spell shaped by the Magician intentionally.  An argument for both sides exists, but for the sake of this post, we’ll just shrug and leave that for another day.

[Speculative] Riddle Rosehearts – Off with Your Head Ever the advocate for efficiency and skill, Riddle could have tied his incantation to his Unique Magic’s name.  This saves him both time and energy for casting his Unique Magic, and its personal meaning gets across just as well – a Magician without their magic becomes helpless, and acts like a chicken with its head cut off.  It’s historical significance as a favorite phrase of the Queen of Hearts communicates exactly how serious and severe his Unique Magic is, and anyone with passing knowledge of the Queen of Hearts recognizes it.  Not only does linking Riddle’s incantation to his Unique Magic’s name make for easy casting, but that historical significance gives it a ‘universal’ meaning as well, if only in theory.

Leona Kingscholar – King’s Roar “I am your hunger, I am your thirst. I am what steals your tomorrows. Kneel before me! King’s Roar!” Leona’s Unique Magic and its incantation are the perfect mix to intimidate others.  It’s important to understand that Leona’s hang-up goes beyond him not becoming king, that’s more or less the surface of his issues.  His issues lie in feeling that his place in life stems solely through his birth, and probably growing up watching Farena gain more attention and favoritism than Leona given his future as king.  Alongside that, he developed UM that could literally endanger lives, even though, with his intelligence, Leona may have considered it an advantage in dire situations, but others ended up fearing it instead, which loops back to Leona’s perspective on when even one’s best isn’t enough.  Leona’s pessimism drove him into a corner, knowing others feared him for his dark attitude, but his desire of acknowledgement morphed into something genuinely terrifying.  He understands the dangers of King’s Roar, be its potential to be lethal and the fact that it represents drought, one of the last things a savannah wants.  Through his own aggression and intelligence, Leona uses fear tactics to give himself a place of control.  Essentially, if people were intimidated by him, he’d give them a real reason to be.

[Speculative] Azul Ashengrotto – It’s a Deal Azul’s Unique Magic has some drastic effects, such as redirecting another’s magic to himself in return for a special effect or exchange he can provide.  It’s understood that his golden contracts act as a safety net for It’s a Deal to prevent excessive blot build-up, and the same way an incantation specifies the intention and personal meaning to a Magician’s Unique Magic, Azul’s golden contracts have special stipulations that he knows inside and out.  It’s possible he found a loophole against spoken-word incantations via the contract’s stipulations acting as the incantation itself. He knows it by heart, making it a simple ‘mental incantation’ in the loosest terms, all while bore witnessed by (often inattentive and unwitting) students affected by his Unique Magic.  

Jade Leech – Shock the Heart “There is no need to be afraid; I only want to help you. Shock the Heart.” Jade’s all about disarming individuals to his presence, which is easy when he’s around someone as volatile as Floyd, making Jade seem the more reasonable of the two until you’re unfortunate enough to catch their ‘interest’.  His incantation, as well, holds ‘reassuring’ words and a calm tone, and considering how unnerving eye contact can be with him, the incantation may work in his favor to minimize the risk of someone looking away too suddenly.  That aside, Jade’s Unique Magic ultimately helps himself – much like many of his other actions, by giving him control of the situation, which in general is easy to do when he frames his actions as accommodating others and swaying them in his favor.

Jamil Viper – Snake Whisper “The one reflected in your eyes is your master. If I ask, you shall answer me; if I command it, you shall bow to me. Snake Whisper.” For how secretive he is, Jamil’s incantation has the most straightforward meaning.  He wants full control of his target.  As someone born into servitude, he leaves no room for free will nor error when casting Snake Whisper.  Practically speaking, if he developed it at an early age, it would make keeping watch of Kalim easy, as both a way to deter Kalim from more troublesome manners, or using it other people to minimize a risk of danger or violence and leave the situation as soon as possible.  Ironically, Snake Whisper isn’t the most flattering name, but it shows Jamil understands the nature of his Unique Magic, since the aftermath and intention of it requires some damage control and being able to keep it under wraps.

Kalim Al-Asim – Oasis Maker “Unwind on the hot sands. An endless party. Sing, dance! Oasis Maker!” Contrasting Jamil’s, Kalim’s Unique Magic has a straightforward name and incantation with a more poetic meaning.  Living in a desert climate, Kalim understands the importance of safe, clean water, and no one can have any fun or enjoy life when suffering dehydration or a drought.  His incantation, by extension, shows Kalim does understand, to an extent, that his Unique Magic is extremely practical, even if told otherwise by others. It’s much easier to enjoy singing and dancing when you have the means to do so, and a refreshing rain or literal oasis makes that all the better.  The incantation both demonstrates his carefree nature and desire for others to enjoy themselves.

[seijohsfairy]

Anonymous

ahh!! all the nii-san posts are so good, but have you considered twin brother tobio who thinks your the only one for him

I have,, It has affected my sanity and rings in my head a hundred times a day. I hate it here. Truly. This became sorta really long? But I hope you enjoy (・´ｪ｀・)

tw incest, dubcon if you squint

The flashes of light are incessant, an obnoxious wave of noisy shutters filling the silence in between mutters and questions. Your fists around the bottom lining of your old jacket, denting the fabric under the light ministrations of your fingertips. It’s nerves, they still creep up from time to time when you feel the eyes. They linger, curious or accusatory ones alike. Another flash makes you blink, then it’s quiet. You take a breath at the same time he does, accidental, but of course you do. You’ve always mirrored him after all, even when you weren’t trying. Tobio holds the air until everything grows completely immovable, like still water in winter.

His eyebrows twitch slightly, before he speaks. “I am happy.” Simple, straightforward, you can’t help but let your smile shine through. He eyes the interviewer for a moment, before nodding. “We’ve all worked hard to prove we deserve a spot on the court, it was a good match and I’m happy with the outcome.” The interviewers quickly take notes, before another sea of flashes rains down on the curved panes of his face. It’s his standard post-match ramble, nothing new there, but you can see the spark of victory where it bends him in two and shatters at the fold. “And,” his eyes flick around across the small group of people.

They find yours. “My sister came to support us in the stands so I am very proud.” The deep blues rest on you like you’re the end of a war, his lips turning upwards at the sides. He is proud, of you, and you of him just as much. Or even more if possible, though you are quicker to lower your gaze at the attention. An interviewer to your side clears her voice, before clicking her pen a few times in rapid succession. The press irritates him, though he’s gotten very good at hiding it over the years. In this moment though, you can tell.

It’s written all over in the way he stands on balls of his feet, like he’s ready to sprint out. You wonder if he would reach for you before setting off, or if you’d have to chase him down the hall like another of the fans. Either way you wouldn’t be far behind, it’s just the nature of your relationship. The lads presses her ruby lips together. “When will you take another girlfriend to a game? You broke up with your last girlfriend in May, fans want to know if it is true that you are keeping your newest fling private.”

Ushijima gives you a little head tilt as he walks past, his cheeks coloured from exhaustion, towel still dangling around his neck. You return it. A few of the interviewers immediately turn their attention to him, snapping photos and calling out for him with an almost violent greediness, the small interaction not going unnoticed. You think you hear someone mention your name to him in the same line as ‘dating’, and Wakatoshi’s deep chuckle is comforting when he leads the bunch of them down the hall. Tobio is frowning when you turn back, at the woman with the high ponytail and red lips that shimmer under the artificial lighting.

“I would’ve kept all of it private if that could have been the end of it.” He raises a hand to brush some of his sweaty hair away from his face, before dropping his eyes to the floor. “I only bring the people precious to me to my games.” He does. He asks happily, over the phone like a giddy child, at the crack of dawn when he goes for his run. You’ve complained about it many times. He still does it though, because Tobio is nothing if not persistent. You only notice him moving because the people around you gasp and gawk, flinching away from him like he’s other. He is, too, a different breed entirely.

His long fingers are around your wrist, pulling you from behind the lenses to his side, tucked against his shoulder like a little parasite. That’s what you think you must look like when the flashing starts. Tobio’s arm wraps around your back and rests his chin on your head though, allowing you to fit right in his hold. Another one of his shiny trophies. His smile looks a little brighter from this angle. “My sister is the only one who has never missed a game of mine. If you want to report on anything, this is the person I am most grateful for in my life right now. I’m very lucky to have her support.”

It feels unreal. Someone calls out your name, the shutters get the noisiest they’ve been all day. It won’t be a headline in the making, you try to calm yourself, bowing at the same time Tobio does. He drops his hand to wrap around yours, and tugs you behind him. It’s straightforward, your brother always is. The violent banging against your rib cage is less so, but you’ve gotten used to it already.

///

“Why did you say all that stuff to those guys earlier? Were you not feeling too well?” Tobio looks up from where he’s putting his bag down, his eyes shooting up along your body. “You’re normally good at dealing with the press post-match.” You put the towel under the water, before turning back towards the main room of your apartment.

“What did I say that was wrong?” He tosses his sweaty shirt on the heap of jerseys and leggings to wash, picking up his towel and swinging it around his neck. You look down again, playing with the fluffy fabric as you approach.

“Nothing, Tobio. I just-” you linger at the couch, resting your hip against it, “you don’t normally egg on rumours about your dating life. It’ll be fine because it’s me, but if it were anyone else people might be cautious of your words. They really want a story on the details, you know. And I’m not really used to being next to you on pictures, it was a bit surprising, s’all.”

“I meant what I said.”

He closes the rest of the distance for you, standing toes to toes. You don’t look up until you can feel the soft puff of air on your head, where he lays a kiss. It feels warm, and good, and you bite your tongue when the pounding of your heart starts feeling painful against your chest. You duck away from it the second time, pushing his chin up with two fingers instead. Tobio smiles into his exhale, as you trace across his features with the wet towel. Brows, eyes, nose, under his chin and along the line of his throat. “Are you mad at me?” He drops his eyes back to yours when you frown, before tacking onto your slight frustration. “Or about the dating?”

“Tobio,” you mumble, pulling out of his vicinity too late. His hand is already on your forearm, tugging you right back in place. Face to his chest with barely enough space to look up all the way to his handsome face. You try to keep it out, but your tongue starts to feel a bit bitter anyway. “I really don’t want to-”

“Because we can stop doing that as soon as you say so. They get paid a lot of money, money I’d rather be using on us. I’m tired of doing it.”

Even now, still spent from the match, he smells like safety. Like home, perfectly familiar. You have to physically distance yourself from him by turning your eyes to the couch, not to melt right into him. “Then don’t,” you nod. “But then I have to stop being less… everywhere with you too, and I don’t think you want that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a good actor, Tobio. I can’t pretend not to care and people will look at us, and see.”

“Then let them.”

You sigh, dropping the towel aside under the arm that he’s still holding. He draws gentle circles into the soft skin, like he’s trying to unpick the rips in every single fiber of your threaded sanity. “You’re impossible.” He bends his knees and drops to your level, kissing you. Softly, a few feather-light kisses that shut you up, and then one that breaks you open. He pulls you into him by the waist, the hard lines of his chest against your softer ones. The press of his lips to yours is sweet, though entirely guilty as he uses the leverage on your body to walk you back a little, melting into you.

He bites at your bottom lip and swipes his tongue at yours, sucking eagerly. You imagine his tongue to spell out ‘mine’ on the soft parts of your mouth a million times, because when he gives you a break to breathe you’re dizzy. “You said we weren’t going to do this again.”

“I‘ve been a better liar than you for a while, little sister,” he grins, though you can see the hesitation in his eyes too. This is such a bad thing, it’s wrong, you know it and Tobio must know too. It eats you up inside, but maybe that’s why it’s so easy to believe him. You let your face drop against his chest, letting the rise and fall of his chest dictate yours. “You were made for me, remember? And I for you. And I wished that we’d get married and you wished we’d always be together forever.”

“On our fifth birthday,” you remind him, ignoring his hand when it starts playing with the edge of your worn jacket. It’s his, you suddenly hate how obvious you are. Tobio hums softly at your frown.

“I never stopped meaning it.” He uses one of his long legs to hook around yours and pushes you over into the couch, though you land softly. And while you’re trying to catch your breath from the sudden tilt, he follows you down, coming to lift your knees open and upwards. He leans down on his forearms on top of you, and presses another kiss to your lips. This one is lazier, like he’s already won. He has. Because you shouldn’t be in this situation at all. “I love you,” he whispers, starting to kiss down your neck and zipping open his old jacket from your body.

His large body slotted in between your legs, he presses his hips into you just enough to drive you absolutely mad. “I can’t stay away from you, so stop pushing already,” he moans, reaching down to shift himself in his shorts. Your body, the traitorous thing, basically shudders in excitement when he pulls your top underneath your tits, leaning down to take a bud into his mouth. “Say it,” he ruts his hips into yours now, the friction making you whine. It feels so good, he feels so good.

“I- I love you,” you close your eyes when he smiles at you again, lifting himself from your body to drag your shorts and panties down your legs. “Ah- ‘want you, Tobio.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, sitting back in the couch, “want you too, been wanting you for so long. So long, you have no idea.” He pulls at you until you get up too, sitting you down on his lap, his hard cock slotted between your thighs with a his. “How did you expect me to fuck this perfect, little hole and forget about it, anyway? I belong in this tight cunny, it belongs to me.” He’s rambling, humping you in his lap with his head thrown back and his fingers digging so deep into the skin of your hips they might leave permanent indents.

You press a few kisses to his throat, which he grunts at, before lining up and sliding down the head. He’s already so big, that’s what you remember most. You twitch as you lower yourself on him, moaning through the deep breaths. He stretches you so wide it’s hard to think of anything else, just Tobio. Tobio, Tobio, your Tobio. He drops his forehead on your shoulder when you’re full, before thrusting up into you. You start moving up and down too fast for his liking but your patience has worn too thin for slow. “Wait, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Tobio chokes, shoving you back down in his lap. His cockhead is already at the very end of your sloppy cunt, pressing against every inch.

“Want your fat cock to break me open, please. I need it. I need you. Tobio, please.” He kisses down your face and neck to let you adjust a moment longer, before rolling his length deep inside you once, twice, filling you up over and over again. Mind blank, you lift yourself up a bit higher to drop down on him, his breathing getting shallower by the second. He mumbles out soft curses, and you cling to him. You won’t last. “T-Tobio,” you beg, and he slides his hand between your bodies to rub at your clit with precise movements. “Wanna cum on your cock. You too, cum into me, please.”

He only picks up the pace more when he flips you back over on your back, rutting his cock into you so deep it kisses your cervix with each thrust. Fingers sliding through the sticky mess with calculated precision. “Cum then, slutty girl. Cum on your brother’s cock, you deserve it. I’ll fuck you until you can’t ever think of what others think again.” His hips smack into your doughy skin with every pump, stretching you wide open for him. You can only hang onto him while you cum, moaning his name over and over. “Ahg— Tobio, fuck, holyfuckholyfuck I love you. Love you, Tobio!” Your arms around his shoulders, nails ruining his beautiful skin. “I’m sorry,” you breathe as he kisses you, never once stopping.

He doesn’t give you rest, can’t. But his lips are all over yours, comforting you even now. “I know, baby, I know.” He forces himself to slow down a little as you clamp around him so tight, not ready to let this end. His hips twitch, eyes sharpening on your fucked expression. The rush of love he feels should be illegal. “You’re mine. Don’t fucking forget it ever again. I’m going to fuck you limp.”

[fatefulfaerie]

Written In The Stars Part 6/7

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Part 5 here

"Sir Link," the guard said, quickly standing to attention at the sight of the approaching young man who outranked him. It was no matter that Link was four years his junior. "I wasn't expecting you at this late hour."

"At ease," Link said. "I seek counsel with Her Highness."

"Sir, it's the middle of the night," the guard reasoned. "She is likely asleep."

"It is an urgent matter," Link argued. "Waking her is a small price."

"O-of course," the guard said as he stepped aside.

"You're relieved for the night," Link said as he placed his hand on the doorknob.

"S-sir?" He heard the guard ask. "But my shift doesn't end for another five hours."

Link turned his head back to the guard.

"I will be watching over her from the inside," Link said. "King's orders. You are dismissed. Get some rest."

"Yes sir," the guard said, standing to attention with a hand on his forehead saluting Link before he walked off. Link opened the door.

The room was dark, with the quietude of night and the stillness of sleep. The only sound that betrayed the peace was Link latching the door closed behind him.

Princess Zelda was sleeping in her bed, blonde hair messily strayed along the pillow as she breathed cooing, calm breaths. Link regretted having to wake her up as he approached, but somehow he knew that if he didn't wake her up, she would be extremely upset. In fact, he could already hear her.

You got back to the castle and you didn't think to tell me? I was so worried, Link! So what if I was sleeping?!

Link figured that was his best estimation, so he decided to wake her now, stopping right before her and pausing only to gaze at her beauty. Even without her shining emerald eyes, she tugged on his heart like no woman ever had. His eyes melted as he adored her frame, bathed in the moonlight. The love that burned warmly in his soul was unmistakeable.

Link shook himself out of his trance, remembering his objective. He covered her mouth with his hand and shook her shoulder.

"Zelda," he said softly.

"Zelda," he repeated, continuing to shake her shoulder. "Zelda, wake up."

Her eyes shot open suddenly and her instinctive scream was muffled by his hand. Her green eyes soon softened with familiarity before lurching forward and hugging him tight.

"Goddesses, Link," she said, clutching him tight. Link finally decided on placing his hand on her back. Her skin-revealing nightgown had made him hesitate, but he just as soon embraced her like she did him, burying his face into the crook of her neck. "I was so worried."

"It's okay, it's okay," he assured her as he let go of her. Link hurriedly unstrapped the Master Sword in its sheath from his back, offering it forward.

"I got it back from the Yiga," Link explained. "Stole it from right under their noses just before they were about to enter the desert. They finally stopped to rest."

Zelda took the sheathed sword into her hands, shaking her head as her fingers tensed around the gold encrusted hilt.

"Link," she said, looking up at him. "For goodness sake, I wasn't worried about the sword, I was worried about you!"

Link's eyes blinked wide.

"Are you okay?" She asked. "Did you get hurt?"

"No," Link said weakly, obviously lying. Zelda tipped her head and the moonlight finally caught the slight darkness near his left cheek.

"Yes you did," she observed, forcefully taking his chin into her hand. "Hold on, I can't see quite see it."

"It's really nothing," Link argued calmly as Zelda lit a nearby candle, bringing the light to his face. Her eyes widened.

From his cheekbone to the bottom of his neck there was a large burn, colored red.

"Link!" She exclaimed, like a mother scolding a child.

"It doesn't hurt, really," Link insisted as Zelda peered at it, scanning down to where the rest was hidden by his blue tunic. "I ran into a Lynel that had fire arrows, it's no big deal."

It was at this moment Zelda noticed that his tunic was in fact not blue, but a standard Hylian green. He must have bought it from someone off the road.

"Also I might need you to repair my champion's tunic," Link said. Zelda looked up at him with impatient eyes. "No relation," Link added.

"Goddesses, Link," Zelda said, placing the candle down. "How far does the burn go?"

"Just to my fingertips." Zelda gave a sigh, closing and opening her eyes. "It's really nothing, I don't even feel it."

Zelda took his hand, her fingers splaying out his and stroking them softly. Link began to blush as she stared at his calloused hand in silence.

"How many times must I tell you to be careful?" She asked, nearly whispering the way she spoke under her breath. Link's mouth hung parted in the uncertainty of his next words. The uncertainty of her next words. To Link's surprise, her lips cracked a smile. "Will you ever listen to me?"

"I do," Link said in his defense.

"One of these days you won't come back," Zelda said. The words spoken by anyone else could have been taken as a threat, yet she spoke them so softly that Link knew it wasn't. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Link searched her, his blue eyes moving with concern.

"I worry you think yourself invincible," she said. "With the calamity approaching, I fear…I fear for you greatly."

"I'm not invincible," Link said before taking her hand. "You know that and I know that."

Link bowed his head.

"But you are right," Link said. "I have to be more careful, hinder what may detract me from being the hero Hyrule needs. Arrogance in combat is one of those dangerous hindrances."

He looked at her and noticed her head was still bowed. Link brought a soft finger along the bottom of her chin, prompting her to lift her head so that her gaze aligned with his.

"The other is my feelings for you."

Link looked at her with such a deep love that she pushed it away, literally, averting her gaze from it and walking away with her arms hugged close to her chest.

Link studied the way her bare shoulders glowed in the moonlight, the way the candlelight almost reached her like her slumbering sealing power, hesitating and flickering and just not quite enough.

"I'm sorry, Link but…" Zelda said before turning around, her arms returning to her sides. "I don't know for sure what this is between us and I can't afford to indulge it. I was kidding myself before, distracting myself with notions like this, but…the calamity has to be the priority."

Link nodded.

"I agree," he said. "That's actually the point I was trying to make."

Zelda nodded, sitting back down next to Link on the bed with her hand braced on the edges.

"I should also tell you that the Yiga are getting bolder and more desperate. I'm to guard you from inside your chambers, your father's orders."

"My father?" Zelda said, turning her head to Link. "My father knows you had to go retrieve the sword from the Yiga Clan?"

Link panicked. She had picked up on his lying before. He obviously wasn't very good at it.

"Yes," he said, hoping that would suffice.

Zelda obviously took it as truth, nodding as Link stood up.

She watched with curious green eyes as he pulled out a chair, moving it to some distance from the bed and thus preparing to sit on it.

He was willing to sit there awake all night, just for her safety. He couldn't have gotten any other trusted guard to do it, and likely should have since his shift started early tomorrow, but he knew he was the best for the job. He would endure, tired, stinging eyes, heavy and darkened eyelids, fatigued muscles and he would have to resist sleep for hours on end.

"I don't deserve you," Zelda said in a fragile voice as she figured out the truth behind his lie.

Link turned around and his eyes blinked as he decided on his next words, his next actions. He cracked a smile.

"Don't think I won't kiss you, now," he said teasingly, approaching her where she sat on the bed. She backed away on all fours with the same teasing smile.

"Were supposed to not indulge this, Link." They were now standing on opposite sides of the bed.

"I thought that was the agreement," Link said. "But then you go on saying things like that. You deserve better than me and I have to prove you that I think you are lovely, worth every trouble in Hyrule."

"Goddesses, Link," Zelda said. "You make this so difficult."

"Sorry," he said. "I can't help it."

"But you can," Zelda said. "My father didn't order you to be here, did he?"

Link gave a sigh. She was smart.

"No," Link said honestly before arguing. "But it's the prudent action with the Yiga resorting to different tactics. If they come in through your window…the guard outside the doors would have known nothing of it until it was too late. The journey scared me into thinking they were smart enough to hurt you while I was gone."

Zelda rolled her eyes with a slight smile.

"I suppose you can stay," she said. "But just for tonight, smooth talker."

Zelda crawled back into bed and under the covers. Link waited for her next words as she sat with bent knees in front of her, thinking upon them.

"Link?" She asked. Zelda addressed him but stared blankly ahead. "Maybe just for tonight for…for us too…"

Link's brow knitted creased.

"What?"

Zelda looked over at Link with pleading green eyes. Link searched them to ensure she was suggesting what he thought. He shook his head.

"Zelda," he said. "We can't."

Zelda's face flushed red completely and her eyes went wide.

"Oh goddesses no," she hurriedly insisted. "I…I-I didn't mean that, really…I…I just meant sleeping in the same bed not…not that…that's not…"

Link smiled with a deep adoration as Zelda buried her face in her hands. She didn't hear Link taking off his boots and unsheathing his sword. She didn't notice he was joining her in her bed until she felt his weight upon it. She looked over.

Zelda felt completely energized by how rebellious this was. There was a man in her bed and she wasn't married. No, her knight attendant was in her bed and they weren't married. It was wrong, so very wrong.

And yet nothing felt more right as she cuddled in Link's safe arms, gentle like that of a lover she never knew she needed, warm like a fire just at the right distance, secure like a saddle on a horse.

Although the sword was lain on the bed so he could easily grab it at a moment's notice, he held her close with no more words between them. Link kissed the top of her head and Zelda didn't object.

The moonlight shone upon them, but also upon the book Zelda had messily tossed to the foot of her bed about a week before. The bed was large and because her feet didn't reach it, she didn't think to move it.

Zelda stared at the book, the romance book Link once mocked. She thought of its contents, a story about a pair of star-crossed lovers, fated for this or that. She thought of whether or not she believed in fate, in destiny like she always thought she did.

"Our victory over the calamity," she finally said. "It isn't written in the stars, is it?"

She wanted Link's answer, but at the same time, she wasn't sure if she actually did.

"Neither is our loss," Link replied. "Nothing is written in the stars."

Zelda blinked as she thought upon his answer, looking at the book. The Princess could be colored surprised when Link reached forward and grabbed it, flipping through the pages as she nestled back into his hold.

"The taste of your lips is like biting into forbidden fruit," Link read aloud. "One I cannot have any more of, and yet must avert my gaze away from. Your eyes, soulful and pleading, beg for what we cannot change. You see, my love, these people who divide us don't see the stars above them. Our destiny of love is too great a picture for their feeble minds, endlessly filled with hatred. This is why I must leave you now. For us to be caught in this manner would confuse them into more violence."

"Wow that's wordy," Link said.

"That wasn't too bad of a reading, Link," Zelda said. "And you picked a good scene for someone who has never read it."

"Keep going?" He asked, moving the open book so they could both see it. "It looks like the girl part is up next."

"Juliette, Link," Zelda reminded him. "Her name is Juliette."

"Right, right," Link said with nods.

"Romeus," Zelda said. "I know the lust you hide, for I harbor it too. Why consider the earth when we have the stars, why care for their hate when we have our love? What is more important? Stay with me in this time of conflict and I know you'll be with me forever. Let me feel your fingertips soothe me, let them play a lullaby upon my skin I haven't yet heard, let your lust free as no nobleman should. I love you with all my heart. Can you in honesty say you do not wish to stay?"

"I cannot," Link continuing with his characters next line. "But as the sun draws nearer, peaking around the horizon, I fear our love is too much, that too much it will endanger us. With the death of Marcuccio, I with every next passing moment fear for you. My family will you say you took advantage of me, and yours will say I took advantage of you. They will never see love. Our union is not enough to dispel them of their hate."

"You're lying to me," Zelda said, continuing as Juliette. "Something happened you are not telling me of. Why do you refrain, why do you guard yourself?"

"I am protecting you from the truth," Link said.

"You do not lie of your love for me," Zelda argued. "Why would you lie of anything else?"

"I apologize," Link replied. "I was concealing something from you, to perhaps protect my honor, but…your cousin…you received word that he has passed away, yes?"

"Yes, Romeus," Zelda said. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because I killed him for murdering Marcuccio," Link said completely out of character before looking to Zelda. "He killed her cousin?"

"This author adds a lot of drama for drama's sake," Zelda explained.

"Apparently," Link said before continuing to read. "I have been banished on account of my crime and you are to marry the Count. I killed your cousin in blood cold as ice. I have succumbed to our families feud. You should want nothing to do with me. Romeus stands up and begins to leave."

Zelda had to keep from laughing.

"That's stage direction," she said. "You don't read that part."

"Oh."

Zelda cuddled in closer for her next line, truly becoming comfortable in the crook of Link's neck.

"Don't leave," she said, with more sincerity than any other prior line.

Link heard it and didn't continue on with his next words, placing the book down as he folded it closed. He searched for his next words as Zelda waited for them with heavy eyelids.

He knew sometime after this night he would have to leave, so he knew couldn't assure her of anything else. Zelda resigned herself to closing her eyes for just a second as she waited until sleep succumbed her.

After about an hour of staring at the dark room in front of him and thinking of nothing else but their fate, Link fell asleep as well.

Thus, their actions were nothing too salicious, as Her Highness still had her virtue when Link left the next morning, but they cuddled closer together than they likely should have, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning Zelda found a note in Link's handwriting that read:

Zelda,

Last night I said that nothing is ever written in the stars. But when I got to thinking about it, you in my arms and my heart full, I started to think that if anything is written in the stars, I think it may be us. For now we'll go back to how things were, but once the calamity is defeated, I think we are due to read those stars, truly comprehend them and marvel at them. Let's deal with these earthly concerns first, then live to love another day.

Yours, Link

Over the next couple weeks, the pair stuck to their word, prioritizing the calamity and not indulging their feelings. There would be a lingering touch or gaze here and there, but nothing as improper as the kisses in their daydreams.

In fact, Link and Zelda did well to ignore it right up until Link had to make the choice between defeating Calamity Ganon or fleeing to continue to protect the love of his life.

He chose the latter and all of Hyrule paid the price.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 12

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638076748499681280/odins-ward-chapter-11

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 1077

Warnings: Adult themes implied

*63 years later*

True age: Y/n: 1197 // Loki: 1323 // Thor: 1575 // Audunn 2961

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 19 // Loki: 21 // Thor: 25 // Audunn: 47

Y/n’s POV

“You may go.” Audunn’s voice, detached and commanding as always, dismisses me from the dark room. I slide out of his bed and pull the silk dressing coat over my naked body, tying it tight against the evening chill.

As always, Ragna waits in the hall along with a guard to escort me back to my room.

It used to be humiliating, walking through the castle in nothing but my dressing gown after being tossed from my husband’s bed, but by now, I’ve gotten quite used to it. Servants and noble-folk alike bow or curtsey to me as I pass, some whispering conspicuously, some offering me hopeful smiles.

The preferred topic of gossip at the moment is why I have yet to conceive.

While it is perfectly normal for it to take a woman near to 100 years to get pregnant, I am the highest ranking woman in Alfheim. That means I am held to a different set of standards. By many’s belief, I should have conceived the first time I laid with Audunn and should by now be well on my way to providing him his sixth heir.

What they do not know is that I pray every night that I will not get pregnant.

In Audunn’s less-than-polite terms, my father ‘refuses to die’. And every passing year that Audunn does not take the throne, he grows more and more cruel. Anger continues to delude his mind, and many servants shake at the mere mention of his name.

I can empathize.

Against all odds, Sveinn still lives, though he has many scars to show for it. In order to ensure both his safety and mine, I have gotten to where I do not speak at all when in Audunn’s presence, unless I must, in which case I stick to a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. When all else fails, it’s usually safe to agree with his last few phrases. But despite my efforts, Audunn still finds reason for fury, and Sveinn and I bear the brunt of his abuses.

That is why, regardless of the fact that some part of me wants to be a mother, I pray that I am barren.

It would break me to have to bring a child into Audunn’s cruel world.

{***}

The days run together. Before I know it, winter is in full swing and the castle is preparing for Yule, a silly Midgardian tradition that Alfheim stubbornly observes. Over the past few years, I’ve gotten used to it and have even come to enjoy certain aspects of it, but I still do not see the point. Why is there an entire event dedicated to giving everyone in your life a gift? It’s quite overwhelming.

I amble over to the calendar on my writing desk, counting the days until Yule officially begins. Eight. Okay, I still need to get gifts for Lady Katrienne, Sir Miran, Audunn—

Audunn.

According to the calendar, I’m five days late.

“Ragna!” I call for my handmaiden, panic causing my voice to sound strangled.

Alarmed, she rushes into the room to see me practically doubled over, clutching my calendar.  She catches on quickly, her mouth pulling into a shocked frown. “Oh no.”

I cover my face with my hands, then throw the calendar down angrily and pace. It’s all too much. My hands begin to shake. “I can’t be late, Ragna. Late means pregnant, and pregnant means—” I can’t say it. My eyes prick with tears.

Ragna hurries to the basin and fills a glass with water, urging me to drink. At the very least, drinking the water forces me to focus. After many deep breaths, my heart slows. I feel my mouth set into a hard line.

“I will not bring a child into this world if it is to be at the mercy of Audunn.”

Ragna clasps my hand, looking utterly distraught. “I am so sorry, My Lady. We’ll figure something out. Please don’t worry.”

But worry is all I can do.

{***}

The cool light of a winter sunrise is what wakes me the next morning. I rub my heavy eyes, having gotten little sleep. I stare at the ceiling, desperately not wanting to get up and confront the day. Ragna knocks and enters the room quietly, giving me a brittle smile when she sees me already awake.

“Good morning, My Lady. I thought you might like some tea.”

I force my face into what I hope is a grateful expression. Standing, I take the steaming cup in my hands, allowing it to warm me as I head to my favorite chaise. The tea is certainly good, but it does little to elevate my mood; I still have the issue of a possible pregnancy hanging over my head.

“My Lady, look!” At the sound of Ragna’s shout, I rush back to the bed.

Right where I had been lying is a small splotch of rust-colored blood.

The teacup falls to the ground and shatters as I drop to my knees, immediately dissolving into tears of relief.

Ragna offers me a true smile now, her own happiness shining through her eyes. She disappears, returning nearly immediately with a washcloth to clean the tea mess, still beaming. “This is good, My Lady. Bearing Audunn’s child can be put off for a while longer.”

I raise my head.

Because she’s right.

This is probably only the first of many pregnancy scares. And how many of those would end up in actual children?

I bite my lip and sink fully to the floor, considering. “No. I can’t do this every time, waiting and waiting in hopes that, by some miracle, I won’t get pregnant. Bearing Audunn’s child needs to be put off forever.”

Ragna sighs, straightening. “I understand, My Lady…but what can you do? There are no ways to prevent pregnancy here in Alfeim. It is not our custom.”

My heart sinks as I consider her words. No ways to prevent pregnancy…

Here in Alfheim.

No…

I cannot dare to hope.

Only for emergencies…

I swallow, scarcely able to believe I’m about to do what I have planned. When I finally get the words out, they feel both endlessly wrong and euphorically right. “Ragna, please find me some parchment and a pen. I need to write a letter.”

A/n Ooo who’s she writing to? Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list! 

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638547377817550848/odins-ward-chapter-13

If you have a moment, check out my masterlist!

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606

[voidandradiance]

stars burn out (4.4k)

the darkness has not had a champion in a very, very long time, and at first they do not notice it. at first, that is. the longer they watch him, the more they see it; he forges his blades with his own hands, enchants his armor with his own words, pushes himself up from the dirt and builds and fights and wins. his goddess grants him nothing, nor does he ask her to, though the others are given armor and weapons. she gives him tokens of favor, but nothing more. she does not even provide him with the release of peaceful sleep. the captain does not rest; he works and fights and builds and mines and forges and crafts and saves and helps and lends and teaches and assists and sacrifices and listens and obeys- but he does not rest. he carries on relentlessly, as if he has never considered stopping, as if he has never realized that it was even an option. when he sleeps, it isn't peaceful. still, he doesn't complain. he smiles at the others, and puts on his armor, and works and fights and-

and the darkness sees their opening. they take the shape of a sailor in passing, and go to speak with him. they smile at him from behind a curtain of wild red hair that he may have once known. "isn't it tiring?" they ask, blinking the dark blue eyes of another he once cared for. they have pieced this form together so carefully from what they have gleaned from his mind. "all that work and no rest, with no reward, it must be exhausting. how do you carry on with it?"

the captain, stubborn captain, shrugs. "what else is there to do? lay down and die?" he replies. "i'm used to it."

that answer, ringing with bitter truth, is not the one they were looking for. he truly seems not to mind his own exhaustion, not to mind looking after that merry band of fools. yet he still is ruthless, and powerful, and by all of the stars in the sky and all of the shadows of the void, they want him on their side.

and they get him, eventually, through a line of plans and manipulations and deals. they get him, kneeling at their feet, somehow unsurprised that his perfectly-crafted friend has betrayed and played him. "alright," he says. "you want me as your champion. let's make a deal, then."

delighted, they laugh. "gladly," the darkness replies. here is where they find what he truly wants, what gifts will best catch and keep his favor. he gravitates toward objects of power- that is why they are here, now- and so perhaps weapons will be best suited towards him. something beyond the typical sword. he deserves more than what is standard; only the best. "tell me what you want, captain, and it will be yours."

the captain smiles thinly. "you have a hold over ianite. if i accept your invitation to become your champion, you will release her immediately, and not attempt to control or manipulate her ever again through any means, by proxy or by magic or by any medium i am unaware of. this is my first condition."

ah. loyal to the last. their plans will be much harder to accomplish without the little goddess dancing on puppet strings, but far from impossible. with the captain, it will be almost easy. "i accept."

instead of relaxing, the captain tenses even further. he expects refusal or betrayal from them, as if they would be such a fool. "if i accept your invitation to become your champion," he says again, "you will never again incite violence or lasting harm against any whom i consider a friend, including the other two champions, by your own hand or by any proxy- including me."

the darkness pauses for far longer at that, and their nature wars against their hesitation. mortals die. the dark is patient, and always, always wins. it will not be hard to keep their champion alive, and to keep him from growing newly attached to other mortals, and to wait. "i accept."

"if i choose to accept your invitation to become your champion," the captain adds almost frantically, "you will never, under any circumstances, take possession or control of my mind or body. you will never force me to do harm to those i want to protect. you will never force me to raise a blade or weapon of any kind against my brothers, and you will never force me to renounce them as my friends."

it would have been within their power to, of course, but why would they ever have done so? the latter two limit them to convincing only, and that is hardly a limit at all for them. "i accept," they reply easily. no possession. what a small sacrifice to make for this champion.

"and do you vow on your quintessence to uphold all three of the conditions that you have just accepted?" the captain spits, and oh, he is a clever one. very good. this is why they want him at their side.

"i vow it on my quintessence," they reply. "if you swear yourself to me."

the captain closes his eyes, curls his fists, and speaks the words they have waited so long to hear.

the darkness has not had a champion in a very, very long time, but they notice it immediately. most champions only pull power from their gods during great feats of endurance or magic, in short bursts and flares that end soon after they come, just in times of great need. the captain pulls a strong, steady flow of magic from them, his hands trembling as their power settles into his skin, swaying in place. it goes only into the effort of keeping him upright.

they are suddenly, intimately aware of mortal exhaustion. "rest, my champion," they command, watching him waver. "you are no help to me dead."

he shakes his head. "i only need a few seconds," he says, his soul fidgeting with the new magic wound around it. true to his words, he steadies after a moment, his body adapting to the shift and learning how to lean into this smoke and shadow and power. "that's all."

the faith of the captain is a heady rush of vertigo and power. it's almost enough to replace what he's instinctively, desperately pulling to himself. the darkness revels in it, but allows it to fade into a faint, constant awareness. "rest," they order once again, and he looks up at them in confusion. "i am night. i am sleep. and you are ready to collapse, my champion."

the captain swallows, clearly not in any state to deny it. "the first condition," he says wearily, exhaustion clear in his eyes and tone. "and then i will try."

so self-sacrificing, their new champion. they will have to curb that habit before it gets him into further trouble. "as you wish," they sigh, and pull back the shadows from their arrogant daughter. the captain, by the last traces of his former bond, seems to sense it. he slumps in relief; that had been his first and truest concern, genuinely.

"thank you," he whispers.

"come, my champion," the darkness purrs, and delight curls in them as their precious captain stands. "you will rest, and in the morning, we will begin."

the captain shakes his head slightly, but follows them to the room prepared, sits on the edge of the bed, trails his fingertips over the spidersilk sheets. he is still far too wary to have any chance of resting.

the darkness reaches for an aspect of their nature that they rarely need, and cast the shadows of the room into a different shape. they twist them into the warm, soft darkness beneath thick blankets, into the sweet, comfortable shade of a tree on a hot, lazy day, into the gentle dark of a long, late night. it twists them into every time the dark means safety, and the captain clearly senses the change in the air. "sleep," they tell him. "no dreams will come for you in my realm."

they leave, then, shutting the door but not locking it. this is the captain's test of them as much as it is their test of him. this requires honesty.

after a long while, their newly formed bond goes quiet and soft, their champion relaxing into sleep. they leave him be for as long as they can, tired captain, though they do check on him when the bond gets too faint. he sleeps for hours, for the better part of a mortal day. when he does wake, he does not immediately come to them; he curls under the blankets and stares at the wall and prays to no-one in particular that this had not been the only night in which he would be granted peaceful rest. he is so reluctant to get up, yet eventually does so without complaint. the darkness takes form and waits for him, and surely enough, he comes to their silent call.

"did you rest well?" the darkness asks, though they already know. it is better to hear him say it.

the captain nods slowly. he knows that they know, that they can sense the new and strange strength within the bond, but he humors them anyway, dutiful champion that he is. "yes," he admits, and pauses for a moment. "very."

"good," the darkness hums. "i am glad, my champion. did your goddess never let you sleep peacefully?"

"she couldn't," the captain says, without a bitter syllable in the words. "she saw the same visions, or her own. it wasn't so bad. i'm used to it."

and the darkness does not immediately dignify that blatant lie with a response. the still silence hangs between them, growing heavy. "you pled to the universe to allow you even one more night of true rest," they say, once the quiet has made its point. "i somehow doubt that."

the captain winces and turns away. "i didn't think you would hear. apologies."

"my champion," they reply, genuinely startled. "i will always listen to a prayer."

their champion winces harder, and remains silent, head bowed. how little had his goddess cared for him, if he had not expected for a prayer to be noticed? how little attention had she paid? no tools, no weapons, no armor, no help. she had given him only the bare minimum. here, yes, the darkness had encouraged that, but for the captain to accept it so easily, for him to claim to not mind, is not at all what they had anticipated. they had wanted to show how weak and immature this godling was, and instead it had been expected and accepted without a word. and yet-

"you have not renounced her," they point out. he had sworn to them, but never broke that final bond.

the captain sets his jaw. a nerve struck, then. "i do not follow the goddess of these isles," he says firmly, stubbornly. "my last connections to other realms are irrelevant. i am your champion, am i not?"

a nostalgia for his first goddess, for his homeland, then. fine. they have agreed not to tear that away. "yes," the darkness says. "you are. but was she ever kind, when you were hers? did she ever grant you a thing you asked for? did she ever answer your prayers to her?"

"she was never unkind," the captain replies quietly, mourning in his tone. "in my first world, she was imprisoned and weak. i hardly knew she existed. her name came to me in a dream. we saved her, but… we only had a few moments before we had to leave. make the leap of faith. fall into the void for months, wake up in a new world, fight through it, leap again, repeat. and the second time, then, she was dying. i was too late to save her. all i could do was try to protect her family, and i failed that, too. but she did what she could."

"no gifts?" the darkness pries. "no reply to your prayers? no rewards for such loyal service?"

the captain shrugs, clearly baffled. "she wasn't as powerful as her brothers. there was the bow of balance, i suppose. it's not like i can't make my own gear."

ah, but with power such as his, with such strength, he shouldn't have to. "a bow," they repeat, and begin to plan. "is that all?"

"it was the best weapon i ever had," the captain insists, and flexes his hand, as if missing the weight of it. suddenly, he grins. "i killed the father of the gods with it."

well.

it is a very good thing that he is on their side, now, isn't it?

as readily as he had given it to his first patron, it is clear that his trust is something which the darkness must earn. considering that they had very recently been on opposite ends of each other's blades, this is not unexpected. they lead him around their fortress, offer him training grounds cast in shade and servants made of smoke. he realizes how malleable the world around them truly is; he realizes that if he were to turn on them, the walls could shift, and the servants become soldiers. he is clever, when one does not already have his trust. very well; onto the pieces that will truly sway him.

they provide him another night of peace. they present him with a bow made of deep shadows and dark steel. he looks at them strangely, but they can feel a secondhand rush of sudden power as he closes his hand around the bow. his breath stutters, and the bond trembles; he is not used to this. he clears his throat, but his voice is rough when he asks, "arrows?"

"at the moment you need them," the darkness promises, "you will never be without them. here."

they spin a shadow into shape. smoke curls from its void-black form, sapping the light from the air around it. the arrow is a thing of power, and they both know it. it is not enough to kill a god, no, but it may do serious harm.

"you have so often been left alone," the darkness says quietly. "empty-handed. left to make something out of nothing. but you are a part of the dark, now, and the dark is an unavoidable part of every place, every last dimension, every last realm. the dark is everywhere. i am everywhere. there is darkness in your coat pockets, attached to the soles of your feet. your bow is made of darkness. your arrows are forged from the shade. do you understand?"

he does. it's written across his face. they say it anyway.

"as long as you have your own shadow, captain," they swear to him, "you will never be defenseless again. you will never be alone."

the captain inhales, exhales, swallows. holds out a hand. stares when the arrow forms. hesitates. "i haven't even done anything yet," he murmurs.

"you are my champion, are you not?" the darkness challenges.

and his fingers curl around the arrow, and his lips curl into a bitter smile, and he looks up at them. of all the things to try to protect him, they are the least expected, and most successful. "thank you," their champion says, then pauses, tilting his head as if tasting his next words carefully as they wait on his tongue. "my lord."

the darkness smiles.

it is the first time he uses their title. it is far from the last. the captain slurs the two words into only one, after some time, into something easy and familiar and trusted. mi'lord. it is undignified, but they accept it as the sign it is. he is comfortable. he is trusting. he is loyal.

"time passes differently," the darkness informs him, months later. they sit beside the ink-dark sea that parallels the one in the mortal realm, but the captain turns away from it to look at them as they speak. "it has only been mere a matter of days in the overworld. we have spent much longer here than they have there."

the captain nods. "i should have noticed that by now. it would certainly explain how things happened like clockwork."

"such is the nature of this realm," they agree. "but i finally have a task for you, my champion. i have no doubt that you will succeed easily."

their champion raises an eyebrow. he has come to stand gladly at their side, to trust, to understand. he has responded so well to being shown even the slightest hint of reward, and it has taken far too long to convince him that there are some lines they will not cross, that there are some things that will be steady and stable. it is almost alarming, how much the captain thanks them for something as simple as a night of rest. it has made him so loyal.

once, he had asked why they bothered to be so kind. they had replied that they wanted him as a champion, not a follower, not a servant. he had been stunned. they asked if he finally understood.

and then, he had responded to them with the same words he speaks now. "yes, mi'lord?"

"you will return to the overworld," the darkness replies. "they have no reason not to trust you. i will not ask you to harm them in any way, my champion, only to prevent them from interfering in our plans."

the captain looks at him, startled. he has not once asked to return to the overworld, yet his eyes spark eagerly. he misses his companions. still, dutiful, he pauses. "they won't believe that i escaped from you on my own. i'm good, but not that good. if you wanted to keep me here, you could."

they pull faded shadows around their face, an old disguise, blinking at him with princely eyes from behind a pirate's hair. "an old friend saved you, of course," they reply, and smile as the illusion falls away. "you were, sadly, separated in your shared escape attempt, and they may or may not have made it."

"ah," the captain says. "that, they will believe. and when you show me the way out, it won't even be a lie. and what about the tank, mi'lord?"

"they will sense that you are a part of me," the darkness allows. "and they will ask you what god you follow. you have not renounced the ianite of your homeworld, and i am not a mere god. it is the truth, from a certain point of view."

the captain smiles, and they smile back, like two wolves in the night, two sharks in the water, two shadows cast together. their champion's loyalty is unwavering, once given, and it is a sight to behold- but when that loyalty is returned by his patron, well. as a pair, they are more than a force of nature, then. the light burns them both, though the captain will never be entirely theirs so long as he still clings to his first goddess. it is not bad to have a champion who can walk unscathed in daylight, who can use his balanced nature as a weapon in their favor. the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, after all, and even stars burn out in time. the captain is loyal by his own choice, and grows more devoted by the day with every perfect gift and peaceful night. he will be wholly theirs in time.

"the stones are of no concern to me," the darkness admits. "although, if you just so happened to win two of them, i'd not be disappointed. once you have settled back in, i will have a few more tasks for you, but for now, find your place within their trust."

the captain nods. "it may take some time, mi'lord. the others will trust me, but the gods may not."

"the dark is patient," they remind him, as if the slow earning of his trust has not already proved that.

and their trusting, loyal champion only smiles again. "and always wins," he replies easily, believing it fully. faithful. the dark always wins; so too does the captain. it is no wonder why they had wanted him.

he spends one more night in their world of mirrors and reflections, and dons his armor slowly. it, too, is forged from shadow and shade, and will melt away at his word. for now, he seems to take some comfort in its weight. he seems almost regretful to go, as glad as he might be to see the friends he had tried to threaten his future patron to protect. he goes so far as to cast a glance back to the door of his room as they step out into the hallway, and, oh.

the captain will miss it.

after his worlds upon worlds of constant, lethal danger, they had provided a respite. they had sheltered him from the swarms of foes and ceaseless attacks. they had let him rest. they had made him feel safe.

the darkness smiles to themself. he will miss their realm. perhaps he will miss their presence. they will miss his, certainly, and that is why they will succeed. the sooner they have won, the sooner he can return to rest. the dark is patient, yes, but ambitious as well, and powerful.

"be careful, my champion," they tell him, watching as he climbs towards the point of balance. it will carry him to its counterpart in the mortal realm. the captain grins, and salutes, and is gone.

they follow, and watch from afar as the captain greets his friends gladly and lies masterfully to their faces. ianite appears alongside her brothers, and sets a hand on his shoulder. he does not waver. he does not cling to her hesitant affection; it is too little, too late. he has a new patron, one who will never forget how powerful his loyalty can make them, who will never forget how fickle mortal hearts are. they had won him over, after all.

as the captain had guessed, they bring him to the tank of judgement. they ask him which god he follows. they ask him if he is being controlled by the darkness. they ask him if he is lying. someone suggests that, after imprisonment at the darkness's hand, he should be cleansed.

"no," ianite says, to the surprise of all listening. "you can't. he is balance, the old kind of balance, just like i am. it wouldn't do him any good."

that is a lie, a truth, a lie, and a truth. a perfect balance of fact and falsehood. but why? why prevent the cleansing? why ask to speak to him after he steps out of the tank, expected as it may be? why keep him from her brother's suspicious gaze?

"captain," she says, once every other being is gone. "i know what you did. i felt the bond fail."

he opens his mouth, and she holds up a hand. he closes it.

"let me finish," she says gently. "i want to thank you for convincing them to let my mind and body be my own again. that level of control would not have been possible to escape without them choosing to release it on their own. i want to apologise for some of how i acted. i cannot explain-"

"i understand," the captain says. a truth. "in the other realm, the second one, the shadows- i understand."

ianite nods slowly. he has not accepted the apology, and they all know it. "captain," she says. "how do you truly feel about the light? speak for yourself, not your lord."

"blinding light is not balance," the clever, wary captain replies. "total eradication of the dark is not balance. i am evening the scales."

she exhales slowly. "i do not disagree. i wish you the best of luck in balancing your patron and your friends, captain, and i am sorry that i failed you."

the captain blinks. ianite smiles thinly, and then vanishes in a flicker of violet smoke, as if she was never even there. her former champion looks at the spot where she had stood, then turns away, and glances down at his own shadow. "did you do that?" he asks tightly.

"i am as surprised as you are, my dear champion," the darkness replies softly. "i did nothing to cause that."

but they will accept it gladly. the godling will not interfere; she believes them to be only the equals of the light. it is the kind of blatant underestimation that allows wars to be won. the darkness will not prove her wrong, not yet.

"captain!" one of the champions calls, and the chance to speak is lost. after so long of constant conversation, it is strange to have to be silent for the sake of a thing like appearances. it is still necessary. they remain quiet, and eventually leave their champion to his reunions. they can speak of this later.

he does not set foot in his own home until late that night, but he does so with a smile on his lips and the warm remnants of laughter in his chest, joy winding between his ribs. a celebration under the stars, a reunion at night. one more good thing that the dark has given him. the darkness does not begrudge what will only benefit them in the long run.

there is still the small fact that he spares only a regretful glance towards his bed, and turns away. that won't do; they have not spent this long looking after him only to allow him to exhaust himself once more.

his shadow takes the shape of a dark cat, winding once around his ankles before leaping onto his pillow with a meaningful look. the captain sighs, but there is plainly visible relief in his eyes at the sight of the smoky feline. "alright," he agrees. "alright."

in a tower by the sea, the darkness's champion sleeps, lulled by gentle waves and the purrs of his own shadow given a new form. he does not dream.

the darkness has not had a champion in a very, very long time, but the wait has been well worth it. they noticed it then, and know it for certain now.

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 1

[Yeah it’s for real happening because I’m weak. So here it is. I’m basically going to write out my new recruited verse because I have lost control of my life.

Shoutout to @kiealer for a mention of her OC’s healer race and the HC we have that Vegeta and co demolished most of them. :3]

Nabooru

Traveling beyond the bounds of her desert home had always been limited. Within the desert, never ending sandstorm made venturing too far from known landmarks treacherous for fear of never returning or serving as a meal for the beasts lurking beneath the sands or in caverns. Beyond the eastern border lay greater Hyrule. Lush, green, thriving. 

To Nabooru, it always felt like she was stepping into an entirely different world and not simply because of the stark contrast of weather and scenery. In her younger years, the culture shock hit her harder than more recent years. Women didn't fight and served their husband's needs and desires. It was rare that they served in government, and it was almost taboo for them to talk about it. To have an opinion of matters deemed "too dirty" for the so-called fairer sex. Most resided in the home and only the men provided. They dressed modestly, and did not speak out of turn. None of which would have bothered Nabooru had the denizens not tried to hold Gerudo women to to same standards while traipsing through Castle Town or outside of the desert. The mostly matriarchal Gerudo, where women ruled and fought and drank and cursed. Where their sexuality was celebrated and not demonized (though many Hylian men and women alike had celebrated right along with them for at least one night of their lives until the sun rose and those same Gerudo became whores and heathens once more). Who cooked and cleaned and raised children. Gerudo women did everything Hylian women did and then some. 

If the lesson didn't stick with Nabooru the few times she ventured out with her best friend, Aveil, against her will, it certainly did when she joined Ganondorf at court. When she spoke among the other delegates of Hyrule's court, it wasn't uncommon for her to face chortling, eye rolling, or grimacing. Ganondorf could then repeat the same point moments later, word for word, and be met with at least some modicum of agreement or a proper debate.

And that only touched on the prejudice spurred by anger and fear Hyrule harbored toward her people. The Civil War may have ended in a peaceful treaty, one promising unity and safety, a new beginning. But none forgot how avidly and proudly the Gerudo fought for their sovereignty until their second to last breath. The skills and power of the demons from the desert.

None of that mattered for Nabooru any more. Hyrule was far behind, somewhere in the vast, new realm of space that she could never possibly fathom before she boarded a ship primed for traveling such an expansive place beyond the world and reality she understood. She could only guess what other planets might offer her in terms of terrain or people. What her new life as a soldier to a galactic emperor entailed. But beneath the inorganic lighting and in the midst of technological advances even the brightest on her home planet could not begin to dream up, she hadn't found much opportunity to ask while she struggled to process her surroundings. Stars and debris whizzing by windows as they passed them. The words her new commanders spoke amongst themselves. 

“Remind me your name?”

It took Nabooru several seconds to note the silence that had befallen her company, curiosity and shock holding her gaze transfixed to the door that slid open of its own accord to admit them. She tried to mask the hurried step she took over the threshold as well as she could, though her continued awestruck surveillance of her surroundings--the large screens along the walls displaying information, the flashing lights, the beeps and low, mechanical hums--displayed the mixture of her curiosity and apprehension of it all no matter the measures she took to downplay them. And, when she finally found the emperor and his generals again, their mixed bags of expressions confirmed her failure. Frieza stared at her with an increasingly amused smirk, his tail tapping against the side of his chair, one a parent gives a learning child. The wide, pink general with a layer of spikes on top of his otherwise bald head and forearms grunted, his expression squished in impatience. The taller of the two sporting a green braid and a tiara with matching earrings tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, yellow eyes half-lidded in either boredom or disbelief.

Nabooru straightened her posture, mind working overtime to replay the last few seconds and figure out what sort of answer they expected her to give to a question she hoped she heard. She chewed the inside of her cheek, and hoped the blush in her cheeks was less apparent than it felt when she came up short.

“I apologize,” she bowed her head, unsure of the proper etiquette, “did you ask me something? I’m...a little overwhelmed.”

“Yes, I suppose even just this ship is quite a marvel to you, isn’t it, coming from such a technologically barren planet as yours? It has been quite some time since we recruited someone from a planet like yours.” Nabooru released the breath she held and raised her head again, returning to her full height and her hands behind her back when Frieza didn’t berate her for her misstep. A small voice inside her whispered how it wished he hadn’t whisked her away from her home, but she tamped it down like a stubborn weed before the sentiment could reflect itself in her eyes. “You will get used to it soon enough. As for what I asked, I requested your name. I like to know what to call my more promising acquisitions.”

Another fight to keep her expression neutral, her pride festering at being referred to as some otherworldly trinket that caught his eye. She lowered her head again. “My name is Nabooru, my lord. I thank you for the opportunity to serve you.” 

Bitter words on her tongue. Subjugation didn’t suit her, but laying the act on thick felt like the right move with the emperor. The whispers of his other soldiers about his temperament swirled through her mind as a constant reminder to behave if she wanted to survive. A reality that would take some adjusting to, and, once more, a role she didn’t want to play. One given without the luxury of choice.

“Splendid. Then, let’s get straight to business then.” He raised a pitch-taloned hand and the taller of the generals stepped forward. “Once we arrive at the base, Zarbon will give you the tour and enumerate your daily schedule for the time being. He will also outfit you with a proper uniform.”

Nabooru glanced between the three of them, taking the time to note that they all sported similar attire, as had the soldiers who first landed on Hyrule. She still wore the clothes she left Hyrule in: her patterned bandeau and pink pants in the typical Gerudo style along with the jewels she adorned herself in. The chest piece looked like armor of some sort, and though she never cared much for it, it didn’t look entirely uncomfortable. She wasn’t worried about the look of it either, as there seemed to be different styles and perhaps she would get lucky with one that suited her taste and figure. What did bother her was that her attire was all that she had with her to remind her of her home, her past and people, due to the instruction to pack light if anything at all. She gripped the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder; the changes of clothes she brought along felt all the more irrelevant.

She nodded as a show of understanding, sensing that resistance or questioning of the regimen set out for her would only go ignored if she was lucky. When the three returned to their own conversations about the successes of a few planetary ventures, the prospects of others to be considered in the future, Nabooru used the rest of the flight to drink in whatever information she could from them and her surroundings. What she would be expected to do. How the technology surrounding her worked or what she would needed to understand for her own purposes. The personalities of the emperor and his most trusted generals. A difficult task when, perhaps purposefully, they kept their talk clinical and impersonal. Emotionless reactions to each report, whether good news or bad.

When the ship landed at the base, a large edifice that could pass for a castle on her home planet save for its plainness and more angular architecture, Zarbon led her away from the emperor and his fellow general, his boredom once more pervasive on his immaculate face. His tone of voice matched it as he pointed out areas of interest: the mess hall, showers and bathrooms (a mild concern to her when she only saw what she identified as male bodies entering or exiting them), and the expansive halls that held the soldiers’ quarters where she would sleep. He did not spend much time discussing any of them, their functions self-explanatory enough. So Nabooru hoped. The last thing she wanted was to find that, after a long day, her bed was some sort of complicated apparatus or had some fancy voice command that made it comfortable enough for rest.

The door to another room slid open and she followed. “This is where you will have your daily lessons considering your...under educated background,” he said, the hint of a sneer on his lips. “Mostly teaching you the basics you will need to operate the most rudimentary of our tech needed to do your job efficiently along with the expectations of your role in planetary trade.”

“Trading planets?” Nabooru couldn’t help how her eyes narrowed, the implications of such a business unpleasant at best in her mind. Not to mention what that could mean for her own home. Was their fate as secure as she thought? She hid her distaste by continuing to survey the room and commit its location to memory. It looked like a fairly ordinary, all purpose classroom. Another expansive screen replaced a chalkboard at the head of the room with a metal podium in front of it. Two rows of glass-topped desks faced the front of the room. It made her wonder if others would be joining her for her lessons.

Zarbon flipped his braid over his shoulder. “Yes. Our business is in finding planets to trade or sell and readying them for such transactions in most cases. Others are used for the empire’s purposes if they’re deemed worthwhile for some reason or another. Much like yours.”

Hyrule had been lucky, then. Avoided a likely more violent takeover, potentially thanks to her people’s warrior prowess. While she doubted Ganondorf and the rest of the Gerudo would be horribly merciful when they took over, she had a feeling they would spare far more than Frieza’s forces if the decision concerning their planet had swung the other way. She would have laughed at the irony of it had better circumstances been offered for amusement.

“I see…”

“You will learn more about that here. It isn’t my job to teach you such basics.” He moved to the door and Nabooru took her cue to follow. “You will be expected to report here first thing in the morning after the first meal and your lessons will last until the afternoon meal. The rest of your day will be spent training so you can get a better handle on your ki and utilizing it in the most efficient ways for your station.”

“I mean no disrespect and I understand the need for learning the other facets of my new job, but that sounds more up my alley than sitting in a classroom for several hours.”

“Of course. It is expected of you warrior types.” Nabooru could hear the eyeroll in his voice despite her position behind him. Along with the scrunch of his nose with his next scoffed statement: “Speaking of brainless imbeciles…”

Her curiosity outweighed the split second surge in her temper over the insult to her and her people along with whoever the general had spotted in front of him. She took a step to the side to peer around Zarbon as they continued down the corridor. Three men in the similar style of armor as the rest of the crew strode toward them, a shorter one flanked by two much larger figures, the sight reminiscent of her first exposure to Frieza and his generals. The two in the back--a bald one with a mustache and the second’s large stature the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the mass of black spikes sprouting from the top of his head down to the top of his boots--appeared to be in high spirits, excitedly discussing their latest victories and sharing in each other’s laughter. The one in the middle paid them little mind, his dark gaze only shifting from its fixed, forward position to note the two of them approaching. His lips curled into a smirk.

“Well, well. Did Frieza let you off your leash for once?” He cast Nabooru a fleeting glance but little more. His hand rose to press a button on the side of the device fitted over his ear connected to red glass over his eye. The two behind him had stopped laughing and followed suit, exchanging a glance between them. “And for babysitting duty nonetheless. Is there a demotion in your future?”

“Remember your place, Vegeta, before I have to forcefully remind you of it,” Zarbon sniffed, his haughty air rivaling that of the shorter male. Any ounce of resentment she had sensed over the task meted out to him disappeared, replaced by what she could only describe as pride in his sense of duty to Frieza. Once more, Nabooru had to dampen the urge to, at the very least, snort at the display. “I do hope the report from your latest mission is better than the last. Frieza wasn’t particularly fond of the amount of near irreparable collateral damage you and your baboons caused in sacking it.”

“Hmpt.” Movement at Vegeta’s waist caught Nabooru’s eye. What she had mistaken for a furry belt turned out to be a tail, the end of which had loosed itself from its secure position for a moment before it tucked itself back into place. “Whatever. We got the job done when all your other units failed. It’s a sad day when Nappa here can figure out the secret of their healing abilities when none of your top picks could. How many fleets failed and crawled back to base with nothing to show for it? Three? Four?”

“It hardly matters when you can’t follow simple instructions. Two prisoners is hardly recompense for the damage. But unfortunately, your fates are not mine to decide.” Zarbon twisted around to nod to Nabooru. “Come. We’ve wasted enough time with filth.”

The two larger men stepped aside as Zarbon pushed onward, and Nabooru didn’t miss the fire in their supposed leader’s or their own eyes as she passed. The seething rage bubbling beneath the surface at such a dismissal. The kind she had grown used to on her home planet when dealing with Hyrule’s court. She bit the inside of her cheek to distract her from such empathy she couldn’t afford. While she didn’t trust Zarbon either, she had no real intent of making alliances here if she could help it. She worried enough about the welfare of her people whose fate could very well be tied to her own performance within Frieza’s ranks. Whatever the story of those three tailed warriors and the animosity they had toward Zarbon and he to them, it was of no importance to her. Squabbles between ranks and authority were bound to happen in a militaristic environment.

Another door slid open and the pair entered what Nabooru could only describe as a storage room. Arrays of what she assumed were weapons lined the walls alongside cabinets and displays for the armor she would soon don. She waited near the doorway while Zarbon considered each set. “You would do best to steer clear of those Saiyans if you want to avoid trouble. Or be successful.” He picked out a set and held the pile of clothing out to her. “Before you ask, yes, it will fit. All of it stretches to even the most extreme sizes.”

When Zarbon turned around, Nabooru took that as her cue to change into the new outfit. Setting her satchel on the floor, she picked through the garments to figure out the sequence with which she was meant to put them on before undressing. She started with what looked like the pieces that went beneath the armor: a long sleeved, high neck-lined top in a deep red several shades darker than her bright hair and a matching pair of bottoms cut to cover little more than her private areas. A single test revealed that they did stretch with incredibly little resistance and enough for her to slip them on with little trouble. Though far from what she was used to, the fabric was more breathable than expected and fit her like a second skin.

She picked up the armor next, the same cut as that she had seen on most of the other soldiers save for the wings on the shoulders and hips, and the chest portion looked more suited to a feminine form. It stretched just as easily as the singlet, and she pulled it on over her head, sliding her arms through the straps. Once more, even the armor seemed to mold to her shape without being too tight or restricting her movement. 

As she tugged on the last few pieces of her new uniform--thigh high socks of the same material as her singlet and a pair of white, leather gloves and boots much like those she noted the smaller Saiyan wore--she watched Zarbon shift to another storage unit and tap in a code. A drawer popped out and, when she informed him she was decent and he faced her again, he held one of the devices they all wore over an eye in his hand. This one with orange glass.

"This is your scouter. It scans power levels and acts as a communicator, among other useful functions you will be taught in your lessons." He handed it over, and Nabooru turned it over in her hands. "I'm sure you will find it useful."

“Power levels? Like how strong another person is?”

“Indeed. No need to worry about wearing it now, but do remember to take it to your lessons.” Zarbon swept past her and back to the door, and Nabooru didn’t need any coaxing to follow. She dropped the scouter into her bag along with the rest of her belongings and shouldered it before following him back into the hall. 

"We have one more stop, the medical bay," the general continued in that same bored tone, but Nabooru noted a flicker of what she assumed was excitement over the prospect of finishing the task so beneath him and returning to his proper duties. "Its use is what you would expect, of course. It is where we will part ways. You will have your translator chip installed. By the time you wake up, it will likely be dinner. After you'll have time to do as you please for now. Fill it how you wish."

She almost failed to register any other information that followed the first bit. "Translator chip?" She felt dumb asking so many seemingly obvious questions. "Installed how?"

"It is a simple and near painless procedure," he responded, his sigh just barely held back. "We all have them for ease of communication. The task of learning every language in the universe would be all too time consuming, and not everyone can speak the galactic standard."

Nabooru nodded despite the discomfort she felt over what sounded invasive and too foreign for her liking. The reason behind it made sense. She had taken the time to learn as much of the other languages of Hyrule as she could, and to describe the endeavor as time consuming put it lightly. Not to mention the imperfection of it. In the time she left her home, she had only gotten a taste of the vastness of the universe. If it took her years to get a grasp on just a handful of languages, it would take eons to manually learn all the languages of every race in the universe. Reasoning through it, deeming this chip useful, still did nothing to ease her apprehension.

The double doors to the medical bay slid to each side and admitted them into the sterilized space so unlike the healing ward back home. Several tanks lined the far wall, and more screens lined half of the one adjacent to it The doctors wore the similar armor the rest of them did, though the one who approached the pair from the rows of cots on the other end of the room wore a white robe of sorts beneath his armor. His bushy orange eyebrows and beak-like snout made him resemble a rotund, wingless bird.

The conversation he and Zarbon held between one another was clipped and short, all business and no filler about the reason for their visit--one the doctor had been made aware of and prepped for prior, he proudly noted--as well as a discussion over new recruits to the medical bay and their adjustment. From the sounds of it, they were the prisoners he had mentioned in the conversation with the Saiyans. She had to keep herself from snorting when the doctor discussed a certain reluctance to help; if she didn't fear her own rebelliousness would trickle down to the fate of her people, she might not be so compliant. Piecing together the brief tiff in the hallway with this information suggested they had little left to lose.

Zarbon turned to her once more. "This is where I take my leave. Keep to your schedule and don't cause trouble. Frieza may have chosen you specifically out of a gaggle of mediocre warriors, but that does not mean you're valuable."

With a toss of his head and one last pointed glare, the general left her alone with the doctor and a smoldering combination of helplessness and anger searing her heart and lungs. He wasn't wrong; that she had no reservations about. But hearing it, feeling it in the presence of these warriors, generals, and other help within the base, she could not deny her expandability. How her rank on her home planet meant nothing now, and she had been kicked from the top to the bottom, her life of hard work and pushing herself to fight better and harder than the next Gerudo, learn everything she could to improve her station, all she did to earn rank and respect among her people had been reduced to cinders here. She was starting over with no real idea where she was headed. Where she could head, if anywhere at all.

Survive. That's what she had been taught to do first and foremost. The costs of survival, of not endangering the deal made to ensure her people got the better life she always wanted for them, would have to be worth paying.

The doctor led her to one of the tables and instructed her to lie back, the cool metal on the few portions of skin left uncovered making her shiver. She listened for a moment to the explanation of the procedure--a gas to put her under, an incision behind the ear, and just a bit of prodding around in her brain--before she decided that her ignorance of it would keep her from bolting. He fitted a mask to her face and told her to simply breathe deep and count backward or recite some poetry. Nabooru hardly made it through a line of a Gerudo poem she did happen to memorize before the gas clouded her brain and muddled her words. Her eyes fluttered closed, the tension in her body eking out of her, her hands balled into tight relaxing as she succumbed to sleep.

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #8

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/32602807

{ur still my boy}

Ship: toliver (tommy/oliver)

Warnings: swearing, canon typical violence, oliver’s ‘death’ to Ra’s

Wc: 2,564

One:

“Oliver! Ollie oh my god you- What happened?” “Nothing, just a- a mugger.” “A mugger! Did you really ditch Mr. Diggle again? This is why you have security. I though five year on some island what make you a little less of a dumb fuck!” “Alright, what? That’s a little intense.” “A little intense? Are you kidding me right now?” “No, what. Why are you here anyway?” “The club, we need to talk about it. But, not that’s not the point.” “Why not? Seems like an important conversation. “ “Oliver stop!” “Stop what?” “Pretending.” “Pretending? About what?” “God Oliver,” he said, falling onto Ollie’s desk chair. Oliver was perched on the edge of his bed. “I’m fine, it’s fine. I don’t understand why you're fussing over this.” “BECAUSE YOU DIED OLLIE!” “I-” A silence fell upon them. “You died, and I had to deal with that, and it’s something I never want to have to deal with again.” “Tommy, I know but it’s the world. The real world. And it’s not always going to be safe.” “I know that, I know, but ditching your security, Ollie. Why? I just don’t understand it.” “I-i can’t explain. You just need to trust me. I can take care of myself.” “Last time I let you care for yourself, you died! You get that right. You get that I never want to let you out of my sight ever again because I’m scared.” “I survived on an island for five years, I can handle Starling City. Trust me.” “That doesn’t mean that if a bullet flies through your heart you won’t die!” “Tom-” “No. “Don’t, don’t do that.” “I love you, everyday on the island I wanted to come back. To come back and say the thing I just said.” “What do-” “I love you, stupid. For real.” “You mean-” And they had a long overdue kiss. And some more.

“You really know how to divert a conversation,” Tommy said, into Oliver’s bare chest. “It’s one of my strong suits,” he smiled.

Two:

“Hi Ollie,” he said, from a chair in the Arrowcave. “Tommy! How did you get- how did you find!” “Your excuses were getting pretty lame, and you know we both own this club.” “Yeah but-” “You’re the arrow.” “I’m- yeah.” “God Oliver, you are so shit a lying.” “You’re not mad?” “Mad? Are you joking? I’m so- everything. How the hell could you keep this from me? ME?” “For your safety,” he replied calmly. “My safety, what if I know your secret, I’m in danger. That’s not how the real world works. I don’t understand you.” “I had to. My father,” Oliver stopped. “What did your father say?” “I have plans okay.” “Beyond just, just murdering people.” “Collateral damage, plus I only kill when necessary.” “It was you. That day we got kidnapped.” “Yes-” “Why? You should have told me.” “What, what so you can hate me from now on!” “I could never hate you, it’s you.” “But you hate the Vigilante.” “But I trust Oliver Queen, or I did before you kept the biggest secret possible.” “HOW DO YOU NOT SEE I WAS PROTECTING YOU!” “Because why would me, one person knowing, change anything!” “The people I am going after are dangerous and powerful, so if you are close to me you will be targeted. If you know, that will make you even closer.” “You understand that that makes no sense.” “Whatever, you know now.” “Why don’t you trust me?” “Tommy, that is just fake! You know that I trust you with everything in me. I trust you to see me!” “You lied about your scars.” “That was all true,” he said, putting his head in hands, “I only left out parts about me becoming the arrow. I- truly Tommy, I thought you were going to pieces together. From my story to the arrowhead rock to the timing of my return.” “You were telling me,” he said, with realization. “Yeah I tried.’ “You could have just told me.” “Should have, yeah.” “Oliver! I-” “Why are you still upset?” “Because because-” Tommy slammed the desk. “Tommy, if you’re still worried about me getting hurt, clearly I can handle myself.” “I know but- a knife will still kill. Playing fucking superhero will get you killed!” “No, it doesn’t have to.” “I can’t Oliver, I can’t. Why, please, I-” Tommy started crying. “I can’t quit this. It’s too important.” “No Oliver, your life is too important. It’s too important to me because I’m sure, I’m certain you're my last, and I’m not losing you.” Oliver brought him into his arms, and kissed his head. “I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere.” “I can’t, I don’t want you to go out every night and risk death.” “Rules, we’ll make rules, whatever you want. To keep me safe and you happy.” Tommy just held him tighter.

Three:

“When’s the last time you slept?” Tommy said, approaching their breakfast counter. He placed a kiss on Oliver’s cheek. Oliver was staring at his computer, working on mayoral plans. “A while back.” Tommy rolled his eyes knowingly. Yet another late night Arrow mission that ended with an all nighter. “Oliver.” “Tommy.” “You need sleep to function as a human being.” “No not really,” Oliver smiled, switching his attention to the other man, “Green arrow.” “Ollie please, I hate you being tired because then you do stupid shit as the mayor and even dummer shit with a bow an arrow.” “Since when do I do dumb shit?” “We are talking about the same Oliver Queen right? The one who pissed on the police officer?” “Oh please come on, not the childhood.” “You were eighteen, Ollie,” Tommy smiled fondly. “If we’re sharing embarrassing stories-” “Shut up,” he said, digging his head into Ollie’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around Tommy and then went back to looking at his computer screen. “Hey, you avoided the point.” “Yes, yes I did.” “You don’t need to be in to work till 10 today. We have a great opportunity to get two hours of sleep here, babe, and it’s quite enticing.” “You have a company to run.” “I also have an Oliver Queen to tend after.” Oliver scoffed, “I don’t need tending after.’ “Clearly,” he replied sarcastically, “Please for me. I know you're tired. Rule #3” “Really now? You’re playing the rules card. I’m not even tired, T.” “Come on, I’ve known your tired face since we were five.” “Fine. Rules are rules.” “Really?” “Yes only if I’m little spoon.” “Done deal!” Tommy grabbed Oliver’s hand, and dragged him into their bedroom.

Four:

“The plan is to break into the Argus facility whilst the state of emergency has been turned on due to the prisoners being released. Of course, they will stay contained in their cell block just not the individual cell. From there we can get Bloodine out of there, and force him to give up all the information he’s been given on the new Argus protection.” Tommy had entered the arrow cave moments before, unnoticed by Oliver. “Hey,” he said, joining them in the center of the room. “Hi,” Ollie whispered to him, giving him a kiss. “Hi Tommy, what brings you down to our humble abode?” Felicity questioned. “Just needed to drag Oliver home, remember we have the Merlyn Global Charity Gala tonight,” he only half made up. “That’s on Thursday,” Oliver remembered. “If you know when it is, why are you always so goddamn late for everything!” Tommy jokes, kinda. Felicity and Diggle sensed the tension, “We have to- uh, go over there,” Diggle awkwardly covered. “They did the thing, so started talking,” Oliver told Tommy. “Fine, fine. I’m vetoing this mission for you.” “This is a standard mission,” Oliver said with a sigh, “It’s not unsafe.” “Yes dealing with a mass murder who has slipped through your fingers a number of times is not dangerous at all. And, who has beaten you in a fight previously.” “Won’t happen again.” “How are you so sure about that?” “I am. I get it, you're scared, but this one is important. It’s the difference between the city blowing up and it now blowing up. We’re talking millions of lives here.” “I know, I-” “I’ll be careful.” “Rule #1.” The sacred rule one, which Tommy, in four years of dating, has only used a single other time. “Tommy you can’t. Not this one.” “The rules are the rules.” “Not this time, no. I- it’s too important.” “Oliver, do you not remember that your missing being so important was the whole basis of creation of the rules!” “Tommy, I can’t deal with this right now.” “Can’t deal with-” Tommy turned his back on Oliver, “Yeah, you know what. Go and get your stupid ass killed. And do not think about stepping foot in our apartment if you take on the mission!” Oliver was at a loss for words as his better half stopped off.

Later that evening Tommy made an important call. “Hi Barry, I need you to do me a favor.” “Anything, you know I owe you one.” “Thanks. There’s this mission that Ollie’s idiotically going on. It’s bloodline-” “The one he lost a while back.” “Yeah.” “Give me the details. I’ll watch out for all of them.” “Ok, so-” Tommy described the mission and sent him the plan he’d downloaded on his phone with some Merlyn Global tech he indefinitely borrowed.

As soon as he got word that they’d returned, he made his way to the Arrowcave. “Thank you Barry,” he said, giving the other a hug. “Anytime, good thing I was there too. Bloodline nearly bombed the place secretly, and would have killed anyone in the building. The guy’s smart,” he said, only slightly gravely. Oliver was standing there looking guilty. As soon as Tommy heard that, he launched himself into Ollie’s arms. “God you idiot, you almost died. Stupid. God, I love you, please listen to me next time.” “I’m sorry, I’m-” “It’s okay. I got you. You might be the green arrow and all, but you're still my boy first.” Oliver just smiled.

Five:

Tommy curled into Oliver’s side, and said,” You are not going back to that island, not without me.” “I don’t want to take you there.” “Why?” “It’s horrible and the worst memories of my life exist there-” “You trust me?” “Yes.” “Then listen when I say, I know you. I know many of those memories, and if there are worse terrors it will not change how I see you. It will not change how much I love you.” “It will though. Some of the things I had to do and some of the things that were done to me, they are truly awful.” “I can swear to you it will not. And we can talk. I can tell you how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. It’s this great thing called communication.” “Shut up.” “Ok. Fine, only if you take me on the island.” “Tell me why you want to come so bad.” “You're so oblivious sometimes, it's adorable.” “Nothing about me says adorable Thomas.” “Thomas huh? Everything about you is adorable. Have you seen your face when you're happy, it’s the cutest thing in the world.” “Whatever you say. You’re such a sap.” “I am. And the reason I want to go is because of what you said. The worst memories of your life exist there.” “Yes and?” “It will be, if not close to, physiological torture returning there. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a tad protective of you.” Ollie rolled his eyes, “Of course I’ve noticed. I also know that I’m fairly mentally strong at this point.” “That doesn’t mean you don’t need a reminder that you no longer exist in those memories. A reminder that you live here. That you have a team that loves you and a boyfriend who loves you even more. And we live together in a wonderful apartment, and have some, might I say, wonderful sex and-” Oliver laughed, “I get your point, thanks, love.” “So?” “Yeah.” “Yeah I can come or yeah we have great sex.” With a smile on his face he said, “Yes you can come. Might need a refresher on the second part, though.” “Do you, now? I think that can be arranged.” They both started laughing, and then kissing. “Thanks,” Oliver whispered moments later. “Anytime, you’re my boy after all.”

+1:

He let him go. Well, no, he didn’t. He didn’t know, no one told him. Oliver didn’t tell him. What kind of stupid motherfucker goes and fights Ra’s al Ghul and doesn’t tell his fiance.”

He crashed into his father’s home, “MALCOM!” Malcolm seemed to be praying in his sparring room. “Hello son, it seems as though you’ve started using my name once more. What have I done this time?” “YOU LET OLIVER GO AND FIGHT RA’S AL GHUL.” “One does not ‘let’ Oliver Queen do anything. You of all people should know that.” “Stop with the cryptics, this is my fucking fiance we’re talking about.” “It was his choice.” “It was- I? Please just, is he alive?” “Likely no. These battles are to the death and Ra’s al Ghul-” “I’m not asking for your opinion, I’m asking for proof. His body, a sword, blood.” “I know a place that could tell you that information, I shall go. I mean no harm to you, son.” “No harm, no harm,” Tommy chuckled. “Come, I’m having tea, then I shall leave.” “Tea? Tea? Do you not remember when mum died? No course not, you are an apathetic killer. My fiance is, is missing and you want me to have tea with you. God, you really are a joke.” “I am doing you a favor here, Tommy.” “THIS IS YOUR FAULT.” “Do you really believe that? Or are you blaming me because you blame yourself. I-” Tommy was walking about before Malcom could end his sentence.

When Malcom returned with the sword, Tommy fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes. “It’s not Oliver blood, we don’t know yet-” Felicity attempted, already swabbing the sword. “And how do we know this is not fake?” Diggle questioned. “Because it is the family we are talking about. I do not take matters concerning family lightly.” “Thank you Malcom, you may leave now,” Tommy whispered, barely audible to the room. Malcolm dramatically exited, and Tommy was left waiting. “Felicity,” he managed weakly. There was a beep, a moment of absolute silence, and then a broken voice, “it’s his.”

How do you cancel a wedding venue, how do you sleep in a bed alone, how do you cook an omelette. These were all questions that he never needed to answer. But he did. It all changed.

He constantly blamed himself for not knowing and not stopping his boy. Each night he laid awake drifting between awake and lightly asleep. He wanted his Oliver. He wanted his boy to hold him tight and never let go. “Hey,” a voice said, a voice that sounded eerily familiar. “Shut up, shut up,” Tommy said, crying. He couldn’t hear that voice in his head. “Hey, it’s me, it’s me Tommy I promise.” “Oliver?” Then he was crying all over again, but this time he was crying into Oliver. “Don’t d-d-do that again.” Oliver was crying too, “I swear, I swear I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 407: Fall Princess

Ren crouched down as he crept towards the village. Ruby was right behind him on all fours as she crept into the village. Jaune stood proudly as he crept into the village. Nora nervously crept up behind them. They approached the first house, and Ren slipped inside, quickly slipping out again. They repeated this as they made their way about the village. Nora tapped Jaune on the shoulder, and he crouched down to tap Ruby on hers. He made sure Ruby had stopped before turning around. He leaned down. Nora leaned up to whisper into his ear. "Are we... like... doing this to every house?" Jaune veered backwards before nodding. He then leaned forward once again. "What about, I don't know, tonight?" Nora asked.

Jaune veered backwards again and simply looked in her eyes for a moment. He then pulled back and looked about the town. His gaze focused on the inn. Two floors would give them at least a bit of warning. Nora vaguely saw the inn against the coming night, where Ruby looked over and saw it clearly.

* * *

Night was fully upon them as they made their way to the inn. This time Jaune proudly opened the door. Ren slipped in under his shoulders and into the inn, quickly looking around. Jaune crouched down to step into the room, followed by Nora and then Ruby, who closed the door behind them. Nora sighed as she looked about nervously in the darkness. Jaune reached back for her shoulder, but found her head, which he gently pet. The pleasant noises she made seemed to indicate that she had calmed down.

Ren slipped ahead, quickly moving from room to room before approaching the stairs, and looking back at them.

"Ruby, let's try to get the lights going while Ren checks the second floor."

Ruby stood up as the two looked around.

* * *

Ren returned to a well illuminated hall.

"Did you?" Ruby asked, but Ren shook his head. He quizzically looked at her as he approached. "Hm?" she asked.

"You are conflicted... afflicted." Ren voiced.

"She looks like she needs a hug." Nora said, and Jaune quickly pulled Ruby into a hug. The two enjoyed their hug for a few moments before Ruby looked up at him.

"So, uh, how long are we going to?" she tried to ask.

"Until you stop shaking." Jaune replied. Ruby cuddled back up to him and contently sighed.

"Wait?" Nora asked, "If Jaune's not... who's going to cook?"

"I will see," Ren stated, "what I can do - with the kitchen." He then walked off before stopping and turning around, "And right now, Ruby's comfort is important for all of our safety."

"Because bad thoughts bring bad Grimm." Nora stated, as Ren left the hall. "I know when I'..." she said, and gestured to Ruby, "hugging Ren always helps me. Is this really your first time?"

"A ruined village." Jaune stated, "The bodies..."

"Just hold me..." Ruby said to him, and Jaune hugged her even tighter.

* * *

Jaune and Ruby sat on a couch with Nora lounging opposite them. Ren walked in and he was carrying what looked like a flute? It was an extremely dark green, nearly black, but had green filligree that seems to catch the eyes. He pulled it out and started playing, the green filligree beginning to glow. The music quickly soothed their souls as they could feel their tension sublimating off of them. The music was so beautiful the others could do nothing but focus on the music. Their eyes became glassy as they looked off into the distance.

* * *

Ren finished playing and quietly sat down on a nearby chair. "I am honoured that my music could soothe you so."

Jaune shook his head vigorously to remove the cobwebs. "What was that?!" he asked.

"It seems I can use my Semblance with the music." Ren quietly, simply replied.

"Okay?," Jaune asked, "but like, okay, Ren, sorry, but I've got a few questions."

"I figured you might."

"You play the flute?!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Off and on for my entire life." Ren voiced, "As least... once... " he said, and solemnly trailed off. "Music was the only thing we could really bring with us. Every place has a flute, including this one, it seems."

"Okay, that answers a couple of my questions.." Jaune voiced, and Ren developed a wide smile, the widest Jaune had ever seen on him.

"It seems it's worked with Wind Dust, natural wind dust, which is becoming a rarity nowadays." Ren voiced.

"How so?" Ruby asked.

"Everyone is?," he said, and paused to find the right word, "excited - about excess refinement." Ren voiced.

"I does make it more efficient." Jaune stated.

"Which I am sure is what they are after, but working Dust into objects was once a time honoured tradition, that this place seems to adhere to."

"Did..." Nora quietly added, and Ren sighed, dropping his head.

"Indeed."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Yes?" Ren asked.

"Is that what happened with Cinder?!" Ruby asked.

"As a point of order, you have not, yet, even so much as confirmed what happened there."

Ruby nervously looked about. "Okay, yeah, I guess I got used to - hiding - but like..." she said, and trailed off, "what would you guys have done if you knew?"

Jaune looked Nora in the eyes, and they concured. He turned to Ren and the same occuried. He then looked to Ruby, "I think I speak for everyone here."

"Well, duh!" Nora exclaimed, "You are the LEADER after!"

This caused Jaune to develop a warm smile, again, the rarest for him. He turned back to Ruby, "We would have wanted to help you."

Ruby nervously looked down.

"It seems," Ren voiced, "you have more allies than you know."

"I really should count my blessings," Ruby voiced, "once in a while. Uncle Qrow would always say that to me."

* * *

Aurora walked up to Klein. "Mr. Seiben?"

"Yes, Aurora, how are you settling in?" Klein asked her.

"I would like to speak to you about my quarters."

"They are standard servant quarters, miss." Klein replied, and she breathed in deeply.

"It's not the size I have an issue with, but the proximity." Aurora tried to say, "I should also be with my mistress when she needs me."

Klein's eyes turned blue as he leaned in to stare into hers, "That is a skill good servants develop." Klein stated. He then leaned back and his eyes turned yellow "Do you think it is easy for me to always be at the beck-and-call of this... energetic family?" Klein asked, and Aurora developed a curious look.

"how?.."

Klein's eyes turned brown, "Anticipation. You have to learn to be where they need you before they do."

"I have to read her mind?" Aurora asked.

Klein's eyes turned Blue once again, "Or as close as you can without that Semblance."

Aurora gently nodded.

* * *

"And that's what happened in the Cross-Continental..." Ruby said, and paused for a moment, "Weissy-Thing!"

"I do believe this woman was at the fall of Beacon?" Ren asked.

"Watching us with her henchmen!" Nora exclaimed.

"Emerald and Mercury?" Jaune asked.

"How did you know?!" Ruby asked.

"I was," Jaune said and paused, "worried about them. Before. We couldn't prove anything, though."

"Let me guess?" Ruby asked, "You felt it in your antlers?"

"That's as good a description as any." Jaune stated. "I think that only works on, I don't know, my friends?" he asked.

"Sympathetic souls?" Ren asked. "I do believe that is why Tranquility worked with my music, and why you were so enthralled with it, despite my lack of dedication to the art."

"Huh... wha?.." Jaune asked.

"He's just being humble." Ruby added.

"That is kind of his thing." Nora added.

"Indeed." Ren stated. He then heard something from the kitchen. "And I do believe that is my cue. If you could move to the table?"

Nora went from completely slack and relaxed to springing upright in a moment. Ruby and Jaune squeezed each other tighter before rising. Ren bowed and left for the kitchen.

[bleedinghearthalstead]

SWAT!Jay / Upstead AU

A/N: Part 8! My take on Upstead at the shooting range. Crossposted on AO3, link on my blog.

"Before we start shooting," Jay says in his best teacher voice, "we're gonna familiarize ourselves with the weapon first."

Hailey sighs. "Jay, I told you I just wanted to shoot the damn thing once."

"Before we start shooting," Jay says in his best teacher voice, "we're gonna familiarize ourselves with the weapon first."

Hailey sighs. "Jay, I told you I just wanted to shoot the damn thing once." She has been begging Jay since they started dating and he's finally caved, but she certainly didn't expect her boyfriend to go all firearms instructor on her. It's 8 a.m. on a Sunday and they drove almost an hour outside the city to go to Jay's favorite outdoor shooting range. The owner greeted Jay like an old friend, immediately putting a box of the right ammo on the counter and telling him that his usual lane all the way in the back was free. Of course it was free, Hailey thinks, it's 8 a.m. on a Sunday.

Jay tuts at her. "If you want to handle the damn thing, I'm gonna show you how to properly disassemble, clean and reassemble the Remington M24 Sniper Weapon System." He opens the rifle case and reverently takes out the M24, laying it out on a blanket that he's already spread out in front of where they're kneeling on the ground.

It's kind of fascinating to watch Jay disassemble the rifle with practiced ease. He's not even looking at what he's doing with his hands, removing the parts one by one by muscle memory, mostly looking at Hailey while he explains what every part is and does, making sure that she's paying attention. Once he has the rifle reassembled, he takes out a pouch with cleaning utensils and shows Hailey how to "maintain performance standard", brushing and scrubbing the inside of the barrel and wiping down the rest.

"Jay," Hailey groans, "you do remember that I've handled rifles before, right?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course, but you gotta handle Loretta with care."

She stares at him with wide eyes, trying to hold back her laugh. "You named your sniper rifle 'Loretta'?"

Jay warns her, "If you laugh, I'm gonna pack up and leave." Hailey bites her lip trying hard not to laugh. Glaring at her, he folds up the bipod on the rifle with a snap.

"No no no, wait!" Hailey puts her hands on his to stop his movements and gives him an innocent smile, then schools her face into one of pure devotion. "Please teach me the Halstead way."

"I swear to God…" At her pout, he huffs. "Alright, fine." Hailey grins and claps her hands in excitement. "But you gotta let me do this my way."

"I promise I'll be good." He gives her the side-eye, but relents and continues with his lesson.

Clearing away all the tools he used to assemble and clean the weapon, he sets up the rifle on the blanket, right on the firing line, pointing it downrange. "The steadiest stance to shoot in is the prone position." He motions at Hailey. "Lie down on your stomach with your legs straight. Prop yourself up on your elbows." Tying her hair up in a messy ponytail first, she gets down on the ground and Jay gets up to adjust her arms and kicks her legs further apart until they form a nice Y-shape. Knowing she is a lefty, he continues, "Now put the butt of the rifle in your left shoulder close to your neck." Again, he moves her arms to the right positions ‑ right elbow on the ground just to the right of the rifle's forearm, right hand under the butt of the stock, left elbow on the ground, making sure that her shoulders are level. "Put your left hand on the pistol grip and pull the rifle into your shoulder."

Already comfortable in her position, Hailey rests her face firmly against the stock, looking straight down the sights. Letting her breath out slowly, she inches her trigger finger to its intended position, but before she can curl her finger around the trigger, Jay steps on her right foot. Her head snaps back and she glares at him. "Ow, what the hell, Jay!?"

He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly having seen that she was ready to pull the trigger. "Easy there, tiger. Your feet weren't flat on the ground-" He then smirks and holds up a single round with two fingers. "-and the rifle's not even loaded yet."

"Whoops." She lets out an embarrassed laugh, realizing that she let herself get caught up in the excitement of finally being allowed to hold the coveted sniper rifle after Jay's show-and-tell that lasted almost an hour. She doesn't think she's been this giddy about shooting a weapon since firearms training at the academy.

Jay shakes his head at her and laughs. He squats down next to her and instructs, "Raise the bolt handle and pull it all the way back." She does as she is told and he one by one pushes five cartridges down into the internal magazine. "Now slowly slide the bolt forward and push the handle down." When the handle slots into place, he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Loretta is now officially loaded."

Hailey rolls her eyes as he grins. "Can I shoot now?"

"Patience you must have, my young padawan."

"Please don't jump on my back." Hailey laughs. "Or make me carry you through a swamp."

"Feel the force!" Jay lets out an evil laugh in return and drops down on her back, making her squeal. Holding her down with his body weight but careful not to crush her, he starts tickling her sides, her arms trapped under her. Hailey squeals again and tries to buck up to push Jay off of her, but he doesn't budge. He does however stop tickling her and begins to kiss the side of her exposed neck instead, his hands roaming up and down her sides. She lets out a low moan and tilts her head up to give Jay a better angle.

Her boyfriend is in the middle of sucking a hickey on her neck, but Jay's lips freeze on her skin when someone clears their throat next to them. "I don't mean to interrupt…"

Jay jumps up and gives the shooting range owner a sheepish smile. "Hey, Walt."

Walt gives them both a look like he's a disapproving parent admonishing two teenagers. "There's other people here too, Jay, so try to keep it clean, will ya?"

"Sorry, Walt. It won't happen again."

The older man nods, then leans closer to Jay and whispers, "She's cute." He winks at him and turns to walk back towards the front office.

Watching them from her position still lying on the ground, it's the first time Hailey has ever seen Jay blush. She giggles. "Well, that was awkward."

"That was one dad talk that I didn't think I ever needed." Jay grimaces. "I might have to find a new shooting range."

Hailey snickers and slaps his ankle. "Calm down, let's just get back to teaching me how to become Badass Sniper Hailey."

Jay raises an eyebrow at her, then bows down and playfully slaps her butt. At her indignant look, he grins. "Let's get to it then, badass. Get back in the prone position." Checking her stance, he does some minor adjustments, then pulls out a spotter's scope from a compartment in the rifle case and lies down next to her. Using the scope to look downrange, he picks out a target for her about fifty yards away. Considering she does have experience with long guns, this should be an easy shot. "Target at fifty yards, you got it in your sights?"

Hailey looks up from the scope mounted on the rifle and scoffs at Jay. "Fifty yards? You serious right now?"

He sighs. "We'll work our way up. I want you to get used to the motions first."

"Fine." Huffing, Hailey goes back to looking down the sights. "Yeah, I got it."

"Any adjustments you need to make? The knob on the right side of the scope is for windage and the top knob is for elevation."

"No, I don't think so." Luckily for Hailey, it's a clear and sunny day with barely a breeze.

"Good. Now chamber a cartridge. Raise the bolt and pull it back until it stops. Push the bolt forward. The bolt removes a cartridge from the magazine and pushes it into the chamber. Push the bolt handle down." She follows his instructions and she can hear a round move into place. With the way Jay has been taking care of this weapon, it's no wonder the mechanics work so smoothly.

"To fire, switch off the safety and then squeeze the trigger. Now before you do, one last thing that is also one of the most important things when firing – your breathing has the most effect on your shot. Breathe in through your nose and slowly breathe out through your open mouth, try to relax and slow down your heart rate." He hears her take a couple of deep breaths. "Fire at will." Hailey breathes deeply a few more times before a shot rings out and hits the target with a metallic ping. "Good. You hit it between the 9 and 8 ring. So either there was some wind or you swayed to the left when you took your shot. Use the bolt action to chamber another round and try again." On the second shot that takes her considerably shorter to set up, Hailey hits the target inside the 10 ring. She's a fast learner and Jay beams at her in pride. "Let's move on to a hundred yards."

Jay lets Hailey take a few shots on the 100 yards target which she pretty much nails before he hands her another five cartridges and tells her to reload. Remembering what he showed her earlier, she easily manages the task and immediately chambers a cartridge, ready to shoot again. They continue moving from target to target in 50 yards increments. When they get to the 300 yards target and she hits it at the bottom of the 7 ring, she lets out an indignant huff. Jay chuckles at her. "We're shooting at a longer distance now, so you have to adjust the elevation on your scope."

Realigning her shot, Hailey hits the bullseye and her eyes widen when a metal plate on the target comes loose and reveals the words "will you". She is about to ask Jay what is up with that, but he has already moved on to their next target, telling her that he'll buy her a really nice bottle of champagne if she hits the bullseye on the first try. Challenge accepted, she again focuses on the target, this time taking her time to adjust the scope and concentrating on regulating her breathing. Deliberately squeezing the trigger, she hits the bullseye. Another metal plate folds down.

Instead of being pleased at herself for achieving the shot, having read the words on the target, she squeaks out a tiny "what" and turns up to Jay who is now on one knee next to her, holding a beautiful solitaire diamond ring out to her. "I know we've only been together for two years, but I love you so much and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so..." He takes a deep breath and gives her a hopeful smile. "Hailey Upton, you hit me right in the heart, will you marry me?"

Hailey feels like she's going through some sort of out of body experience, but she doesn't even have to think about it. "Yes!" She throws herself at Jay and kisses him fiercely. He laughs into their kiss and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

Pulling back, Jay takes her left hand and slides the ring onto her finger. "It's my mom's ring," he whispers, "She would've loved you too."

Hailey's heart warms infinitely and she takes Jay's face into her hands to kiss him again. Breaking their kiss and leaning her forehead against his, she whispers back, "I love you."

"Congrats, kids!" There's the sound of a cork popping and Walt is back with a bottle of champagne and flutes. There's also cheering coming from far away that's moving closer and Hailey laughs and watches as Jay's team mates come running towards them from downrange, whooping and whistling loudly.

Jay grins. "Walt and the boys helped me set this up. Sorry for stepping on your foot, but you almost ruined your own proposal, they weren't done with the plates yet."

At that moment, the guys descend on where they were set up and Mitch slings an arm around each of them and gives them a bear hug yelling, "YAY, GUYS!"

They all laugh and Walt hands out champagne glasses to all of them. "To Hailey and Jay!" They all raise their glasses and cheers to the couple.

"Since we're here already …" Sam, Jay's spotter, pulls out a different rifle case out of nowhere. "I'm gonna beat you this time, Halstead."

Jay groans. "Dude, you're seriously bringing this up right now? I just got engaged!"

The two of them start bickering and the other team guys start laying in as well, but Hailey doesn't care, she's on cloud nine right now. This is definitely not how she imagined being proposed to, but it went down in pure Jay Halstead fashion and it's perfectly them.

They end up spending the rest of the day at the range, Jay and Sam, who is also an ex-army sniper, doing trick shots (and where did the cooler full of beer come from?) until Hailey leans down to Jay while he is lining up a shot and whispers, "Do I need to compete with Loretta or can I spend some time alone with my fiancé?"

Jay takes his shot, but doesn't even hit the target in the black and packs up his gear. The guys watch them knowingly and start wolf-whistling. Jay just gives them the finger and Hailey waves at them as he drags her behind him.

[leonidas-banana-phone]

A New Batch of Shinies

Spooks, Ven and Sage travel to Kamino to gather the rest of Sage’s squad. 

Words: 2996

No warnings for this one :)

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

She tugs on the stiff uniform as she runs across the wet landing platform, the cold air whips around them. A Kaminoan waits just inside the door of the facility, their hands clasped gently in front of them. They're graceful in a terrifyingly cold way. She bows, "You must be Lieutenant Cerez. Welcome to our facility." 

"Thank you, ma'am. Glad to be here." Spooks put on her best officer smile. Ven and Sage grumble into their comms. She tries her best to shake them off, it can't be easy coming back here after all this time. She's heard what happens to clones when they're sent back to Kamino, decommissioning, or reconditioning, there are even rumors of them being killed, horrible, terrible things.

The Kaminoan looks over at her clone escort, Sage and Ven, as well as the rest of Sage's squad, Oli, Worm, Clocks, and Enlo. They wanted to be front and center when they met the rest of their squad. She almost sneers at them, it puts her on edge. "Let's get started, shall we? I'll give you a tour of our facility while your men meet the new squad."

"Of course, ma'am, lead the way." She takes the offered position as she walks next to her.

She looks over to see Ven and Sage being led away by two troopers, their armor decorated in black and white.

"I feel this squad will be satisfactory for what your division needs." The Kaminoan tells her. The lieutenant just nods along. "What exactly does your division do, Lieutenant?"

"Reconnaissance," Axta replies bluntly.

The Kaminoan hums in what she hopes is an approving tone. They walk through a set of blast doors and her breath all but wheezes out of her, the room is basked in a soothing blue glow, medical officers wander around with datapads peering into the cribs and tanks. "This is where we decant the clones." The Kaminoan leans down and gently picks up the baby.

Axta stands frozen, staring at a baby in a tank. She's read the mechanics on the gestation of babies without an actual womb but to see it is something else completely. It's so sterile and cold.

The Kaminoan offers her the child, who is bundled up in a white blanket when she is called by one of the officers. She gently takes the bundle and cradles it close to her chest. Axta didn't have a mothering bone in her body, she was awkward, stiff, her movements jerky and unsure. The baby has brown eyes and brown skin, just like the rest of the clones. He reaches out for a strand of her hair that has fallen from its pinned spot. "No, no, no. You can't have that." She lets him grab onto her finger instead, his skin contrasts hers, the light in the room makes her skin almost glow.  

An alarm goes off on one of the nearby monitors and a clone medic rushes towards her, his own bundle in his arms, "Hold him for me?" He hands the baby off to her with a single-minded focus. She situates the second baby in her arms and he coos at her.

She bounces both boys, "I can do this. It's just a baby." She murmurs to them.

"Hey LT! Where did the longnecks drag you off to?" Sage's voice comes from her wrist comm.

She tries her best to raise it to her face, one of the boys tries to grab at the flashing light, "Not exactly sure, she disappeared after handing me a baby. And then a medic handed me another one."

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

Sage leans over to Ven, "They took her to the decanting lab." He tries to keep the grin out of his voice.

Ven rolled his eyes, "Of course they did," He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Oh thank the gods, someone took them, I'm going to come find you." Her voice cuts through the comm.

Ven grabs Sage's arm, "I'm coming to get you, stay where you are."

"Uh, yeah. Sure." She sounds like she isn't paying attention to what he's actually saying.

Ven sighs, "She's going to kill me way before this war does." He turns to Sage and his squad, "I'll be back in a bit." He turns on his heel and moves down the hall.

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

She wanders through the white halls, clones look her over but don't stop her as she tries to take everything in. She turns down another hallway, this one with significantly less foot traffic, she breaks out of her haze when she hears hushed giggling and whispers. "Shh, we have to be quiet."

She pads silently to the dark alcove where the noise is coming from.

"What if Commander Blitz finds us? We'll be in so much trouble!" Another voice says.

"You're just embarrassed cause you got us lost!"

When she peeks around the corner she sees three cadets arguing in the shadows. One of them looks at her, "Oh no." His brown eyes are wide.

"Are you guys lost?" She asks.

One of them steps forward, clearing his throat and standing straight, "No sir, we're not." He tells her.

"I heard you whispering, Small Fry. You should work on that." She tells him.

He deflates, his shoulders slumping, "She knows." He groans.

"That's alright, I'm lost too. We can be lost together. I won't let you guys get in trouble." She crouches so that she's eye level with them, "I've got an ARC trooper looking for me right now."

One of the other two pushes his brother to the side, he has blonde hair, "An ARC trooper?!" He asks excitedly.

"ARC-4753. We call him Lieutenant Ven." She tells him.

The third cadet stays silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the ground, he fiddles nervously with his shirt, worrying the fabric between his fingers, when he meets her eye she can see a scar on his cheek, "I got us lost, sir." He looks so serious for someone so young, they couldn't have been more than six, which means they would only be three standard years old.

"What's your names?" She asks softly.

The excitable one speaks first, almost bouncing on his feet, "I'm five-two!"

"CT-4567, sir." The serious one tells her.

She waits for the third one's name, "That's Shy. He's the only in our squad with a name so far," Five-Two tells her.

Shy looks up at her for a brief moment before his eyes are back to looking at his boots. "Alright," She stands and points to Five-Two, "Five-Two, Forty-seven sixty-seven," She points to the next cadet, and then she points to Shy, "And Shy. I think I can remember that. I'm Spooks, let's go find us an ARC trooper, shall we?"

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

When Ven turns the corner he finally spots her, her pink hair standing out in the vast amount of white. When the troopers blocking his line of sight finally moves he sees that a cadet is clinging to her back and another one is holding her hand, a third circles around her babbling on and on. She smiles and nods along.

Ven stops in his tracks, the sight makes his heart flutter. She's treating his younger brothers like they're actual people, not just future cannon fodder, she treats them like they actually matter.

The cadet on her back whispers something in her ear and her laugh rings out in the cold hall, it's a sound that takes his breath away, he blinks, reigning himself back in before he continues down the hall, "Lieutenant!" He calls out.

She whips towards him almost throwing the cadet off, he clutches her neck tighter. She looks down at the cadet still clutching her hand and says something to him with a small smile, pointing to Ven. The boy's eyes go wide, the one on her back slides to the floor and straightens his fatigues, the others fix their posture.

"I thought I told you to stay where you were." Ven crosses his arms over his chest plate, leveling a glare at Cerez.

"These cadets decided to show me around instead." She smiles.

"And are these three cadets happen to be the same ones that Commander Blitz reported missing and unaccounted for?" Ven looks down at one of them, he has blonde hair, a harmless mutation.

She shrugs, "They aren't exactly missing, they didn't leave the facility." She's one of the ones that know the regs just enough to find loopholes in them.

His glare intensifies.

"They were misplaced, not lost." She shies away a bit.

He motions over a clone dressed in black and white, "I think these are your missing cadets. Luckily, they asked Spooks for help."

"Oh good. We were getting worried, I'll get them back to where they need to be." The clone places a gloved hand on the shoulders of the two boys who step forward, the third still clutches at Cerez's hand.

She crouches down in front of him, "It's alright. This trooper will take you back to the rest of your squad. No reason to be scared." She explains, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a soft smile.

The cadet's eyes flit between her and the trooper before he steps in line with his brothers. She gives the trooper a nod before he leads the three away.

"Can we go get the new squad now?" Ven's voice is harsher than he wanted it to be.

She looks down at her boots, "My apologies, Lieutenant. Won't happen again." A piece of her hair falls onto her forehead, he wants to brush it aside but he restrains himself, his fingertips itching.

He sighs, "We're behind schedule, lets get moving."

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

Pep stands rigid, watching the controlled chaos of the hangar from under the safety of his visor. He's supposed to be excited about this, getting his assignment shouldn't make him feel this unsure. He takes a quick glance at Card, he's standing tall with his shoulders pulled back, his posture loose and easy.

He runs through what he knows about his assignment: 694th Reconnaissance Battalion, his platoon is led by ARC-4753 and an officer, Lt. Axta Cerez, he sounds like a decent guy. His squad leader is CT-4644.

"Get out of your head, Pep." Smidge cuts through the nervous ramblings of his mind, "Just relax. Everything will be fine."

Pep squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, willing away the nerves. They're lucky, their squad wasn't split up, the platoon needed five more men, it's easier to send a training squad than it is to shuffle around troopers already out in the field.

A gasp comes from Smidge's vocoder, "Is that them?" He asks nodding towards the group of men in battered armor. An ARC trooper and an officer lead the group. The ARC's face is set in a stern expression, a scar cuts across his left cheek. He can't take his eyes off of the officer, her skin is a mix of grey and a light purple, her hair a pink that can only compare to the pictures of contraband candy they were shown, it curls and twists, pinned back. What surprises him most is the scarring across her eyes and the bridge of her nose, the cybernetics seems to look past his visor into his own mismatched eyes.

When the ARC steps in front of them, the squad snaps to attention. "I am ARC-4753, or as you will address me, Lt. Ven. This is Lt. Cerez." She takes a step back and a trooper steps forward, his hair is longer, unkempt with a green stripe, a small tattoo of a plant decorates his right temple, "This is CT-4644. Sargent Sage. He is your squad leader." Sage is trying to keep the smile off his lips but is failing miserably. He's clearly excited to have new recruits.

The woman steps up beside him, "Welcome to the 694th. We're glad to have you." Her smile is meant to comfort them but with her eyes, it just looks eerie, she looks almost like a ghost. "At ease."

Pep relaxes minutely. The four men behind Lt. Cerez move forward, one of them slings an arm around her shoulders, she smiles up at him, "What do you think, LT?" His hair is cut into a mohawk and a crooked grin covers his face.

"I think they'll do just fine." She says.

"We're needed back at Triple Zero, we should get moving." The ARC says coldly.

She nods, "Of course, lead the way."

Pep looks to Card and then to Flap and Flutter, none of them have taken off their helmets yet, not wanting to leave the safety of their visors quite yet. Compared to the seven of them they look like chumps, their armor spotless and buffed while the other plates are painted a lighter green the paint covering scratches and dings sustained in battle, with the scars on their skin to match. They're real soldiers.

Card bumps him with his shoulder when he walks by, "I said out of your head." He grumbles.

"Yeah, sorry." Pep looks at his boots before he follows.

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

They're quiet in the gunship, Oli and Enlo argue about the best way to calibrate the gyro-stabilizers on a JT-12 jetpack when one of them finally speaks up, "Why not calibrate during test flights? The user can calibrate it to their exact needs and specifications. It's unorthodox and can be a bit dangerous but it's more accurate."

Worm steps forward, "Not bad, kid. What's your name?"

"CT-7938, sir." The trooper replies.

"Your name, not your designation, Rookie." Sage buts in.

"Oh, uh. Flap, sir." The trooper reaches up to pull off his helmet. Axta finds herself staring, holding her breath. She shouldn't be nervous, she has a rough idea of what he looks like, she's in a gunship full of clones. She's excited to see what is different about him, what his personality has done to his facial structure, what his eyes look like and what color his hair is.

When he finally breaks the seal on his helmet the first thing she sees is a white stripe in his hair, it's small, just a patch with the regulation cut but it's definitely there.

Enlo grins, "You gotta spot there, kid."

Flap reaches up and tugs at the tuft, "It's just a mutation, Flutter has the same one." Flutter silently takes off his helmet as well, a small smile on his face as he too pulls at the white tuft.

Oli laughs, "You two twins?"

"We were grown in the same growth jar. It happens sometimes." Flutter is soft-spoken, everything about him has a soft quality, his eyes, his smile.

"What's your number?" Clocks speaks up.

"CT-7939," Flutter responds.

"Heh, cute." Oli giggles. "Flap and Flutter."

Worm elbows Oli, "Don't be mean. Do we need a reminder of how you got your name?"

Oli's face goes serious, "You wouldn't dare." His voice drops an octave.

Axta's eyes go wide.

Worm smirks, "Olee-oop."

Oli launches himself at Worm, "You bastard!"

Ven rolls his eyes, "Sage, control your idiots before they break something."

"Ey! Come on, not in front of the shinies!" Sage separates them.

"So why are we headed to Coruscant instead of out in the field? The rest of the battalion there? Ct-8721 by the way, you can call me Card." The trooper has a half-smile on his face, his stance easy and relaxed.

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

Pep notices a change in the group right away, the troopers drop their eyes to the floor and they draw closer to each other. Lieutenant Cerez has a neutral face when she steps forward, "The 694th Recon Batallion consists of one platoon at the moment. A surprise attack on their base took almost everyone out. Lt. Ven's platoon was on a scouting mission, Sage's squad was the closest so they ran back to help, he lost five men." Her tone is grim.

"There were no survivors?" Smidge asks.

She shakes her head, "No, there weren't any, that includes both The General and her padawan."

"Wait, so who's in charge then?" Flap asks.

"Spooks and I have been handling everything." Lt. Ven says.

"Will those men be replaced at all?" Card asks.

"At the moment, no. For now, we run specialized missions. Hopefully, we will have one soon to get you out into the field. For now we wait until we're needed." Lt. Cerez explains.

Pep finds himself nodding along with her words. They were made to adapt to anything so this shouldn't hard to adjust to. The woman smiles at him, the same haunting smile as before. "What's your name, trooper?" She asks.

Pep reaches up to pop the seals on his helmet, Card nudges him, "He's a little shy." He laughs.

He removes his helmet, "CT-8417, ma'am. Um, Pep."

She smiles, "I look forward to working with you, Pep."

"Last two, come on. We're almost back to the cruiser." Sage is glaring at Oli still.

Card speaks up first, "8721, sir. They call me Card."

Smidge adjusts the medpack on his back, "CT-7996. Squad medic. Smidge." Smidge's introduction is clinical and to the point.

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

A feeling of warmth sluggishly worms its way to her, she barely feels anything anymore after years of neglecting her Force training, after giving up that life, but every now and again she gets a wave of what those around her are feeling. Sometimes it's overwhelming happiness, joy, belonging, love, hope. Other times its profound sadness, grief and loss, anxiety, and fear. She's glad that her men have found a way to start healing after what happened.

She knows it will take a while for them to come to terms with the loss of everything they had known but at least this is a start.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 4, I hate April Fools it’s coincidence

In which Sans is that kid who made you laugh in church and got you in trouble. Also, rudimentary sex ed, though probably not at the same time. Chapter can also be found here.

*returns to blaring this song on headphones at a volume between “too loud” and “nngh hit me harder”* Try it, @lostmypotatoes!

It started as soon as they left the room. The guard said his usual "Go and return safely, Your Eminence" in his usual half-respectful, mostly-bored tone, glanced over at the sound of bones clicking on the marble floor, and nearly shrieked as Sans closed the door behind him.

"S'up," said the boss monster.

The man clutched his weapon and inched far, far back, ekeing out a miniature version of "Hail, visitor" from behind the halberd shaft.

Sans gave him a big smile, looming over the poor man with his fangs on full display. Frisk raised her hand very slightly. "That will do, Sans," she said in her High Priestess voice. "You, sir. When I returned from services last night, I found my chambers unguarded. When you have finished your work today, inform your sergeant that I will speak with him this evening and learn the reason for this malfeasance. Until then, no one is to enter for any reason. Is that clear?"

Nodnodnod. Frisk folded her hands and walked as briskly away as her tight gown would allow, clearing her throat to stop Sans from waving bye-bye in the guard's face. They were at the stairwell before she permitted herself to smile under the veil.

"This's gonna be a long day," the skeleton said as they hurried down multiple flights of stairs. "You hafta do this every time ya go somewhere?"

"Correct," she said. "I dare you to try it in these shoes, too." Frisk picked up her skirt enough to reveal her high-heeled slippers.

"Hell, no. I'm not payin' for those in my size," he retorted. But as he came down the wide staircase a few steps below her, his eye sockets seemed to stay pointed at her feet for several seconds, long enough to make her wonder if she was imagining it, and remind her of the times she had caught him staring at her during their lessons.

Actually, it was hard not to wonder about several things. Sans definitely seemed penitent, and he had ignored several opportunities to escape after his initial attempt failed. That in itself was noteworthy, but then there were all those odd, multicolored looks, how he'd healed her after she'd been stupid enough to break her hand hitting him; telling Papyrus that she was "okay" – a standing ovation by his standards – protecting her, touching her face, that jokey "I think I love ya"...

Frisk shook herself. She was being pathetic. Just because she'd gone straight from a convent to an exalted position with no opportunity in between for any romantic endeavors, that was no excuse to latch on to the first male of either species she happened to spend time with! Was she really this starved for affection? Was she genuinely trying to convince herself that a misanthropic skeleton behaving with a shred of decency meant he'd somehow fallen madly in love with her in less than a week? What would she even do if he had, which he hadn't? He'll be gone soon, she reminded herself. Think of what you need to do. Be grateful he doesn't want you dead and he's agreed to protect you!

Besides, there was always the basket of letters in her workroom. Frisk wrinkled her nose, but had to smooth it out as they approached the chapel doors. She never knew who was looking closely enough to see under her veil.

For most morning services, a minor priestess was in charge of the readings, while Frisk directed the choir and gave the closing benediction. This particular morning, she walked into the chapel with Sans three steps behind, bracing herself, hoping the parishioners would be too shocked to do anything but sit and stare.

The organist was warming up as they headed to the altar, and a ripple of gasps and terrified whispers began running up and down the pews, almost in time with the music. When Frisk stationed the skeleton in a partly hidden nook and assumed her position facing the congregation, she came within milliseconds of laughing again: every face was frozen in pop-eyed disbelief, most of their mouths agape. She made the mistake of glancing at Sans, who opened his own mouth and did an impression of the shocked humans that nearly broke her.

There was nothing for it. Reminding herself that Sans was quite frightening to look at, Frisk disregarded protocol again and motioned for the priestess at the altar to move aside. The girl was happy to do so, putting Frisk between herself and Sans.

The High Priestess waited until everyone began to notice that nothing was happening, calming down enough to get curious. Then, "I beg your attention, ladies and gentlemen," said Frisk. "We are joined today by an emissary from the monster kingdom who has agreed to apprentice under me as we strive to renew peaceful relations between our nations. I beg you to put aside fear and hatred, and join me in welcoming Sans as an honored guest of Church and Crown." She turned to the minor priestess. "My apologies, Sister Olivia. Please begin."

To her profound relief, the majority of her listeners seemed thoughtful or intrigued, a few nodding slowly. Only four or five of them got up and left, which was better than she'd hoped.

To her even greater relief, Sans stayed quite still and well-behaved for the whole service. The chapel was lavishly decorated with stained glass, statuary, and an embroidered altar cloth, but as Frisk remembered all too well from childhood, it wasn't enough to look at for an entire hour. She was probably the only one who could tell how bored Sans was as the prayers wore on; she learned quickly not to look at him during the readings, because he kept making faces and forcing her to bite the insides of her cheeks. Thank God she wasn't scheduled to sing today!

The service eventually ended, and she glanced apologetically at the boss monster as people rushed up to the altar, forming a dense, fretful clot around her. The first question to make it through the hubbub was "Is this the skeleton you bested in the dungeons, my lady?"

Frisk had already fielded many, many inquiries about that incident, and had kept her answers vague. Now, knowing whatever she said would be disseminated by people who had witnessed Sans' size and non-ferocity for themselves, she could tell them, "Yes. The monsters have been suffering a famine for many years, and Sans was captured in search of food for his family. By the time I came down to speak with him, he had been imprisoned for several days without knowing what his fate would be. Monsters are not animals, and he understood very well that he would likely be killed or enslaved. He had every reason to believe I was a threat and behave accordingly. Since we reached an understanding, he has given me no reason to worry for my or anyone's else's safety."

She let them absorb that information, and it seemed to be working, though the next questions were still "Is it dangerous?" and "How do we know it won't turn on you?" Luckily, the priestess had had plenty of practice at not screaming Were you even listening?! at people, and stayed as calm, patient, and reassuring as possible, emphasizing that the skeleton was not dangerous, and was not her slave, or an "it," adding that he would remain with her for another six weeks.

That last was a deliberate lie. No one was going to take custody of Sans from her through official channels, but anyone who wanted to get ahold of him illicitly would probably make their move closer to the middle or end of his visit, after they'd gotten more information to work with; if they thought he'd be there longer than was the case, it could very well keep him safer.

She wasn't sure if Sans could hear them from where he was, but she suspected he could, because the fifth time someone asked, "Are you sure it isn't going to hurt us?" the skeleton uncrossed his arms and lumbered up to the altar, scattering humans before him like frightened birds.

"Please excuse us, everyone, and peace be with you. Thank you for your patience, Sans," Frisk told him. "Would you like to take a different route back?"

"Indubitably," Sans said, confusing everyone in earshot. "After you, m'lady." He nodded in the humans' general direction before setting off after Frisk, who had folded her hands again to conceal their shaking.

Her heartrate slowed somewhat as they crossed several hallways to the foyer connecting the chapel with most other wings of the palace. Double-paned, diamond-patterned windows reached from a few feet off the floor to the five-story ceiling, and crystal chandeliers caught the sunlight and scattered it like tiny opals across the blue carpet. The marble floors and columns had been polished to near-mirror brightness; a guard in spotless red livery was stationed at every door, with two at the foot of each staircase.

The men did double takes as they passed, but were better trained than those assigned to Frisk's room: they recovered quickly, bowing to the High Priestess and taking their cue to ignore the giant skeleton trailing after her. Each guard was lean and alert, with a sword in hand and a dagger at the hip. "I thought you were gonna sing today," Sans said suddenly.

Frisk didn't understand where that came from till she saw him checking out the weaponry and remembered the assassin's remark about her voice...and her body. Her hands tightened involuntarily. "I rarely do at matins. More people attend vespers, so we use the morning services as practice for the less experienced clergy. I'm essentially there to supervise." She stopped in front of a set of double doors so tall that Sans could walk through without ducking his head. This time, a footman scurried to open them for her, leaving the guards free to try not to stare at the boss monster. "I'm excused this evening because I...well, I was supposed to be there last night. Enough people saw me before the service that I can pretend I was there the whole time."

Sans stepped up beside her, trying not to walk too fast. "Atta girl," he said amiably. "That shit is boring."

The priestess bit her cheek again. "That's no way to speak of a holy ritual," she scolded him.

"Well, I'd rather get a hol-y in my head than hafta do that every day."

She emitted a low snrrrk that made him laugh in turn, and they might have started another cycle if someone in red-and-white livery hadn't spotted them from far up the hall and began jogging over. "Your Eminence!" the man called.

Sans moved half in front of her, but Frisk tapped his elbow and murmured, "It's all right, he's the King's manservant. Yes, Lucas?"

"His Majesty and His Holiness jointly request the honor of your presence at your earliest convenience," said the manservant, sparing Sans a bored glance.

Frisk knew a command when she heard one. "Of course." She beckoned for Sans to follow as the man turned to speed-walk back the way he'd come.

"Have you heard, my lady," Lucas said as they hurried along, "that a man was found dead in the hyacinth courtyard early this morning?"

"Oh, dear," the priestess responded, careful not to overdo it. "Was he murdered?"

Behind her, the boss monster made a very quiet noise, and she turned her head just enough to shut him up. It was almost a shame to waste her acting on one person; she doubtless would have had this conversation with her parishioners if Sans hadn't taken precedence.

"No, it seems he jumped from a great height," said the manservant. "A very great one."

Frisk shook her head with a little sigh. "What a hideous tragedy. Peace be upon his soul and those of his loved ones."

Sans was loudly silent as the servant made several rapid turns and steered them up a series of increasingly opulent staircases, though wider and more richly carpeted halls. Eventually, they reached a set of doors over twenty feet high, emblazoned with the kingdom's heraldic griffins in brass and precious stones. "Fancy," remarked Sans.

"Very kind of you, sir." Lucas stood to attention as the guards hastened to open the door, the guards calling up and down the room that Her Eminence had arrived.

Despite the oversized doors, it wasn't a throne room, or an audience chamber, barely rating the word "chamber" at all; it was just a room with a high ceiling, several expensive chairs and a table near a fireplace. But it was the King's favorite, and Frisk knew from experience that he used it instead of the throne room whenever possible.

King Stephin sat now by the fire, a gaunt, gray-haired man with strong features and dark gray eyes. Next to him was a portly, red-haired priest in richly patterned silver-and-black robes, a marked contrast to the King's plain clothing. "Your Highness. Your Holiness," Frisk murmured, bowing deeply to each in turn. She took a step to the side, sweeping her arm at Sans. "May I have the honor of presenting Sans—"

"The emissary from the monster kingdom, honored guest of Church and Crown?" The king rose and took Frisk's hand briefly, studying the skeleton with great interest. "This is a surprise, but I hope it will prove a pleasant one for all concerned. Welcome, Sans."

Sans grunted. Frisk was petrified that that would be all he did, but then he said, fairly politely, "Thanks, Yer Majesty. Sorry if I don't know how to act the exact right way. No disrespect intended, I just didn't get much training fer this."

The king laughed, clapping his hands and sinking back into his chair. "That's quite all right, sir! I haven't been to the Underground in many, many years, but I recall that my exalted counterpart prefers less formality than is practiced in our court." He shifted to look at Frisk. "So, my dear, what is true in this matter, and what is creativity?"

Frisk smiled. "It's true that I had to work to get his attention at first, Majesty, but we didn't battle for three days and nights, and no one was harmed. All I have been doing since then is keeping him in my chambers to learn herbal lore. As of this morning, I am allowing him to accompany me in my duties whenever possible so that he can learn more about humans firsthand."

"Very interesting," said the Cardinal. "I hope, Your Eminence, that this experience shall justify your asserting authority over this monster in our names, without consulting His Majesty or myself beforehand."

She half-bowed. "With great respect, Your Holiness, it was an opportunity not to be wasted. I will take full responsibility for the consequences of my actions, good or ill."

"I see. You've been instructing him in herbal lore, eh?" The red-headed priest chuckled. "And how would you rate his progress thus far?"

"Superb, Your Excellency. He's the most intelligent person I've had the pleasure of working with," she said calmly.

"Oh?" The Cardinal scowled at Sans. "Tell me, sir, what have you learned in your time with our High Priestess?"

His inflection was just condescending enough that Frisk had to bite her tongue—if this was going to work, she had to trust Sans to speak for himself.

Sure enough, the boss monster shrugged and said, offhand, "The exalted lady has instructed me in the rudiments of phytological science, with the ultimate goal of sustainable agricultural improvements. I like the part where it bubbles."

Behind her veil, Frisk couldn't keep from grinning, and it took several seconds to get it under control. One of the guards in the opposite corner coughed, and the King laughed outright. "Thank you, sir. Your point is taken," the Cardinal said stiffly.

"Sans may have valuable information to impart in turn," said Frisk. "I understand that the Underground harnesses the power of wind and sun at least partly in lieu of magic. It would behoove both our races for humans to lessen our dependence on...traditional sources."

"And with this mutually beneficial exchange of ideas and cultural intercouse in mind," Sans said grandly, "I have a request for Yer Holiness. Can you excuse Her Em'nence from midnight services and maybe some of the other ones for the duration of my visit?"

Frisk started, but allowed him to add, "The lady has a lot to teach me, and it'll take a lot of time. Besides, t'be perfectly honest, it feels weird for me to be in church with 'er. I don't wanna distract anyone, either."

The Cardinal tapped his ring of office on the table. "Your zeal is commendable, but you needn't attend services with the High Priestess. Surely you can study or otherwise entertain yourself while she performs her duties?"

Frisk raised a hand to eye level. The men sat up expectantly, and the boss monster looked confused. "Please don't be alarmed, Sans," the young woman said. "This is necessary, and I will take it down the moment we're through." She raised her hand higher and brought it down, snapping her fingers twice.

The skeleton flinched as a golden dome appeared high overhead, forming a sort of bubble around them. "We can speak freely now," said Frisk, and laid a hand on his radius. "You're all right, Sans. All it does is block sound and images."

Sans nodded, but he looked so uncomfortable that she added, "You really need to lighten up."

That got a chuckle, and he stopped fidgeting. The Cardinal and King exchanged glances, and Frisk sobered as she turned back to them. "I barely survived an attempt on my life this morning. The guard at my door was either removed or persuaded to let a man into my rooms when I was at midnight service, and if Sans had not been there, I would be dead. I've retained him as a bodyguard, but he cannot protect me if I leave him in my rooms."

"Ah," said the King. "Is that the origin of the mysterious corpse in the hyacinth garden?"

"It is indeed, Your Highness. The man didn't leave us an opportunity to ask who hired him, so I intend to act as though nothing happened. We'll see if anyone gets frustrated that I'm still alive and behaving normally."

The Cardinal chuckled, and the King gave her a little salute. "Very clever, my dear, but please clarify something for us," said the latter. "How long will Sans be here, exactly?"

"I've said that it would be six weeks, but it will actually be twenty-five days more, Your Majesty."

"Understood. Thank you very much for your service, Sans," the King said gravely.

Sans shrugged. "To be honest, Yer Highness, she's my best option at this point," he replied.

The King smiled thinly. Frisk glanced at the barrier, then said to the Cardinal, "Your Holiness, how long would it take to acquire copies of the Church's ledgers regarding a very specific class of goods?"

The Cardinal looked at Sans, who didn't know why he was being looked at, and at the High Priestess, and her determined expression. "I don't believe that's wise, Your—"

"I beg you to excuse my directness, Your Holiness, but I will have that information, with or without your intercession, and I would much rather do so without raising any suspicions, or prices." Frisk took a deep breath. "If you do, I may find I'll have enough work on my hands to consider retiring within the year. I understand that my friend from St. Brigid's has been studying for the examinations and making excellent progress?"

The King's eyes widened, and His Holiness raised his eyebrows. "Mathilda Owen?" he inquired. "Yes, actually. She should be ready for the last stages by the spring equinox." He rested his head on one fist. "Am I to understand, young lady, that you would seriously consider relinquishing your position in the near future?"

"I think it's an excellent idea, Frisk," the King said quietly. "Next week is an uncomfortable anniversary, and the Prince and I would be very unhappy to have you meet the same fate as your predecessor."

"As would I, Your Majesty," she replied, earning another little smile.

"I understand, High Priestess," the Cardinal murmured. "You may expect the records in question to be forwarded to you shortly after the Feast of All Souls."

"Thank you, Your Holiness." She looked from one man to the other. "Is that all for now, Majesty? Your Holiness?"

"I believe so," said the Cardinal, and the King nodded.

"Thank you very much," Frisk said. She glanced up and clicked her tongue, letting the barrier vanish.

"To answer your request, Sans," the Cardinal said smoothly, "Her Eminence will attend matins every Sunday, and of course the Feast of All Souls, but otherwise, you may dedicate your time to the exchange of agricultural and magical knowledge. We ask only to be kept apprised of your progress, in which Dr. Serif will also be interested."

"Of course, Your Holiness," Frisk assured him, hoping they couldn't tell how disgruntled Sans was.

They took their leave with great cordiality, King Stephin rising to clasp Frisk's hand and give Sans a benevolent nod. The Cardinal was less gracious, but clearly pleased with the conversation, smiling to himself as the great doors closed.

Frisk and Sans were most of the way back to her room before the skeleton said, "What the crap."

"You were wonderful, Sans. Thank you so much." The priestess smiled at him, earning another scowl and mumble. "To answer your questions out of order, the Cardinal has wanted me to step down for a while now. I pay too much attention to where Church funds are going, and he likes for his minions to be able to steal freely. He doesn't seem to know that Mathilda is just as scrupulous as I am, and better at math."

"Lovely. Any chance he's the one who hired the assassin?"

"I thought of that, but it's very unlikely. He's been investigated for embezzlement and similar misdeeds already, and everyone knows he and I don't see eye to eye, so my death would make him look very bad. He could even be tried for it on a circumstantial basis. At the very least, he'd have that suspicion hanging over him for the rest of his career. It simply wouldn't be worth it."

"Gotcha. And this other chick is...?"

"Mathilda? She was my best friend in the convent. I never had visitors on family days, so her parents would take me on picnics with them. We've stayed in touch, and her brother...is also kind," she said quickly, catching herself too late. "Mathilda isn't as gifted as I am with magic, but she's an amazingly hard worker, and she's been practicing the entire time I've been here."

"Good fer her, but I didn't think you could just quit bein' High Priestess an' pass it off. Ya didn't mention that the other night."

"Because I can't just quit bein' High Priestess an' pass it off," she said in a fair imitation of his gravelly voice. "I told you already, I'll have to either accept a similiar position elsewhere, like Mother Superior at a large convent, or get married. I haven't decided which."

"Right. Now, what was all that about the Church and a ledg—wait, what?"

Frisk stopped to look at him, unsure if he was joking. "It's not complicated, Sans. I can't stop being High Priestess until I either take on another role in the Church or marry someone. I can't just say, 'I'm tired of this, so I'm going to buy my own private kingdom now and do whatever I want for the rest of my life.'"

His eyes were blank, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking, so she shrugged and started walking again. "I know it doesn't sound fair, but the position of High Priestess comes with a large income, and if we were allowed to leave whenever we liked, that would encourage someone to stay long enough to become wealthy and then abandon the Church. It's happened before."

The boss monster seemed deep in thought, which made no sense to Frisk. "So," she said, "what did you think of the King?"

Sans looked at her sideways, and after a moment, he admitted, "He's not nearly as crappy as I was expecting. Is he that nice all the time, or are you a special case?"

"He can be very kind," Frisk said evenly. "I know him personally because I tutored his son for a few years. Prince Gaius has never been very healthy, and when I first came here as High Priestess, he was using his illness as an excuse to get out of everything. The King asked me to show him how I use sounds to focus my magic, so I spent every other evening in the royal suites until about six or seven months ago. I don't visit very often anymore."

The skeleton nodded. "How old's he now? The kid?"

"Eleven."

"That's it? Isn't the king kinda old to have a son that age? Or is that normal for humans?"

She didn't answer. As they ascended the staircases back to her rooms, Sans said, "And ya mean to tell me humans don't use solar or wind power for anything? You just take whatever magic ya need from us?"

"Not for long," she said, a touch of steel in her voice, and he left it at that.

To their relief, a trolley loaded with breakfast dishes had been left in front of the double doors, the guard standing ready to push it inside for her. "Thank you," Frisk said to him, making Sans go in before he could frighten the man any further. All this, she thought wearily, and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. Sans had been right: it was going to be a long day.

~

Except, it wasn't. She changed into a more comfortable dress while Sans stretched out on the bed for a few minutes before they ate, trading egg puns and seguing into cracking the books open for a morning of study. The word must have gotten around about her visitor, because no one came to speak with her; the lesson stopped long enough for lunch, then kept right going. Sans had been getting impatient doing recipes for runny noses and papercuts, but put up with it in order to learn the basics, and Frisk was already rewarding his diligence with more interesting subject matter.

"Some of us could really use this," he said, pointing to a section on skin moisturizers. "Not me, obviously, but Pap's best friend is always gettin' itchy 'cause she keeps visiting Hotland and she's, y'know, a fish."

Frisk chuckled. "I can see how that would be a problem. Look here: do you recognize anything with aseptic properties?"

"Yep, glycerin. Makes sense t'find it here if it's a humectant, which..." Flip flip. "Yep! It's a humectant—attracts water. Can ya use it as a preservative?"

"You can, but as usual, it's only effective in certain ratios. It also depends whether it's the type made from soybeans or animal tallow. The differences are—"

And so on. They didn't stop again till mid-afternoon, when Frisk had to speak with the sergeant in charge of her guard rotation. "I offer my sincerest apologies, and I take full responsibility," Sans heard from near the door. He had been tasked with stirring the now-medium-sized cauldron in the middle of the worktable. It rested on a small base that kept it balanced and heated, fueled by a touch of Frisk's magic. "The man on duty last night relieved the previous guard at the correct time, but he wasn't present in the morning, and we haven't been able to find him. I beg forgiveness for this oversight, my lady!"

"Notify me the moment he is found, Sergeant. You are dismissed," Frisk said coldly.

The guy kept whinging about how sorry he was, and after a few seconds, Sans decided it was time to heave a huge sigh. The sound echoed in the room, and in the ensuing pause, Frisk opened the door and shooed the man out. "Thank you," she said, coming back to the table and removing her veil.

"Did I mention yer job sucks?" Sans checked the book and removed the stirrer, tapping it to shake off the last drops. "Can't ya just be a normal witch somewhere?"

"I believe I've told you before, the polite term is 'sorceress,'" the priestess answered, sniffing at the mixture. "And no, I didn't study at a convent for nearly eight years to end up as a village healer. I have nothing against them, but it'd be like a countess marrying a farmer—technically possible, and absolutely not going to happen."

Sans' eye socket twitched. Not very deep down, he felt as irritated as he had when she'd mentioned marriage on the way here, with some bonus aggravation at wasting his feelings on something that he didn't even care about because it was none of his business and he didn't care. "Here's what ya need to do," he said with forced joviality. "Hook up with a farmer or some other schlub. Piss the Church off so bad that they leave y'alone. Hire someone ta bump off Mr. Frisk an' pay the local constable to look the other way. Boom, you're free."

She didn't seem amused. "Let me think about it for a no, Sans."

The boss monster tapped his feet on the rungs of his stool and watched her put on oven mitts. She pulled over a rack of empty vials, picked up the cauldron, and began pouring it out into each one without spilling a drop. "Find somebody rich, then," Sans said carelessly. "That way, you can buy that private kingdom with his money 'n keep yers t'play with. 'Course, you'd have to find somebody first—no offense, there's nothin' wrong with ya, but I honestly dunno what yer supply 'n demand looks like. Do humans think it's weird to get with a former priestess, or...?"

Frisk put down the cauldron and considered him with a half smile, a thoughtful kind of look. "It's funny you should mention that. Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure, why not," he said, nonplussed. "What are pals for?"

That got him a real smile, one of the ones that made him forget thinking. The priestess got up and retrieved a small tray from a side table near the double doors, handing him the top envelope from a stack of letters. "I recognize the crest on this one," she said. "Open it, please, and tell me what Lord Gray wants."

Sans dutifully broke the wax seal, unfolded the expensive paper, and began mumbling out loud, "'Salutations, honored lady. I humbly request blah blah the honor of blah blah blah eternal gratitude blah your hand in marriage'?!"

There were two piles of envelopes on the tray. Frisk picked up one stack, laying them aside on the table. "These are normal letters asking me favors, claiming to be long-lost relatives, making improbable threats—the usual. These? They're proposals. All of them."

The skeleton didn't think she was lying, per se, but to her obvious amusement, he opened each one and skimmed it for certain key words, tossing it aside as soon as he found them. When he'd gone through all of them, Frisk gathered the envelopes up, went to the fireplace, and tossed the armful into the near-overflowing basket. "Dirt. I need to have someone file these for me," she grumbled. "I can't lose track of who's said what and how many times he's asked. It started when I turned twenty-one and became legally independent, and it's gotten to the point where—"

"Good fer you." Sans shifted around and thumped his elbow on the table, startling her silent. "Let's get back t'savin' the world." The skeleton flipped the nearest book to a random page. "Here, this looks crucial to the survival of my entire race. It's...what the hell's an 'oral contraceptive'?"

Frisk stayed quiet for so long that he glanced up. To his surprise, her face was bright red. "I don't think that's high on a monster's list of priorities," she said. "I keep forgetting to ask you, how's your magic feeling? I lowered that barrier when we got back, so you should start regenerating soon. You still can't teleport directly in or out of this room, though."

Sans had no idea what kind of medicine would embarrass her that badly, and made a mental note to look the word up later. "I'm startin' t'get some back, yeah. I should be able to help ya cut down on walkin' time starting tomorrow, if y'like."

"I thank you for the offer, but if makes me as sick as last time, I'd rather walk the whole castle in three-inch heels." Frisk came up beside him and flicked the pages a few times. "We need to take inventory of my supplies. I don't spend much time decanting anymore as a rule, so I'm running out of basics and don't have many specialized items on hand."

The conversation stayed along safe lines from that point on. Dinner came and went; the High Priestess offered to take him for a walk, but Sans had already had his fill of non-Frisk humans for the day and elected instead to soak in the tub for nearly an hour. He actually fell asleep for a bit, until Frisk had to bang on the door and threaten to come in and drag him out. His indifference to the idea – pointing out that skeletons didn't have any private parts – only got him in further trouble.

Later, Sans was sitting on the bed when Frisk emerged from her dressing room in her purple robe, towelling her hair dry. "Bedtime," she announced.

The skeleton yawned. "Sounds good. Want me t'check under your bed for monsters? Or assassins, or whatever?"

Frisk paused mid-rub. "Would you?" she mumbled, cheeks pink.

It was so cute that Sans had to cover himself with a big, emphatic gesture that carried him to his feet. "What'm I bein' paid for if I'm not makin' you feel safe, huh? Here." He strode out and made a big production of flinging open the office doors, revealing the empty couch and a messy desk. "Ta-da! Nothin' but the specter of bureaucracy."

"If only you could save me from that, too. Still, thank you," Frisk said, grinning now. "And I forgot to thank you for getting me out of midnight services for a few weeks. I can sleep in for the first time in months."

"Glad t'service ya." Sans saluted and turned on his heel with a grinding sound. "Night, kiddo." He went back to his room, shut off the light, and lay down, bemused at himself for calling her that. "If she's a kid, you're a real sicko," he mumbled out loud, and fell asleep wondering again what a contraceptive was.

~

They both rose late for another quiet day of study, interrupted only by meals and a trip outside before dinner. There was a lovely little terrace near the kitchens that few people used at this time of year, as there was nowhere to get out of the wind; luckily, Sans couldn't feel the cold, and was happy to stride around without worrying about banging his head on any doorways or low ceilings. The High Priestess' rooms were luxurious enough to have adequate space for him, but as weirdly satisfying as it was to play with plants and cauldrons, and as much as he enjoyed the view across the table, he had to admit it was good to stretch his legbones.

They didn't talk much outside, as Sans went to the railing to survey the outbuildings and orchards down below, while Frisk found a bench that had been in full sun most of the day. She'd brought a black cloak with red lining and a deep hood, and stayed huddled in it while the boss monster wandered around the terrace, each shooing away the occasional enterprising pigeon. When Sans came over to her with a question about the castle's layout, he noticed how tightly she'd pulled the cloak around herself and instead asked, "You cold?"

Frisk nodded, trying not to shiver.

"Well, why'n'tcha say so?" The skeleton extended his hand. "C'mon. Time to eat."

The priestess readily accepted, letting him tug her to her feet. "This is convenient," she said, still holding his hand. "The kitchens are right eep!"

In hindsight, Sans had to admit he probably should have warned her before he took them straight back to her rooms, materializing outside the double doors. "Sorry," he said to her, and not to the guard huddled in the corner. "You all right?"

Frisk tried to pull away from him and nearly fell over. "I am not all right!" She dusted herself off with one hand, the other clutching his sleeve. "You almost gave me and this poor man a heart attack, and now someone has to bring our food all the way up here!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry 'bout that." Sans shrugged at the guard, then opened the doors, letting her march into the room unaided. "But hey, yer already doin' better than last time, right?"

Frisk did not deign to answer, electing to stand in front of the fireplace to warm herself. "Right," the skeleton said. "I'll be over here."

Nothing. Her dignified, offended expression was adorable, but it reminded him that he had an unanswered question, and now would be a good time to look it up. There were a few varieties of dictionary on the bookshelves, and he selected the pharmacological one, deftly turning the pages to the middle of C.

In additional hindsight, Sans would tell himself sternly that once he found the definition he was looking for, he could probably have been more tactful than "Oh, fer crap's sake. Do humans really hafta screw that much?"

And he knew he should have anticipated the volume of her reaction, which was none for a moment, then a "What?!" that drilled straight through his skull and bounced around in it for a couple of minutes straight.

While he was standing there, eyes blank as he tried to recover his equilibrium, the beet-red priestess snatched the dictionary out of his phalanges and thrust it back onto the shelf. "All right," she said. "All right. All. Right. First things first: can I assume that you now understand what several of those recipes are intended for?"

"I un'erstand you damn near killed me," Sans complained, patting the side of his skull to be sure it was intact.

"I'm not very sorry, Sans," Frisk retorted. "Putting aside your terminology, I try not to judge monsters for having different physiologies than we do, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't judge humans. Given the way we're made and the number of children we can have in a lifetime, it's best to be able to space them out without having to give up interpersonal relations entirely."

The skeleton knew what he'd read, and what she was saying, but on some level, he was sure he'd misunderstood something. "You mean sex? Like, doin' it just for fun? Monsters know humans go at it a lot more than we do, but we always figured you just want a lot of kids."

He'd meant it honestly, which must have been why Frisk didn't kill him on the spot. She took a deep breath and said as calmly as possible, "I infer that this is not the case among monsters?"

"Hell, no. We don't toss magic around like that," he said, highly offended.

Frisk pulled the hood of her cloak back up and turned away, but he'd seen her trying not to laugh. "I don't know how much monsters are taught about human reproduction, but I can assure you that there's no magic involved, as such. It's an entirely physical process." She cleared her throat. "Monsters have to invest their magic before you can have children?"

"Well, yeah. If two monsters want a kid, it takes a lot of time and effort, 'specially if they're really different shapes or sizes They have to wanna be parents pretty bad for it to work."

"Interesting. Humans don't have to intend anything. If anything, we have to intend not to. If certain actions are taken, pregnancy can result unless specifically prevented. It's as simple as that."

Sans mulled it over. When viewed through that lens, the little he knew about human behavior – especially men's – made a lot more sense. It was bizarre and at least somewhat gross, but it made sense.

The priestess was still facing the fireplace. "Is it the same for boss monsters?" she asked, failing to sound casual.

The skeleton didn't know how to answer that, and the silence was getting awkward when they heard a knock on the door. "Heyyy, din-din," he said brightly, rushing to open it and scaring the life out of the poor woman pushing the trolley.

By unspoken accord, they didn't revisit the subject. He was pretty sure she was still thinking about it, though, and when they parted for the night, he had to admit that it was kind of funny—each of them obviously wanted to ask the other more stuff, but wasn't going to be the one to bring it back up. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself, not believing a word of it.

The barrier against external dreams was still up in the bedroom, but that night, he had one on his own. It was pretty simple: he dreamed he was a priest of some sort, but mostly a farmer? Anyway, he lived with his wife and several kids who kept going in and out the door and getting older each time they came back. Every time they did, he also got a little older, but his wife didn't; the more wrinkly he got, the more she laughed at him, pinching his face and offering to make him oatmeal or prune juice. He didn't mind, though. It was impossible to be mad when she was so sweet about it.