#whoever came up with the design of their room and the stained glass window to accentuate the contrast between Wed & Enid is bloody brilliant

[beif0ngs]

Because we work. We shouldn’t, but we do. It’s like some sort of weird friendship anomaly.

[avintagekiss24]

THE FALLEN || BUCKY BARNES

-- DEMON!AU -- ONE SHOT --

pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x black!reader || word count: 5,783 || warnings: smut, sex, vaginal fingering, demon possession, language, angels/demons || challenge: @wxntersoldiers​ 6k au challenge - demon!au || summary: heaven was above, hell was below - but now they’re both on earth, and you’re stuck in the middle. || author’s note: i stole a little from supernatural, a little from the bible (this is not a religious fic and I am in no way trying to push any religions/beliefs onto anyone!), and also took some liberties for this one! also, major thanks to @tropicalcap​ & @littleheavensangel2​ for helping me figure this fic out. love you two ladies!

just for reference, steve is archangel Michael, bucky is fallen angel Azazel, sam is archangel Uriel, rhodey (james) is archangel Gabriel.

line divider by @/writeyourmindaway!

You grip the shotgun tightly, your finger curled around the trigger as you stare down the long barrel. You keep your left hand cupped around the forearm as you press the tip of the gun into the rusty, old metal door, pushing it open with a loud creak. Your eyes dart around the abandoned warehouse as you move into the damp, dank room, the smell of sulfur hitting your nostrils.

Something shifts from somewhere deep in the warehouse - the familiar click of something metal hitting the floor. You whip in the direction of the noise, your eyesight aligning with the small sight at the end of the barrel, your breath going shallow. You stand stark still, just waiting for something - anything - to move, growl, or breathe, so you can blow it right back to the fiery pit of hell it came from. But nothing moves, nothing growls, nothing breathes - it’s just you and the silence of this new world.

You cut your eyes back into the center of the room and move forward, each step balanced and focused. You lower your weapon, very slightly, as you walk up on a small, burnt out fire. You kick at the old newspapers and napkins before you scan the room with your squinted eyes and kneel down beside it. You pick at the burnt rubble, lifting some to your nose to sniff at it before throwing it back into the burnt pile. Whoever was here is long gone. 

You close your eyes and bring your hand to your face, letting out a deep sigh. You rub your forehead and then your eyes before you grab the back of your neck. Sleep is pulling at you. Steve’s voice rings in the back of your mind - you can’t keep going like this. You’ve been through worse. All the survivors have. A few nights without sleep is considered a privilege these days. 

You take another deep breath but jolt back up on your feet, spinning around and hoisting your shotgun back up to your face. Sulfur fills your nostrils, stronger than when you first stepped into the warehouse. Then, there’s a soft sound of steps, one slowly after the other, circling you. You blink, but move with the noise, following it in a circle, training your eyes on the darkness.

“Come out.” You say firmly, adjusting your grip on your weapon, pressing your finger a little harder into the trigger.

It doesn’t answer. It just continues to circle you slowly, making sure to stay in the darkest parts of the empty warehouse, careful of the moonlight. 

It’s amazing how calm you are now in moments like this. A year ago, when the world first collapsed and heaven and hell was unleashed upon it - you prayed for death. You weren’t meant for this; you weren’t strong enough. You were a city girl. Starbucks in hand, AirPods in your ears, Christian Loubotins on your feet, a (huge) engagement ring on your finger. Your worst fear was someone parking their luxury vehicle in the spot that was reserved for your luxury vehicle.

Then it all went to shit.

Your Loubotins have been replaced with a pair of old, ripped Adidas that you took while out on a supply run. Your Birkin bag is now a high school boy's backpack, again, picked up while rummaging through an abandoned house. The only thing you have that reminds you of you, is that engagement ring, placed on a simple gold link chain and tucked underneath your tattered shirt. The weight of it, the feeling of it pressing against your chest keeps you grounded - it helps keep your memory of Bucky alive. 

Now, this shotgun, two hunting knives, and a katana are extensions of your body. Killing - demons or humans - is second nature to you. You are strong enough. 

“Come out,” you announce again, “Now.”

A deep chuckle rings out. You fire a round into the wall opposite you before pulling back on the forearm, the spent cartridge flying past your face and falling to the ground. You push the butt of the gun back into your shoulder and keep moving with the sound of the steps.

“Ooh,” a voice calls towards you, “Tough girl, huh?”

You fire another round, slamming the forearm back again to push another bullet into the chamber. The steps stop. Soft curse words float toward you as you finally spot a shadow doubled over. You smirk.

“Imagine if I were aiming for your face,” you shrug, “Bucky, come out.”

He chuckles again. He steps out into the moonlight, rolling his shoulders as he glances down at the bullet wound in his side, “I liked this shirt.” 

You peer at him over the barrel of your still raised gun, “Looks good on you.” 

He does indeed look good - like the old Bucky, the one you still dream of. He even keeps the simple silver chain that you gave him a few Christmas’ back around his neck. His hair is longer, and dare you say, you almost like it better than his tailored look from before. It’s pulled up into a bun - a bun! - a few loose tendrils falling around his face. The human Bucky never sported a beard, or even the smallest trace of stubble, but demon Bucky…. he’s, well, everything your Bucky was not.

Gone are the crisp, ironed, button down shirts, slacks, and designer loafers. Black combat boots, black jeans, black leather jacket now dress his muscular frame as he stands before you, his head cocked, a shit smirk on his face. 

His eyes are different, and that’s the most unsettling part. Those deep, ocean blue, often demonstrative eyes are just a memory now. Two yellow orbs stare back at you, devoid of any notion of who he once was - or the life you shared together. 

You blink, remaining steady as you watch him dig into his jacket pocket and pull out a loose cigarette; the gaping hole in his side closing up on it’s own. He places the thin stick between his lips before flicking his eyes back to you, and snaps his fingers. A bright fire starts to burn at the tips of them. He keeps his eyes on you and covers the end of the cigarette to shield it from any wind that escapes in from the broken window overhead, and lights it slowly. 

He inhales deeply, pulling his head back up straight as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke in your direction. He winks at you, playing with you seemingly before he shakes out the fire on his fingertips.

“Why are you following me?” He asks after a few silent seconds, taking another drag of his cigarette.

You can’t tell him why, although, if you could, you’re not really sure that you would want to. You don’t know if you really believe what Steve is trying to get you to believe. You were always a pessimist - the glass is half empty kinda girl. Something in you keeps nagging at you, telling you that your Bucky is gone. 

You still remember the last time he was truly your Bucky. His frantic voice filled your ears as you lifted your phone to your ear, your eyes wide and full of tears  as you sat in shock while the television at your office played out the gruesome stories from all over the world. Building collapsed, people running for their lives, blood staining the streets. Deep, long cracks in the concrete as fire spewed up from below. 

“Listen to me, baby,” you barely heard him say, “Just get home, ok? Lock the doors, close the blinds, don’t let anybody inside. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Ok? Promise me, baby.” 

“Bucky,” you whimpered as hot tears streaked down your face, “I’m scared, I can’t. I can’t -  what is happening?” You sobbed.

“Hear my voice, baby,” He said firmly, “Just get home, okay? I’ll be there, I promise. I will keep you safe.”

That was the last time you heard his voice.

He never made it home.

It took months before you could even understand what could have happened to him, months more before you could actually confirm it. You were out on a run, alone, looking for supplies and a dry place to sleep. You ended up downtown - apartment buildings made for the best supply deposits. It was dark, the streetlights had long since burnt out, but you grew accustomed to moving around with only the moonlight as a guide. 

You rounded the corner and stopped dead in your tracks. There was a group of them, but naturally, you hesitated - not knowing if they were human or the possessed. Just when you were about to turn and head back from where you came, you heard it. His laugh. When you turned back, he was facing you and every ounce of air was sucked right out of your body. 

He was alive. 

It had been so long. 

Every rational thought drained from your mind. You just wanted to feel him - to hug him and kiss him and tell him how much you missed him. How you’d known all along that you’d find him again. Your feet were moving before you even knew it. Your eyes filled with tears as you crossed the street towards him. You just wanted to feel him. 

“Buc-”

Before you could get his name out of your mouth, you were grabbed from behind and yanked between two buildings. A hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your screams as a chest pushed into yours. The strange man peeked around the corner of the building before returning his attention to you, shaking his head slowly, “Possessed,” he whispered.

You’ve been with Steve - well, Michael, ever since. He explained it all to you - the centuries old war between heaven and hell - good and evil - that had finally spilled over onto earth. How he, Uriel, and Gabriel (Sam and James, respectively) decided to help, despite their instructions to never interfere. The information made you dizzy. You didn’t believe it at first, you thought he was crazy - until his wings spread out behind him. 

You kinda had to half believe him then.

He also explained how it happened - how you could be possessed. You had heard along the way that just looking at one of the creatures crawling up from the gaping holes in the streets could do it. Others said all that was needed was a touch from one. Maybe it was a bite, or a scratch - some even said the possessed had been chosen from birth - everyone had a theory. 

None of them were true, turns out.

“You have to give in.” Steve’s voice was soft, his eyes cast away from yours as you gasped in terror, “You have to offer your soul to them for the demon to take you.”

You want to know why. You want to know why the man you were about to marry, the solid, the strong, the happy Bucky Barnes you knew and loved, gave up his soul - and if what Steve says is true - you want him back.

“I’m not following you.” You lie.

He snorts, “So, it’s just a coincidence we keep running into each other?”

You shrug, blinking slowly, “Looks that way.”

He nods back at you, taking another puff of his cigarette before he expels the grey smoke again and flicks at the end to rid the ash. He drags his eyes along your frame as you stand in the middle of the room, your weapon still trained on him. He knows there’s a story that you aren’t telling.

He tilts his head again, his eyes dropping from your face quickly before they return, “You knew him?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play with me,” He scoffs, rolling his eyes before he gestures at himself, “This pretty face. This Bucky, you keep referring to.”

You don’t answer. You just blink at him, tightening your grip on your gun again as you keep his chest dead center of the barrel. He kicks at the debris on the ground before he gazes up at the tall ceiling, still sucking on that cigarette between his lips. 

“I can’t give him back, you know.” He says matter of factly, “He’s mine.”

“I understand.” You answer simply.

He smiles widely at your humor, “Why are you following me then? Hm? Why do you keep following me around, girl?” His voice deepens by the end of his question - menacing, trying to intimidate you.

You shrug again, “The same reason you don’t ever try to kill me once you realize I’m around.” You click your jaw, “His body may be yours, but I know Bucky is still in there. He won’t let you kill me.”

Your words stun him into silence. He smiles slowly after a few seconds and tilts his head back as he drops the stub of a cigarette to the ground. He cracks his neck and then rolls his shoulders, humming softly. 

He steps towards you but you’re quick, instantly taking a step back, and then another, and another, in rhythm with him, “You want to know how I got him?” He asks, “Hm? How I took your precious little Bucky?” He mocks, laughing at you as your eyes go wide. 

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you squeeze your finger against the trigger a little harder, “Stop. Back up.”

“He was damn near dead when I found him,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “I thought he was dead when I first saw him. Poor old Bucky here must have been in a hell of a hurry,” he smiles again, his eyes glowing as he recounts the details, “Flipped his car in all the melee. He was trapped in there for days.”

“Stop it.” You whisper, your chin starting to tremble. 

“Oh, he was gullible too.” He laughs again, “He believed every word that came out of my mouth. It’s people like him that make it so damn easy - he didn’t even put up a fight.”

“Shut up!” You shout as a single tear slips down your cheek, “I mean it, I will blow your fucking head off.”

He stops moving towards you, but laughs again, clapping his hands as the stench of your fear and anger fill his nostrils. He titters, “I know exactly who you are.” He whispers, his smile growing larger as your face clicks in his brain, “He had your picture, clutched in his bloody hand, pressed right up against his chest when I found him.” 

You let out a sob. 

“I used you against him.”

“Shut up!” You scream again.

“He begged me!” He shouts at you, making you stop in your tracks. He clasps his hands together as if he’s praying, “Please,” he starts, mocking Bucky’s pleas, “Please help me. I need to get home, please.”

You squeeze the trigger, firing a round straight at his head. He’s quick, but you knew that, the bullet just grazing the side of his face as he sidesteps it. You slam the forearm back and shoot again, and again, the empty shell casings falling to the concrete floor, soft clicks and tings sounding as they bounce. 

Bucky smirks at you again before he disappears from sight. You reach for the hunting knife strapped around your leg and pull it from its sheath, spinning around on your feet and bringing it down with all the force in your body. 

He catches your arm in mid air. He folds your arm behind your back and whips you around, crushing his chest to your back. 

“All I had to tell him was that I could help him get back to you so that he could keep you safe, and he fell for it - hook, line, and sinker.” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath washing over the side of your face as you struggle against him. He starts to laugh, the sound booming through the warehouse again, bouncing off of the walls, “Isn’t that hilarious? Men are so fucking weak, just the thought of you brought him to his knees.”

He closes his eyes again and starts to sway the two of you back and forth, taking a deep breath, filling his chest and lungs with your scent, “God, you smell good. I could taste you on his lips as soon as I took him. I could feel your skin in his hands - smell that sweet cunt of yours.”

He wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing you to him tightly as he digs his nose into your hair. You shiver at the feeling of his prickly stubble grazing across your cheek, still struggling and whimpering to get free of his grasp. The hand around your waist sneaks up into your shirt, skirting up your warm flesh, his fingers finding your breasts. You gasp when he squeezes them hard - pushing you back into him with his strength. 

His tongue slithers out from between his lips, licking from your jaw up to your temple before he presses the side of his face to yours. He chuckles as he fondles your breasts with his fingers, his hot skin searing yours, making you jump in pain. He cranes your head to the side with his before he rubs his cheek against yours. He nibbles on your ear as you start to struggle once more, then dips down to your neck where he nips at the exposed skin with his teeth.

Your nipples harden. A shiver runs up your spine. An ache starts to spread through your stomach and sex as heat blooms across your skin. Your stomach starts to churn as hatred and anger builds within you. Your mind knows that this isn’t Bucky - but your body doesn’t. It just knows that these hands, these lips, this tongue feels familiar; and it’s been so long.

You feel his dick start to push into your ass, pulling another laugh from the demonic creature, “Looks like my pal Bucky and I both have a weakness for pretty girls.” He mumbles against your ear. He slithers his hand from your breasts and down to your jeans, his index finger tracing the edge of the denim from hip to hip, “I haven’t even touched you yet and I can smell you from here.” 

You're paralyzed. Stuck between your screaming mind and your willful body. He lets go of the arm he has pinned behind your back and grabs your chin, pushing it upward so that you can see him. You blink furiously as he gazes along your face, his fingers gently caressing your jaw and cheek, his eyes roaming slowly.

Your breath is heavy and audible - small whimpers escaping with each exhale. His hand pushes into the front of your jeans and dives right for the apex, finding your folds and clit wet and hot. Your mouths both fall open in unison - yours from the touch you didn’t realize you had been waiting for, his from the delight of it all.

He hums as his fingers start to play with you, rubbing and circling, flicking at that sensitive little bud between your legs. He feels your body tighten and the soft rock of your hips as a gentle, soft, feminine moan escapes from your lips. He tilts his head as he watches your eyes flutter from the contact - the sight of you, your smell, your soft skin, your sounds - it all makes him wish he’d been human all along. 

He pushes his fingers inside of you suddenly, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. You push your hips forward and let your mouth go slack again as your eyes close to slits. He pulls his fingers out slowly, then delves back inside of you, hooking them as he starts to stroke your slick muscles. 

Your body jerks gently as you grunt, your sounds husky and full. He keeps your chin in the palm of his hand, his fingers pressing into your cheeks as he stares down at you. He licks your mouth - over your chin and lips, up to the tip of your nose before he tongues the roof of your mouth, groaning as lust ripples through his body. 

He kisses you suddenly. Hard. Hungry. You moan into his mouth before breaking the kiss to hiss and groan from his pumping fingers. You roll your hips into his hand as your head falls forward, squeezing your muscles around him to add more pressure. 

He pulls out of you suddenly, whipping you back around and slamming you into the wall. You hold yourself up with your hands, spreading your fingers out on the wall as your chest heaves with anticipation. He pops your button and fly and pushes the thick material down to your knees as you push your ass back into him. You slide your hand to your clit, massaging yourself with the tips of your fingers as you hear him fumble with his own pants. 

His hands are back on your hips, his nails digging into your thick flesh as he slams into you. You jolt forward, moaning loudly as he starts to fuck into you hard - the sound of his skin slapping against your bouncing off the walls around you. You slam your eyes closed as you lunge forward with each thrust, your fingers still working your swollen clit. 

Bucky works your shirt up over your breasts before he pulls at the cups of your bra, freeing your bouncing tits. He cups them, then tweaks your thick, hard nipples before he wraps his large hand around your throat. He squeezes, tightening your airway as he rams into you from behind. Your fingers still push along your clit, slapping at the sensitive bud before you rub it as hard and fast as you can. 

He feels different - thicker than before. His cock seems to pulse while inside of you, filling up every inch of space your cunt has to offer. You can feel the blood coursing through the thick vein that runs the length of his cock - feel the thick, sticky cum bubbling from his slit. He pushes his cum deep; each thrust spilling more of his luxuriant seed into you. His sex is hot - the sheer heat radiating from every inch of him makes sweat pop along your skin. His fingers start to burn you again and you cry out in pain as burns mark your flesh.

You feel the pull in the pit of your stomach, the pressure starting to build as your body tightens intuitively. Bucky curls his fingers over your shoulders as he feels your pussy start to squeeze down on him and pulls you harder back into him. His eyes fall to your ass as your flesh jiggles with each thrust. 

You close your eyes again and let your head fall, bracing for the impending orgasm that threatens to consume your body. Small ripples of it flash through you, making you tense suddenly. Bucky’s fingers cover yours to help you massage your clit until you’re a shivering, shrieking mess. 

You cum all around his rigid cock. You’re loud - panting and moaning as you thrust back into him, releasing more waves of your long overdue release throughout your body. Your clit convulses, jumping with each contraction of your cunt, your muscles tensing and squeezing around him.

Bucky continues to slam into you, each stroke coming harder and faster than the last until a low, animalistic growl rumbles through his chest. Your wet muscles coax his orgasm right out of him, pulling more ribbons of cum from his slit as he ruts into you. He fills you up, so much so that he spills back out of you, making a mess of your already quivering, wet thighs. He grips your flesh so hard as he fucks into you, small bruises form instantly on your hips. 

He pumps into you one last time and holds still, wiggling his hips to push himself deeper into your sex as his cock continues to spit. You tighten your muscles, holding him in, feeling each spurt, each jump, each pulse of his cock until your orgasm recedes back into the depths of your body. 

You keep your eyes closed as your breath rushes, your heart racing. Bucky pulls out of you unceremoniously, slapping his dick against the inside of your thigh before he plunges his fingers back inside of you quickly. 

He then shoves them in his mouth, moaning as your familiar taste explodes on his taste buds, “Bucky has good taste.” He chuckles, slapping your ass before he tucks himself back into his jeans. 

You’re not sure what you feel right in this moment. Shame? Regret? Excitement? Relief? It’s a foreign feeling - whatever it is. One that maybe you used to know, but can’t really put your finger on now. Living through an apocalypse will do that to you. It humbles you. It breaks you down to the bare minimum of what you are; makes you shed everything unnecessary - like shame, regret, excitement, and relief. 

You pull your jeans back up over your hips and turn to face the demon in front of you. You lean against the wall and watch as he pulls another cigarette from his pocket and lights it with the fire he conjures at the tips of his fingers. 

“Feel better now?” He asks after a few minutes, “Maybe you can let me be.”

“I don’t believe you.” You say calmly, blinking at him.

He rolls his eyes as he expels a puff of smoke through his nostrils and lips, “What don’t you believe, darling?”

“You can give him back to me.”

He scoffs, walking right up to you again. He presses his forehead to yours, pushing until your head rests against the wall behind you. He taps on your temple with his index finger slowly, his yellow eyes bouncing between yours, “Your Bucky is gone. Get it through that thick skull of yours.”

“I don’t believe you.” You whisper, defying his every word. 

He leans back, smiling in pity of you, “Why not?”

“Because I told her so, Azazel.”

You both snap your heads toward the new voice. Bucky grabs you and pulls you in front of him as he backs his way into the center of the room. He peers over your shoulder at the tall, blonde man as he moves slowly into the room, the tips of his long, gloriously white wings dragging on the ground behind him. 

Your chest starts to heave again as Bucky grips your bicep hard as he continues to back up, his eyes squinted as he tries to make out the face of the unknown man. You can feel when it clicks for him. His grip lessens just slightly, he straightens up, he lets out a breath.

“Michael.”

The blonde man smiles gently, “It’s Steve down here.”

Bucky snarls as he keeps you pressed to his front, “These human names are ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs, “I kinda like Steve.”

“You would,” Bucky chuckles, “How are you, brother? It’s been a long time.”

Steve smiles again, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling underneath the moonlight spilling in from the broken windows, “I’m well. I miss you, we all do.”

“I miss you too, Michael.” Bucky answers earnestly, “I do, I mean that.”

“Then come home.” Bucky starts to speak, but Steve holds up his hand, “You can help us end this. Return her fiancé to her, and help us set this right.”

Bucky scoffs, “And ruin all the fun? I don’t think so. I quite like being bad.” He curls his fingers around your neck again, kissing your cheek as he starts to sway with you back and forth, “You should try it. It’s fun - freeing, if you will.”

“This isn’t fun, Azazel. People dying isn’t a game.”

Bucky groans as he rolls his eyes dramatically, “Can you fucking lighten up? Jesus.”

“Azazel,” Steve starts.

“It’s Bucky up here,” he mocks, wrapping his arm around your waist, “Isn’t it, sweet thing?”

Steve steps a little closer, “Talk to me, please. This isn’t about her.”

“This isn’t about her?” he laughs, “You used her, Michael, to get to me, and now it’s not about her?”

“I didn’t use her. You’re my brother, I can feel you, we all can.”

“We, we, we,” Bucky shouts, tightening his grip around you, “So, you’re all here, hm?”

“Yes.” Steve answers calmly, “Gabriel, Uriel - we all came to help.”

“Oh yes, because you love these repugnant creatures so fucking much, right?” Bucky shouts back, a sudden anger flashing through him as he gestures towards you, “Right?!”

Your heart rate quickens as you stare at Steve, watching as he stays as cool as a cucumber, “Yes.” Steve responds softly, “I do. I love them. We’re supposed to love them, Azazel.”

“They’re disgusting!” Bucky seethes behind you, “Humans lie, they cheat, they steal, they kill! They turn on each other like animals, they desecrate their bodies -” he grabs your chin and pushes it upward gruffy, causing you to hiss in pain, “This one just let me fuck her knowing exactly what I am,” he takes a long pause, “And you still believe they deserve our love?” He finishes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve dips his head, but smiles and lets out a small laugh, “I’m not saying they’re smart.”

He drops his hand from your chin and turns his head to the side, staring at the opposite wall. His body is tense, the heat of his anger radiating through every pore of his skin, “We gave him our undivided attention - unconditional love and devotion, and he chose them over us every single time. That doesn’t make you angry?” He hisses lowly, his voice wavering just slightly, “It doesn’t make you want to see them suffer? After everything he’s done for them, how much he loves them and for what? Just for them to turn their backs on him.”

“That’s not for us to decide, Azazel.” Steve says, his voice still gentle, still calm, not wanting to agitate him anymore, “You know what’s happening here is wrong. This is not our playground. If they destroy themselves, then so be it, but we can’t make that happen, especially out of spite.”

“Spite? Oh,” Bucky laughs again, shaking his head, “This isn’t spite, this is full on hatred. I loved him,” he spits, venom dripping from every word, “I loved him more than anything, more than anyone - and he cast me aside that I was nothing.”

“You were proud, Azazel.” Steve says firmly, taking a step towards him, “Too proud, too bold. You started to question him, he had no choice but to cast you out.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky shouts loudly, “He could have just loved me the way he loves these filthy humans.”

Steve closes his eyes, “You can still come home.”

“I don’t want to come home. I told you, I like it here.” He seethes, his voice low in your ear, licking your cheek with his hot tongue to antagonize Steve. 

“Bucky was a good man,” you say softly, your voice shaking as you try to reason with him, “You know that, you can feel it, I know you can. That’s why you don’t hurt me. You can’t - he’s too good, and you can’t control it.”

You feel his eyes on you and the anger still brimming underneath his surface. He drags his fingernails along your cheek before he cups your chin again, “Thanks for the swell time, baby girl.”

“Wait,” you say, trying to turn to face him, “Wait, please. Just listen to Steve, we’re not trying to-“

You blink, and he’s gone. You turn and let out a sigh as you stare into the dark warehouse. 

Steve moves up beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and rubbing softly, “Are you alright?”

You blink again, a numbness coming over you, “Yeah.” You say after a minute or two.

“You…” his words fall away as he tries to make his question as delicate as possible, “You mated with him?”

Your mouth falls open, but you shut it after a few seconds tick by, not having any sort of come back, “Please don’t, Steve.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I realize that,” you sigh again, “Thank you. I just got… caught up. It’s - you wouldn’t understand. It’s been awhile.”

He rolls his eyes, his wings swishing behind him, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world.” He quotes, shaking his head softly. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, sighing lightly, “Not now, okay? Please.”

“For while we were in the flesh, the sinful passions, which were aroused by the Law, were at work in the members of our body to bear fruit for death.”

“Steve!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, bowing his head, spitting out a quick prayer for you before he centers himself, “Did you get it?”

You hold out your hand. In the center of your palm sits the silver chain that was once around Bucky’s neck and the discarded butt of his cigarette. The apocalypse teaches you all sorts of tricks - like slipping a chain off of a demon’s neck while he argues with an archangel. Steve grabs them from you, bringing them to his nose to sniff them quickly, “These will be perfect. Now come, you need to wash the sin off of you.” 

“God, you’re annoying.” You groan. Steve cuts his eyes toward you again as he presses his lips together in a hard line. You throw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Jes- I mean… fuck, sorry.” 

He sighs heavily, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laugh a little as the two of you start to move back through the building, “I’m sorry, this is just,”

“It’s a lot, I know. But hey,” he grabs your wrist, stopping you so you’ll face him, “We’re gonna get your Bucky back. We just have to get this back to Gabriel and Uriel and we’ll have everything we need to summon Azazel to us and remove him from the vessel.” 

“He’s not a vessel,” you correct quickly, “He’s a person, he had a life. His name is Bucky.”

Steve notes the emotion in your voice, “I’m sorry. Bucky, we’ll remove him from Bucky. This will work, I promise you.”

You nod slowly as you let him pull you into a hug, “I believe you.” 

He knows deep down that you don’t - not really - not yet, anyway.

He’s determined to make a believer of you. 

[harryssunflowerkiwi]

‘KIWI’ Part 1.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Synopsis: You’re a famous designer. You meet Harry at a party and he is obsessed, but you’re not going to give in so easily.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Not much for this part! Some sexual undertones.

A/N: hello loves! This is my first fanfic ever and I’m writing it on my phone so please bare with me. If there are any grammar or spelling mistakes I apologize, I will do my best! There will also likely be smut in the next part! And please keep in mind that this is PURE FICTION and is in no way an accurate depiction of Harry Styles! It’s just for entertainment purposes only :) So without further disclaimers, let’s get into part one of a multipart series called ‘KIWI’ very loosely based on Harry’s song. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think and be kind xox

🥝Outfits mentioned in this part 🥝

——————————————————————————-

SEPTEMBER 3rd 2020~

You woke up to the sound of ‘dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac blaring from your phone that sat on the glass night stand beside your bed indicating that it was indeed already 6:30AM and therefor the time for you to leave your oh-so comfortable bed. The sun was shining ever so slightly through the crack between the black silk curtains that hung over the large window directly across from your bed, stinging your barely awake eyes. With a bit of hesitation you rolled over to turn off the alarm and swung your bare feet over the side of the bed letting them touch the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom. You made your way to the on suit to pee and brush your teeth. As the icy mint of your toothpaste hit your tounge you looked in the large mirror above the sink, you look tired. Of course you look tired, you’ve been getting three hours of sleep every night for the past month. Your hair is disheveled, no doubt from whoever you had kicked out of your apartment the night before after yet another hookup. You didn’t regret it, of course, you never do. He was a nice guy. Well, he was a decent lay at the very least. And he seemed to enjoy himself too so there’s no harm.

Just as you finished washing your face you heard your phone go off again. “Of course” you thought as you slowly made your way back into your bedroom where you had lazily threw your phone back on your bed before going to bathroom. You picked it up and squinted your eyes slightly to make out the name of the person calling. ‘JEFF AZOFF’. You sighed lightly and pressed answer.

“Jeff It’s not even 7” you said in a somewhat faux dramatic tone.

“oh stop y/n I know you’ve been awake for a bit” he replied and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“What do you want” you sat back down on your bed and placed your left hand under your chin.

“I’m throwing a party at our place tonight and there’s no party without you”. You thought for a minute, knowing you couldn’t actually say no to a party, especially one being thrown by one of your best friends and his fiancé.

After about 30 seconds of silence you signed dramatically and said “You’re absolutely right, I’ll be there at 10 but next time tell me ahead of time. You are aware I have a business to run”.

Most of the morning was spent working through some designs, yelling at people for doing their jobs incorrectly, finalizing some details for London fashion week, and drinking copious amounts of coffee. You stood up from your “desk” (which was really just your kitchen island) with a stretch and looked down at your phone that was sitting on the counter, it was 8:43PM. Deciding that you should probably start getting ready for Jeff’s party, you walked back through your bedroom and into your walk-in closet to pick an outfit. “Alexa play get ready playlist” you yelled through your apartment and shortly after ‘girls in the hood’ started playing through out your apartment at full volume. Fully aware that Jeff’s spontaneous parties are generally pretty casual, after about 10 minutes you landed on your favourite pair of black Levi’s, a baby t that says “nobody’s pussycat”, a pair of black Gucci boots and grabbed your new fuzzy yellow and blue jumper in case you got cold (and also to throw over your shoulders for a bit of colour). Walking back into your bathroom you decided to do your makeup, since you had been working from home today and hadn’t put any on yet. You ended up doing some simple makeup, to not clash with the bright colors on your jumper and let your hair fall in loose curls. By the time you were fully ready it was just past 9:30, which was perfect because Jeff’s place was about a 20 minute drive from your apartment. You put your boots on, grabbed your yellow tinted Gucci glasses, your phone and keys and headed out.

Harry had gotten a very similar from Jeff as you, but it had come the day before. He was excited for the party, it’s been awhile since he’s been out anywhere but the studio. He’s been working on his new album tirelessly. Writing songs this time round was becoming increasingly more difficult, he’s felt dry of inspiration which is partially what he’s hoping a party will help with. Being around some new people and some of his closest friends. Jeff told him he was inviting some of his mates that Harry was yet to meet, which hopefully meant new experience outside the realm of ex girlfriends and band mates. He told Jeff he wouldn’t make it till around 11PM considering he’d be in the studio until 9 and he’d need time to make it home to change and shower before heading over and London traffic was an absolute nightmare, especially on Friday’s. Once he was done at the studio it was half nine, he sighed heavily as he left the lofty studio feeling the heavy weight of the pressure to write new material.

Once Harry arrived to his flat he immediately dropped his keys into the white and blue ceramic bowl he keeps by the door and swiftly kicked off his worn out vans. He was tired, but determined to make some worthy memories if not only for the sake of his future albums. Hell, maybe even just to blow off some steam. He needed that, badly. After making his way up the long spiral shaped stained oak stairs he walked briskly into the bathroom right across from his bedroom. He took his phone out of the back pocket of the light brown sweats he was wearing and glanced at the time 10:03PM. He let out another light sigh before hopping into the large black tiled shower. After a very quick shower filled with worried thoughts of where his career will go if he can’t write music, he hurried himself into his walk in closet with just a blush pink towel wrapped loosely around his hips and his phone in his left hand. Since he was already running slightly behind schedule and Jeff didn’t mention this party being anything but a casual gathering, he grabbed a pair of light blue YSL trousers and a simple white button down blouse to pair with his oh so worn down white vans, simply not having time to fuss about picking a new pair of shoes to match.

By the time Harry arrived at Jeff and Glenne’s flat it was five minutes to eleven. When he pulled up there were already around 10 cars parked around the house, some of which he recognized of course. He made his way up to the large front door after thanking his driver and knocked loudly, his various rings making a light clinking noise against the wood. About thirty seconds later the heavy door swung open to reveal Glenne who smiled widely when she saw him. “H!” She shrieked and pulled him in for a quick hug as she pulled him into the warm house.

“How’re ya Glenne” he smiled back enthusiastically as they entered.

“Good, good!, come let’s find Jeff and get you a drink” she said over the somewhat loud music that ran throughout the house. As Glenne guided him through the farmiliar house he took a moment to observe the people around him as they passed, seeing plenty of people that he knew well, a few he had met on a few occasions similar to this one, and some whom he’s never met. All together there were around 20 people, from what he could tell in passing.

Once they made it through each room of the well decorated house and into the bar area near the kitchen and dining area, he immediately saw Jeff leaning against the wall directly across from the doorway to the area. He was talking to a couple he recognized as Cathrine and Fred, two of their mutual friends, both worked in the music industry (Catherine being a well established sound engineer and Fred being one of the best producers in London). As they approached Jeff looked up and smiled excitedly at Harry and quickly pulled him in for a warm embrace. “Good t’ see you” Harry said as he smiled against his shoulder.

“Good to see you too H, glad you came. Nice to see you outside of that studio” Jeff replied with a small chuckle as they pulled away.

You had been at the party a total of fifty minutes and managed to down 3 vodka martinis and a glass of champagne without hesitation. You have always been able to hold your liquor, even though you didn’t usually drink more than twice a week. Not that much, you thought. Currently you were sitting on one of the two bright red sofas that sat Jeff and Glenne’s living room. You sat back against the velvet upholstery and had your left leg swung over yours and Glenne’s mutual friend Kassandra (or kassie as you called her).

You felt good, great even. It had been over 9 months since you had last seen any of these people. You had been living back and forth between New York City and London basically your whole adult life and just got back to London three days ago after being away for the most of the year. You were overjoyed to be back. You and Kassie were the only ones sitting on the couch to the right of the room, with a few others scattered throughout the living room. Some were standing and giggling by the fireplace, sipping on something strong you assumed based on how loudly they were conversing. There was a slightly less intoxicated couple sitting on the couch opposite of Kassie and yourself. You knew them well enough, although last time you saw them they were nothing more that friends and now they are very clearly together romantically. You didn’t mind though, not at all. You didn’t mind the noise, the increasingly drunker strangers and friends that passed through, you didn’t even mind the already almost-blackout strangers who thought they knew you and engulfed you in a rather tight hug. You felt relaxed and at home, as you always did when around Jeff and Glenne.

After about fifteen minutes of Jeff chatting Harry’s ear off about how excited he and Glenne were to be getting married, Glenne grabbed Harry’s arm. “Oh my god! H, I haven’t even introduced you to everyone yet have I?” She asked enthusiastically.

“I don’t believe you ‘ave” he replied with a small chuckle as he ran his free hand through his rapidly growing curls.

Before he knew it Glenne was guiding him through the house introducing him to a few people he hadn’t met yet. As they made their way into the living room he saw two girls sipping on what looked like martinis sitting on one of the couches. The two women were partially intertwined. One of them stood out though, almost like she controlled the room without even speaking. Harry stared at her, barely listening to Glenne talking beside him. She was incredibly beautiful, he thought. Her eyes and hands were effortlessly working together to capture everyone’s attention without even speaking. She wore a confidence he hadn’t seen before, even with his vast experience with super models and other celebrities alike. She looked like a royal, even in casual attire. He stood there, in the doorway completely stunned and rather confused as to why on earth he had never met her before.

“Earth to H?” Glenne said as she overdramatically waved her left hand in front of his face.

“Oh, um.. sorry, what were ya sayin’?” He replied as he quickly moved his gaze away from the stunning girl and back to his friend.

“Nevermind, cmon I need to indroduce you to Y/N and Kassie.” She mumbled quickly as she pulled him by his hand towards the very girl he was gawking at just moments before.

In the middle of Kassie making a dad joke in classic Kassie form, you spot Glenne walking over to where you are sitting rather excitedly with someone you immediately recognize as Harry Styles. Of course you knew who he was, and that Jeff was his manager and friend but you never had the chance to actually meet him. With both your schedules being as intense and unpredictable as they were it just never happened. You were a fan of his music, he is a very talented man but you definitely didn’t consider yourself a “stan”.

As they approached, Glenne turned to Harry and said “H, this is kassie!” As she pointed at her.

“Kassie works for Universal. Kassie this is Harry” she continued.

“S’ nice to meet you, Kassie” Harry said with a polite smile as he bent over to shake her hand lightly.

“And this” Glenne started as she turned her attention onto you. “Is one of my best friends, y/n! She’s the designer for KIWI” she finished with a smirk and a quick pat on your knee.

“Designer and founder actually love” You said as you glanced at Harry.

You extended your right arm out for him to shake and said “lovely to meet you, Harry. I’m y/n”. He seemed nervous which made you smirk a little. You thought it was cute.

As you placed your much smaller hand in his large ring clad one he responded with “S’ lovely to meet you too y/n. Big fan of your work”. His hand was a little sweaty but very strong and the shake itself was demanding which you liked.

Harry didn’t like how nervous he was talking to you, he’s not usually so anxious to speak to beautiful women. But, something about your incredibly strong eye contact and the way you said his name made his knees want to give out. He hadn’t lied when he said he is a fan of yours, he genuinely is. He loves your designs. Your ability to create pieces he’d never seen before, pieces completely out of the norm yet so easily fashionable was astounding to him. He had even worn some of your designs on tour and for a few interviews.

You took a sip of the martini that you held delicately in your right hand with a small hum in appreciation for his compliment. “M’ a fan of yours also, fine line is great” you reply as you glance down at your glass to find it empty. Harry takes a moment to revel in the fact that you enjoyed his latest work, before seeing your empty glass.

“Let me get ya’ a drink” he blurted out, not wanting the conversation to end.

“Mm I’ll come with” you agreed with a smile. Harry grabbed your hand again to help you up off the couch and away from Kassie who was now giggling with Glenne about something.

Harry keeps your hand in his as he guides you towards the bar. Once the two of you approach the bar he reaches for the glass in your hand and asks “what would ye like?”. You move your glance away from his and over to the large bar.

“I think we should do shots” you say with a big smile that makes Harry’s heart beat just a bit quicker.

“Shots it is then, love” he says with a small chuckle as he puts your dirty glass down and grabs two clear glass shot glasses.

“What liquor are we thinkin’?” He asked as he looks over the options.

“Oooh tequila for sure” you say confidently as you point at the bottle of expensive tequila.

“Mmm great choice” he praises as he grabs the bottle and proceeds to pour you each a shot.

“Cheers” you smirk as you grab your shot glass and clink it against the one in his hand. You make eye contact again as you down the shots in sync. As you lower your now empty shot glasses you realize how close you are to him, only about a foot and a half. Being this close to him makes you realize how handsome he is, his eyes are incredibly green and his shoulders are perfectly wide. His chocolate coloured curls sat harmoniously atop his head, one piece falling in front of his face seemingly by accident but it looked as it is meant to be there.

As Harry brought his shot glass away from his mouth and felt the strong burning sensation of the tequila making its way down his throat he stared at you. You’re eyes ostensibly checking him out, or atleast that’s what he convinced himself you were doing. In fact the combination of the warmth he felt in his stomach from the strong liquor and the minimal proximity between you and him was making him feel slightly dizzy. You truly were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He wanted to know everything about you, where you were born, your passions, your worst fears, what makes you wet, what makes you angry, who you care about. Literally anything and everything you were willing to tell him he was more than happy to hear about.

“How’d you know Jeff and Glenne?” Harry finally asked. You smiled as you thought about how you met them.

“Jeff and I have been friends since collage, and I met G about a year after we graduated. I indroduced them actually” you explained as your smile grew at the fond memories.

“Jeff manages you right?” you asked as you turned back to the bar and started making yourself another gin martini. Harry nodded as he watched you

“yeah e’ does, but we’re great mates too. A’ve been since before he started managing meh” he said as he turned towards you a bit more

“s’ crazy we a’vent met before this” he continued as you finished making your drink.

“It is, a shame really” you smirked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to powder room” you took another sip of your drink as you began to walk away.

Harry watched you walk away, shamelessly staring at your bum and god was it nice. He was stunned to be quite frank. He wasn’t completely sure what it was about you (other than the obvious of course) that made him so enamoured by you but he couldn’t help it. He ran his hands over his face and let out a huff. Looking around and taking in his surroundings properly for the first time since he laid eyes on you, he noticed less people were there. He decided he’d find Jeff so he could more subtly wait for you to return.

When you come out of the bathroom you look around and notice there are seemingly only a few people left at the party. You grab your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the time, the screen illuminates and shows 1:37AM. You let out a small huff, put your phone back in your pocket and decide to go find Jeff. You walk down the hall from the bathroom and into the living room to find Jeff and Glenne sitting on the couch you were sat at earlier. Beside them was Kassie and sat on the couch directly adjacent from them was Harry and a man you’d never met before.

“Hi loves” you say as you strut over to sit next to the man you’d never met. “Don’t believe we’ve met, I’m y/n” you say confidently with a smile and extend your hand for him to shake, which he does.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mitch. I’m Harry’s guitarist” he says with a slightly awkward smile.

“Oh lovely” you nod. “Y/n is the designer for KIWI, Mitch” Harry says as he tilts his head forward a bit to look at you over where Mitch is sitting in between the two of you. You giggle slightly at the sudden interruption.

“Oh! That’s sick. We all love your work” Mitch says with an even bigger smile as he looks at you again.

“Thank you” you reply as you smile back at him just as enthusiastically.

“H is pretty much obsessed really, pretty sure he bought out most of your fall collection” Mitch gushes as he nudges his head towards Harry slightly. Harry gives Mitch a bit of a menacing look as he feels his cheeks heat up.

“Mmm obsessed is he?” You smirk as you move your glance back to Harry and take a long sip of your drink.

“Anybody who isn’t would be ‘ave to be blind, love” Harry said as his lips turned up into a smile, showing off his infamous dimples.

Just as you were about to reply to Harry’s bold compliment you heard Kassie let out a loud yawn from across the other couch. You turned your attention towards her as she said “think I’m gonna head out guys, it’s getting late”. She got up and Jeff and Glenne did as well. Kassie gave Jeff a hug.

“Think I’ll be going also, I haven’t watered my cactus since yesterday” you giggled as you walked over to hug Glenne and say your goodbyes. As soon as you let go of your embrace you noticed Harry was stood directly beside you.

“I’ll walk you t’ the door” Harry insisted and you nodded, following him to the front door.

“Love you Jeff! Love you G!” You yelled behind you.

Once stood in the entry way with Harry he said “really was lovely t’ meet ya”. You smiled and gave him a short hug.

“was lovely to meet you too Harry, thanks for havin a shot with me”. You went to grab the door handle to leave but Harry stopped you by grabbing your wrist lightly.

“Do ya think I could get ya numba’?” He asked as your gaze met his yet again.

You hummed in faux thought “now where’s the fun in that, love” you replied with a smirk as you turned back around, releasing your wrist from his grasp, opened the door and left.

[tenderlyrenjun]

away we happened

summary: leaving jaemin to deal with math problems and renjun’s problems, jeno accompanies his parents to a gala in japan, and he gets the rare opportunity to see a ghost. ↛ ↛ ↛ rich boy!jeno x rich kid!reader ↛ ↛ college au, rich kids au, mentions of food, secret rendevous, might do another part for jaemin but idk yet ↛ word count: 1.8k

spin off from the rich truth: part four

"You’re not supposed to be back here.”

Jeno slowly sets down his phone, starting with the speakers then gently cupping his fingertips behind, on the camera. He looks at the second intruder, his now accomplice, and his jaw starts to close again, preventing the half-chewed gyoza from falling off his tongue. His other hand, which hid under the small, square bamboo plate, moves every non-essential item from his person so that he can adjust his tie and re-button his suit jacket. Jeno returns his glasses on the bridge of his nose, now needing to aid his vision for the far away beauty at the secret entrance of the kitchen. Well, this place is not really a secret, but he likes to think it is, otherwise his parents would find him ditching their colleagues at yet another vaguely important. And it is not like he has no reason to ditch - Jaemin, notoriously bad at math, is working, back in Korea, on their physics worksheet, alone; his parents stole him away at a bad time. Though, as he takes a look at you, dressed in some well-known designer evening wear, he knows that coming to Japan was not a mistake.

“You’re not supposed to be here either,” Jeno tells you, straightening up. His toes tap inside his black oxfords, hesitating to take the first step forward. And he does not, instead choosing to challenge the situation, as if you would betray him again and expose this place, this rendezvous, to his parents.

You roll your eyes, gliding further into the kitchen, now that the penultimate appetizer tray has left with the last of the champagne. Taking note of Jeno’s cutlery, you assume that he sequestered the remaining bits of food so that he could hide away back here until the announcements began. After all, it is a ritual you two share, no matter the continent. And consequently, you relax into your shoes, heel clicks translating into acoustic waves; Jeno thinks, probably still caught up by his international texts to Jaemin. You mute every sound, turning off his phone ringer first then slide onto the counter, face-to-face: an effective way to provoke his attention. The little paper bowl of soba noodles look the most delicious, you deem, and they make their way into a neat pile around Jeno’s remaining gyoza pieces, accompanied by a few extra cucumbers from the other dishes.

“The speeches are going to start in twenty minutes,” you reveal, passing the plate back into his hands. You pick up some utensils and dip it shallowly into the mini-mountain, then feed yourself a bite and pass it onto Jeno. “You ... We should leave here soon.”

Your torso turns away from him, allowing you to grab a nearby by napkin. It feels soft between your fingers and you yield back to Jeno while staring at the little paper cloth. Do you wipe his mouth too? Or have you lost that privilege, from all the distance that has separated you two? That distance seems so small now, as he watches you and you refuse to look into his eye, despite all the intimate acts you keep initiating.

Once your body feels too warm, burning bluer than his suit, your leg shakes toward the ground, foot dipping below your outfit’s lowest hem. And even though he duplicated your introductory accusation, Jeno does not want you to leave. He brings his palm up your thigh, onto your waist, repositioning you chest to chest, face to face, still on the counter (where appetizers belong). You ball the napkin into your hands before discarding it to the side, where your gaze follows, but he brings you to look at him with three little words:

“Don’t go yet,” he asks of you, eyes downcast at his fingers toying with your satin material, suddenly losing all of his confidence. He can feel your stare bouncing trough to crest to trough, your hands and his acting as pivotal nodes. His eyes though stand an amplitude taller, right under yours, at an origin neither of you can muster the courage to wave through.     

"Why?” you copy his tone. He peeks up, shoulders tugged forward by your disposition as a smile tugs towards him. You keep in a personal bubble, but not annoyed when he breaks it, hands coming up your arms until you whisper a little taunt: “Scared that I’ll snitch?”

“Like you did last time?” he mimics you.

And you roll your eyes again, hand grazing his chest as you push him away. The second you detach from him, he grabs your wrist, staying true to his request. His grip is loose enough for you to truly leave if you want, but small enough to make an impact. So you indulge him, slipping your fingers between his, pulling his hand into your lap. 

“Last time,” you reminisce out loud, “you almost got me in trouble with my parents.” 

Jeno’s head falls, dangling chin against chest. His hair looks overly gelled, you notice then scan down his face. Something you will never forget, and particularly fall in love with over and over, is his smile - it sneaks into all the corners of his profile, across his eyes, raising his cheekbones, freeing his lips. And ever so enamored with bringing that beam, or at least some variation of it, back into his face, you stroke his bangs away, like opening curtains to the sunshine. Jeno perks up, his eyes finding yours then closing as he leans into your hand.

“But seriously,” you alert him, almost reminding him of Renjun’s soft voice when he is annoyed - it essentially tells him that you have spent too much time apart. When he opens his eyes again, the warmth of your palm unmasking his face, he sees you staring out the circular window on the kitchen’s main entrance. “We should get going.” You turn back to Jeno, retreating your hand and jumping off the counter, standing closer than the width of a magazine. “Remember the charity gala? Christmas 2018?”

Jeno trails your fingertips, nodding his head back into your palm. “Of course. You threw me under the bus because your parents hadn’t found us yet.”

“Yeah,” you confirm, trailing off.

A few social events ago, when you were addicted to your phone and lavish trysts, consumed by fighting for popularity at an international school in Germany that Jeno had never heard about until then, you wandered into the back room as it functioned like a closet for the toy donation and attendee’s coats. You kept staring at your phone and it only riled Jeno up, having met up with him earlier than usual. It felt weird, he recalls, because he gets to know you through all your social media updates and the infrequent FaceTime calls from a different timezone. He wanted your attention - handing you champagne glasses filled with cider, doing dumb dances to make you laugh, pulling out toys from the bins so that you would at least look at him instead of whoever the fuck Yangyang was. All his tactics were so effective, even the one where he poured his beverage into a water gun and stained your trousers, just under the knee; that you literally lost your phone that night. The two of you ended up giggling loudly until someone leaned in; Jeno thinks it was you and you think it was him, and the only thing either of you can implicitly agree upon is the illustrative glow on each other’s faces. Then his mom came knocking around and stumbled on the two of you before dragging Jeno, mouth stained red and jacket around your shoulders, out by the ear. His mom was going to tell your parents about how you were a bad influence on her son, but you told her that it was his idea to wander about prior to the actual start of the gala, even citing one of secret rendezvous points that you knew she was aware of.

“Can’t believe you ratted me out,” Jeno marvels, his tone light, without malice as he stands more upright. “You know that she capped my bank account and sent me to Kumon?”

Ah, of course you know that. It was the first reason he mentioned when he finally caught the time to talk to you, just before this semester started. You never forget a detail about him.

“Hey,” Jeno calls at you, his hand drifting toward your cheek now, repeating your actions onto you. His opposite hand braces against the counter thickness, almost to keep balance before you two head out into separate worlds again. He smiles though when you lean into his touch, clasping your hands at his lower back. His grip loosens as you tilt your head back, shaking your hair free, but ultimately, you return to his embrace. “You’re like a ghost most of the time.”

“How can I be?” you implore him, staring up in his eyes. Your hands travel up his chest, smoothing over the lapels, until you wrap around his neck. The urge to taunt him again goes suppressed as you focus on how handsome he is in this moment. And with the way he guides you, guides your conversation, you feel comfortable and curious, bouncing to the tips of your toes to meet him closer. “You see me online all the time.”

Jeno’s hand raises outside your arms, and his finger draws on your hair strand, springing it playfully a few times instead of answering you, almost like giving himself time to respond. Usually he would do this at the gala with some sparkling wine or at a dinner with a glass of water, and like you, he tries not to forget the little illustrations about your life, but then again ...

“It’s not the same,” he answers you, “and you know it.” By now the first announcer can be heard outside, which means the silver platters will interrupt their brief tête-à-tête - god, does it always need to be so short, because ... “I miss you.”

Your eyes glisten at him apologetically, and he tells you that it is okay, holding your face intimately in his hands. You bend into his embrace, wrapping your fingers around his. He continues soothing you, as if taking turns with you in a silent conversation, rubbing at your cheeks with his lone thumb, the only appendage free from your grip. It seems symbolic, since the two of you always have one foot out the door - almost literally in this case. You turn your head, looking out the window one more time before referring into Jeno one last time.

“I’m sorry.”

[teamdoubleoh]

Q’s nephew

(Vaguely) based on this post by @needacuppa and @midrashic ‘s dialogue prompt. (technically) featuring @caffeinatedflummadiddlebutmerlin ‘s non-binary Merlin bc I like to see myself represented.

wordcount: 2312

Beware: Q is Holmes and has a fourth sibling, like in all my other fics bc I love consistency and Merlin.

TL:TR James thinks Q is married, Q thinks sleep is overrated and Mordred is very not-amused that James thinks Q is straight.

Q woke up in at 03:08 am because there was someone in his flat.

Someone other than himself, Mordred, Turing and Hawking. Q silently prayed that whoever it was could be killed quietly, so the cats wouldn’t wake.

He kept his eyes closed and listened. He could tell the someone wasn't moving, even though the door to the living room was shut. He turned his head to the bedside table, where his phone and glasses were sitting. He reached out, carefully avoiding to make any noise, put on his glasses, unlocked the phone and and logged into his security feed.

Apparently the intruder had had the decency to enter the flat trough the front door, which was a feat in itself.

Q selected the camera the monitored the door and went through the timeline. The feed was monotonous until two minutes ago, when a figure had walked up to the camera and opened the door with a key. Before entering the figure looked around, exposing their face to Q’s camera.

It was Bond. Who else would manage to steal acquire a key to his flat and show up in the middle of the night.

Q sighed and slipped out from under his comforter. He then reached under the bedside table where one of his personal guns was located and slipped it into the waistband of his pyjamas. He knew the double ohs well enough to know that taking a gun would be the best course of action.

Now armed, he opened the bedroom door. "Bond. What are you doing in my living room."

Bond was sitting on the couch, illuminated by the light of a half-moon that shone through the window. "Q! how nice to see you, what a coincidence."

"You've gotten yourself injured and the best thing you can think of is to break into my flat. Hospitals exist, you know that right?"

"Oh Q, I missed you. How did you know I was injured?"

"Posture." Q sighed.

"Ok, thats fair. You don't happen to have a bandaid or twenty lying around, do you?"  

Q sighed deeply and went to retrieve the MI6 issued medi-kit from under the bathroom sink. "Over here Bond. I don't want any stains on my couch."  

Bond stood and even in the relative darkness of the room Q could tell that it was a painful endeavour. Not a grazing shot then. Q searched the medi-kit for needle and thread. Bond sat down on the tiled floor, already pulling up his shirt over his left hip, where the bullet had dug into the flesh but had luckily been stopped by the hip bone.

Apparently the shot had been long distance, which would make the surgery relatively easy. Bond groaned when Q poured disinfectant over the wound.

"Honestly, Q. There is an intruder in your flat and you’re not even armed. What do they even teach you in basic training anymore."

Instead of answering Q pressed down a cotton swab on the bullethole and pulled out his P99 from his waistband.

"...Touché"

"Now if you'd be so kind and refrain from talking. You’re not making this any easier for either of us and I swear to god, if your noise wakes the cats or Mordred I'll-"

"Too late for that." Came a sleepy voice from the living room.

Bond was already half on his feet, trying to shield Q with his body, before Q could stop him.

"Hi. I'm Mordred." The boy, he could’t be older than 17, waved sluggish.

Bond looked hesitant but slowly sat back down again.

Q pinched the bridge of his nose with his unbloodied hand.

Bond smirked. "Didn't know you were the 'married with kids' kind of person."

"You do realise I can kill you, 007."

Bond looked stunned at the mention of his designation. he looked from Q to the kid and back to the quartermaster. "Uh, Q..."

"What."Q snapped.  

If the Quartermaster wanted to throw around his top secret designation so be it. Q knew what he was doing.

"...Nevermind."

"I don't think he wants me here. "the kid murmured turning away, obviously still half asleep. "I'll go back to bed."

Q sighed. "Now that’s is some good thinking. Bond, hold still." he picked the pair of tweezers. "This might hurt a tad."

Somehow James ended up in Q’s bed. With a very disgruntled Quartermaster in it. 007, being himself, couldn't resist commenting. "If you wanted to get me into bed, you should have just asked, Q. I mean I don't usually go for married people when off mission, but I'll make an exception for you."

"Shut up or I'll put you on the couch."

"Pray tell, if I’m annoying you so bad, why am I not already there? Should I inform the other agents that you're secretly concerned about our well being or do just like me?"

"That couch was my mothers, and she is ready to maim anyone who leaves stains on it."

"...Stains, huh? Got it. Thats the no-fun zone."

"You should know that I am also ready to maim anyone who keeps me from sleeping."

"Good night, Q"

Bond woke at 6:38 am precisely.

Someone was working in the kitchen, and since the bed was empty, save himself, it was probably Q. Or his son, apparently. Come to think of it, if Q was married and had a son, where was his wife?

The smell of toast and freshly brewed earl grey wavered into the bedroom and James decided that those were questions for another time.

The kitchen was, to Bonds surprise, well stocked and maintained.

He wouldn't have pegged Q for the cooking type but he hadn't pegged Q for the married-with-kids type either so that was that.

Q was just pouring a mug of tea when James limped in. The boy - Mordred, what a peculiar name - was sitting on a stool, nursing his own tea.

In the light of day his dark brown hair seemed to be a similar shade as Q's, while his pale blue eyes were a little unnerving, but that could be a side effect of him being a teenager. Everyone knew teenagers were dangerous creatures as they didn't need sleep and had fatal levels of cynicism, sarcasm and caffeine running through their veins.

Q handed James a mug of steaming tea, which tore him out of his staring.

"You should sit down." Q advised, pointing towards a kitchen table with three mismatched chairs. "And you should go to medical. I'm head of Q branch not a doctor." He hesitated for a second. "Well I am a doctor, just not of medicine. My point is: get that checked out, or I'll kill you."

"Aw don’t worry, I will, or it might kill me first."

"As if you wouldn't just come back from the dead to just to annoy me, hm 007?" Q smiled sweetly, something dangerous lacing his tone.

"I have before, I could do it again. Given a good enough reason." Bond eyed Q provocatively up and down.

Q just sighed and turned to take the slices of toast out of the toaster, placing them on a plate. "I assume you will join me on my way to work, seeing as your flat is on the way and you need to stop there for new clothes?"

Bond looked down at himself. He was wearing his boxer briefs and a tee shirt that definitely wasn't his. Since there was as science pun on it, he was pretty sure it was Q's.

“Yeah.... that might be a good idea.” James mused and went to find his slacks.

***

“So, what kind of a name is ‘Mordred’ anyway?” Bond asked the boy some months later.

He had broken in again and again and at some point Q had given in and made him his own key, which only made Bond come by more often.

Now he was sitting on the no-stains-allowed couch, enjoying a cup of perfectly brewed Rooibos tea he had gifted Q a few weeks prior. Mordred, currently located in the kitchen, was busy making dinner for himself and Q, who was still at Q-branch handling 009′s Washington mission.

Mordred, who rarely ever talked, much less with Bond, kept dicing onions and garlic. After half a minute of silence, just when James thought he might never get an answer, the boy opened his mouth. “It’s from the Arthurian legends. According to the popular legends Mordred was Arthur’s son.”

“You say ‘popular’ like you know better...”

“Well-” Mordred smiled ever so slightly. “-I know Arthur is my uncle.”

James grinned. “Is your mother a historian by any chance?”

Mordred shook his head and turned his attention back to the stove. “My mother is a PA. But her name is Morgause and her half sister is called Morgana - you know, like, from the Legends? -, so she thought it would be funny.”

James smiled and emptied his cup. Now that was something he could tease Q about.

Q chose that exact moment to stumble in through the door. He looked like he was dead on his feet. His tie was askew and his hair ruffled. He closed the door behind him, hung his parka on the mantle piece and placed his messenger bag on a nearby drawer, but his movements were that of someone who was kept awake only be caffeine and spite.

By the time he reached the living room his eyes where almost completely shut. He dropped down on the couch where James was still sitting, but Bond just steadied him as Q slumped against him.

“James?”

“Hello dear Quartermaster. You do know that sleep is essential for your personal health, right?”

Q only groaned and closed his eyes.

***

Four hours later Q woke to the smell of pasta and the clinking of cutlery being placed on a table. He sat up and opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He groaned. Someone entered the living room.

“James?”

“No this is Patrick.” James answered deadpan. “Honestly Q, I thought you were supposed to be smart!”

“Firstly, You took my glasses. You should be glad I can distinguish you from Mordred right now. Secondly, why are you quoting Sponge bob at me?” Q asked in a tone that made it very clear that he was ready to murder someone or just fall asleep again at any moment.

“...Oh, yeah. I forgot about the glasses. You look adorable with out them, I have to say. Here you go--” James care fully placed Q’s glasses on his nose.

Q blinked twice and waited for his eyes to focus again. Right in front of him was James, smiling widely. Q shrunk back and tried to stand up in an effort to hide the slight blush on his cheeks.

“So. Why were you quoting sponge bob again?”

James took a step forward and held Q on his upper arms so he wouldn’t keel over. “I don’t know what Sponge bob is but that’s what Mordred sat to me when  I ran into him in the city the other day.”

Q rubbed his forehead. “Ah yes, he does that. And here I was, thinking you knew what memes were.”

“Whats a meme?”

***

Mordred cooking, James decided, was divine.

“You should become a Chef.” James mused, after finishing his third plate of Aglio olio and fourth glass of wine.

“How about I finish school first.” Mordred aswered snarkily.

Q snorted. “Aren’t you planning on becoming a pharmacist or bodyguard?”

James shook his head in confusion. “How are those two even related.”

Mordred looked at him weirdly.” They're not.”

“Then why would you? ...nevermind.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Mordred is interning with my uncle Gaius whose a Apothecary. if He’s good enough when Gaius retires he could have a change at taking, over like I did.”

“last I checked you were running Q-branch...”

“-and before me uncle Boothroyd was Q.”

James turned to Q. “Boothroyd was your uncle? That explains... so much.”

Mordred sighed. “could you leave the flirting till I'm back in my room.”

Q sat up straight. “He wasn’t flirting.”

“I was.”

“Since when?”

“Since before I broke into your flat. But sadly you’re faithful and straight and all that crap.”

Mordred let his head fall into his hands. “Here we go...” he muttered under his breath.

“And who would I be faithful to, exactly?”

“Your wife?”

“My--?” Q sputtered.

“Mordred’s mother?”

“Wait, you thought I was

straight

?”

Mordred raised his hand. “You do know I’m not actually Q’s son, right?”

James turned to Mordred. “Wait, what?”

Q looked almost gleeful as he explained. “Mordred is my sibling’s... .” Q turned to Mordred. “What do they call you?”

“Mostly ‘a baby’”

“No, no there was something else...”

“Lovechild? Morgause-spawn? Heir to the throne?”

“They really call you that?”

“I don’t have a second name, so they had to improvise when they were angry.”

Q shrugged. “Well, point stands. Mordred isn’t my son. He lives with me because he’s kind of my siblings adopted son? But he can’t live with them and their husband and apparently I can’t take care of my self or something--” the last part was muttered. “--So he lives with me.”

Mordred was staring at James wide eyed. “Wait. You thought I was Q’s son? Honestly? Q? Your Gaydar is BLOODY SHITE. YURUSENAI!”

James flinched and faced Q, who was rolling his eyes at Mordred. “Translation please?”

Q smirked at him. “He says your ability to build context about inter person relations and read peoples attractions is rather bad and that he won’t forgive you for thinking he was blood related to me.” Q paused. “I would be rather offended by that last statement if it wasn’t for the blatant sarcasm.”

James smiled dreamily. “This is why I love you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Mordred took a sip of his water. “He said he loved you.”

[thewritingstar]

When the Night is Still Young

Pairing: Brute x Princess 

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

notes: Did I write this because @sxnalien art and couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was? absolutely Plus this ship needs more love and I shall serve. Enjoy :)  

tag list: @shellielyzabeth @over-under-through1 (if you want to be on my tag list I have a post about that.)

---

The wind was light and fair as it rolled through Townsville. It was one of those nights that nothing happened. No monster attacks or a bank being robbed. Rare but peaceful. Unless you were a part of the Morebucks household. No every night was pure bliss as the richest girl in the city and probably the entire country, waltzed towards her room ready to turn in for the night.

Her glass of milk was set on her nightstand that was embezzled with pure gold and hefty sapphires as the handles. She was one of high class and taste so anything under $500 would not cut it. Even the mountain of pillows that laid on her king size bed had more worth than most of the salaries of the kids on the far side of town. Big, flashy, rich. Her taste couldn’t be matched.

She grabbed her novel and slipped into bed where the finest silk sheets of a deep purple hue laid. Even at age 24, she was just as many remembered. Spoiled, chunning, spoiled, rude, spoiled, hot, spoiled, manipulative and of course spoiled rotten.

But when Daddy Morebucks had more money than most, what else were you to expect? In fact her taste proved in every aspect of her life.The food she ate was organic and came from the best chefs around. The clothes were designer and handbags imported from overseas. Her jewels had rare value and she loved nothing more than to show off her money. Even the people she dated were a part of her social level.

She flipped the page of her book as her lamp, that came from Paris and was crafted from stained glass, gave a soft glow. It was quiet and the estate had turned in for the night. The only thing she heard was the soft tapping of the wind.

And then the shuffle of the balcony door lock.

“You’re late.” Princess said as another page was turned. A grumbled came from the window as it closed.

“You’re lucky I'm even here.”

The book was taken out of her hands and she looked up to see the pair of greens eyes. Black eyeliner was caked around them, bringing out the rich color that glowed under the soft light of the lamp.

“Still dressing like a street rat I suppose.” Princess smirked and a dark chuckle came from the other girl.

“You act like you don’t like the chains and spikes. Sugar Plum.” Brute winked as she flashed a grin that showcased her slightly sharpened canines.

Princess pressed her lips together as her cheeks puffed out into a pout knowing she was right. But nonetheless her eyes traveled down. For someone who only wore Louis Vuitton and Gucci, she found out that her soft spot was black crop tops, leather jackets and a spiked collar that made her shiver every time it was worn around Brute's neck.

“Maybe I do. Get over it.” Princess spat as Brute leaned until her nose bumped hers.

“You’re such a little brat ya know?” She said as she took her lips into a bruising kiss.

--

If you would have told Princess that she would one day end up underneath the notorious green powerpunk. She would have laughed and thrown a gold bar at your face. She had only dated men whose wallets were almost as big as hers and just as snotty. Yet not once did she ever feel something more than physical attraction, even then it was slim.

She wanted high class and someone who could stand their own next to her. No one had ever come close to it. The relationships would turn to dust in a matter of months and deep down she wanted to have someone there who appreciated her for more than money, she was human after all.

And that's when she met Brute. One of the galas she had attended was coming to the end and she had decided that the world had seen enough of her for the night. Since it was one of the smaller events, Princess took her own car. Sometimes the limos were too stuffy and she preferred to drive the night with the windows down and her own tune humming.

“Damn these heels.” She groaned as the elevator to the parking garage was now out of order. She pushed open the stairwell and wished she had her jetpack to soar her through the sky. The click of her black stilettos echoed as she climbed the stairs.

The top of the parking garage came into view as she opened the last door and clicked her phone to make sure that whoever didn’t fix that damn elevator would be fired or seriously hurt. The luxury convertible with her signature license plate was on the other side and sometimes she wondered why she did this to herself.

Huffing, she continued in her tall heels not noticing the door behind her opening. In those mere seconds of her pulling out her eyes, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She let out a yelp before throwing her elbow back and twisting the arm not caring about the snap that came with it. She turned before sending her foot in between the legs of the man who dared to touch her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She growled before shoving the tip of her heel down next to his face, missing him by a hair.

Her eyes glared down at the man now weeping on the ground. His hands were raised in a shudder as he tried to regain his breath from being thrown to the ground and kicked in the balls. Quickly she leaned down and took a picture of his id before tossing it at his face and spraying him with pepper spray for good measure.

She ignored his scream as she walked away and texted the picture to her personal body guards. “Fucking scum bags.”

Her head was now sprouting a headache and all she wanted to do was get home and be surrounded by her riches. Princess narrowed her eyes as she came closer to her car and noticed a figure leaning against it. Smoke blowing from their lips as the cigarette sat between their fingers.

“Unless you are going to pay for those scratches, beat it!” She spat and pointed her finger.

The cigarette was dropped to the ground with an immature flip and black combat boots came down on it like a bug. The light gave out as she looked up with a dark chuckle, the last of the smoke dissipating into the air and Princess felt the shiver in her spine as she noticed the sinister grin coming from the other woman.

“This little thing?” The woman, she assumed was around her age, trailed her finger along the hood. “I’ve seen better.”

The red head rolled her eyes and looked her up and down. “What do you want Brute?”

Brute tilted her head like a dog getting offered a walk. “Ahh so the queen knows who i am.” She pushed off the car and threw a hand in her pocket. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s not like you keep a low profile. Everyone knows who the Punks are.” She spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave.” She tried to take a step but Brute blocked her path.

“The night is still young Sugar Plum.” Brute raised her eyebrow and Princess suddenly felt so small against those green eyes.

“Why would I want to spend my valuable time with you?” She asked.

Brute chuckled and shrugged. “Not too sure babe. But I did just watch you kick and spray that poor sucker over there and now I'm intrigued.”

Maybe Princess didn’t notice the blush creeping up on her cheeks but she pushed all thoughts away and scoffed. “He’s a creep and I don’t have time for nonsense. Goodnight.” She pushed past and clicked her car door open.

“Yay know. I wish I were in town to see the old Princess.” Brute said and she paused.

“Old Princess?”

“Yep.” Brute popped the P. “The infamous Princess Morebucks. Doesn’t take shit from anyone and does what she wants. So sad that we are so young and yet you parade around like daddys little golden medal, making sure to please everyone with an image you don’t want to keep.”

“It’s called running a business.” Princess said quickly yet she hated that the other woman was right.

“No need to get defensive, I’m just saying that I thought you were much more wild. Afterall you were a super villain but maybe you’ve been humbled down to a spoiled brat whose only reckless behavior is staying up till one.” Brute smirked before turning on her heel. “See ya later Sugar Plum.”

Brute began to walk. The metal chain belt made a slight rattling as she inched closer and closer towards the stairwell. Princess stood as she looked at her steering wheel then back at the punk. Something inside of her wanted to just drive away, feel the freedom that she used to as a teenager.

She got into the car, seatbelt clashing loudly as if all sound had been turned off around her. Her hands gripped the wheel and her eyes glanced towards the sky where the moon was hardly up.

The engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking space making her way towards the exit.

“Get in.” She said and the punk turned around with a devious grin. A shutter went through her spine as the door opened and the seat filled in with Brute.

“Alright Sugar Plum, lets see that wild side.” And soon the parking lot was filled with dust as rubber burned through the city's streets.

--

You could hear the music blasting from the street as the pair walked up to the door.

“A club?” Brute asked yet she was impressed with the location.

It was located on the far side of town. The crime rate here had skyrocketed over the years and if you wanted to find a drug paradise, check between the cracks of the sidewalks.

Princess led her to the door. Her ID didn’t need to be checked as they passed the long line and were ushered in quickly. The dim lights only held a sea of bodies grinding against one another while cheap booze flowed in their veins.

The music was terrible and the smell might have been worse but she grabbed the punk's hand and led her to the dance floor without a care in the world. Their hips swayed and soon they had a drink in their hands.

The red head let the alcohol flood her system and soon the music wasn’t as bad as before. She kept her eyes focused on those dazzling greens. She hated the color beforehand. Thought that it was trashy unless it was a crisp hundred bill. But now even with the blazing light, she could see the flecks of the hue taking shape in her iris and wanted to explore it further.

“I never would have pegged you as a club person.” Brute said in her ear as the Princess pressed her back to her chest.

“It's the only place no one cares who you are.” She said as her hand made its way to Brutes cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

Maybe she let the world of her father's business consume her before her life had even started. Maybe Brute was right. She was Princess Motherfucking Morebucks. The same girl who used to build rockets and lasers just to destoy the puffs and now she was wasting what should be her reckless party years, doing things she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Brute's hands traveled down until she spun the red head around and kissed her again. Princess’s hands wandered to her neck as she tugged slightly at the spiked collar with a large metal loop.

“There's that wild side.” Brute said against her lips as she pulled her impossible closer while the music played. “I like it.”

Princess couldn’t tell what was driving her insane. The third shot of vodka or the way her lips felt like molten lava, a tingling sensation she had never had before but she was craving it like no other. All her past relationships came into her mind.

Man after man, not one could even bring Princess the satsiaction to even smile. They had all been the one thing she hated most, boring. Fake smiles, only there for her last name and to climb the ranks, that all she was. She was a bank vault that many wanted to access and she had begun to just give up the code, but not anymore. She didn’t want boring and she certainly wouldn’t be that.

Brute was far from it. Piercings and tattoos covered her arm, something her father would disaprove of greatly, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world as she just let the music play on.

--

Princess kissed her back, enjoying the way the metal lip pieces felt against her lips. It was electrifying and freeing as Brute kissed her neck. She had been captivated by the punk. The way she doted on her like no man had before. She originally thought she was only here for the money, a big fear she kept to herself but although Brute loved cash, she enjoyed the presence of the spoiled girl more.

“I got you something.” Brute whispered in her ear. A shock wave of pleasure jolted through Princess' heart as Brute reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “I know how much you love chain babes.”

Princess took the box and opened it. It was a silver chain necklace with a small crown charm.

“But I also know that it's not your thing, so I thought something that would remind you of your royal status would do.” She joked but Princess stared at the small necklace with wide eyes.

It was simple and small, yet she felt tears threaten to spill. Her entire life she had been showered with elegant gifts and priceless treasures. She was accustomed to receiving fine things, because it was expected. Sometimes it was underwhelming to constantly get things that never had an emotional value.

She took the necklace out of the wrapping and put it on. The cool metal graced her skin and she felt her cheeks heat up at the sweet gift. She looked up at Brute who had a soft expression, something she wore rarely.

Princess set the box aside and placed her hand against Brute’s cheek.

“It's not diamonds but it will do.” She playfully teased before kissing Brute.

She felt Brute groan against her lips and soon she was laying on top of her.

“You’re still spoiled as ever.” Brute glared as she ran her fingers through the curly ginger locks. “But I still like it.” She winked “Reminds me of when I first saw you beat up that dude.”

“That was two years ago.” Princess blew on her bangs.

Brutes hand lightly slapped her ass making the redhead bury her face in her neck. “Yeah but it was hot.”

Princess hummed. “Whatever. Thank you by the way.” She said the last part quickly.

“Ooooo did I just hear the queen thank me?” Brute laughed and her hands were then held above her head pressing into the sheets. She looked through hooded eyes up at the redhead pinning her from above.

“I’m not repeating myself.” Princess batted her eyelashes.  “Now, let's go for a ride.”

“Really? At two a.m?” Brute smirked.

Princess practically jumped off her bed before walking to her closet and changing quickly. She reappeared wearing a short black dress and her own pair of combat boots. 

Brute sat up with a smirk and gave a low whistle. 

“The nights still young babe.” She said before grabbing Brutes hands and leading out the door to her private garage. Soon her car roared to life and the windows were rolled down as the drove off into the night. 

--

I hope you enjoyed :) 

shout out to my lovely betas: Lisa, Aves and Cilla :) 

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 4

A common goal fails to foster cooperation, and questions without answers continue to perplex.

A/N: In which I am forced to try and include some actual plot and civil conversations are in short supply.

Chapter 4

A Puzzle Incomplete  

To say that Merlin was furious would have been as wild an understatement as the claim that Arthur was not especially fond of magic. He was not certain there was a word for the incandescent rage boiling just beneath his skin, threatening to dissolve carefully constructed walls that had not crumbled in decades. It took a conscious effort to keep a lid on that fury as he guided his exhausted apprentice to lie down once again, the boy having spent what little strength he’d regained in a few scant minutes. Shivers still wracked his slender frame, his body reacting to the invisible wound festering beneath the surface, though at this point Merlin was more worried about his state of mind.

He had never seen Hisirdoux display such raw terror before, not even at the sword point of Arthur’s knights. Then again, Galahad had only threatened to execute him, not tear his soul to shreds and leave him with the tattered remains.

The worst part was he did not think there were meant to be any remains. Whoever had attacked his apprentice had done so with the intention of destroying him completely. They had come dangerously close to succeeding, thwarted by the boy’s own magic, which raised more questions than it answered. If Hisirdoux had encountered a creature powerful enough to wound him in this way, how was he still alive? How had a child whose own enchantments still flummoxed him fended off that sort of danger?

He wasn’t going to get any answers from Hisirdoux right now, that much was clear. His apprentice was mumbling restlessly in his sleep again, nonsensical words, the delusional arguments of an overstressed mind.

“Tell me you know how to fix this.” Archie had settled himself behind his familiar’s shoulders, one paw draped over the boy’s arm, but his eyes were fixed on Merlin, plea and demand both in that gaze. “Tell me you can help him.”

“I intend to do everything in my power, Archibald.” It wasn’t quite the same lie he’d told his apprentice, trying to soothe the boy’s panic before he did himself further injury, but it wasn’t the whole truth either; He was already doing everything in his power, it simply wasn’t enough.

“That’s not a ‘yes’.” The tiny dragon gave him a look that could almost have been called threatening. “He thinks you’re capable of anything, you know. Maybe it’s time you lived up to the legend.”

Not gracing that barbed statement with a response, he tucked the blanket back about Hisirdoux’s shoulders, pausing just long enough to rest a hand on the boy’s clammy forehead as he renewed his stasis spell for the umpteenth time. That done, he took his leave, refusing to acknowledge Archie’s lingering stare as he slipped out of the room.

Morgana was waiting for him when he reentered the workshop, pacing back and forth with long, sweeping strides, a book held open in her hands. She whirled as soon as the door opened.

“How is he?”

Straight to the point. Her and Arthur were very alike in that way. He didn’t answer at once, drifting across the room to the cluttered workbench by the stained glass windows. There was a fine layer of dust there that had gathered over the past two days, the designs he had been pouring over what seemed a lifetime ago now sitting discarded and forgotten. He sensed Morgana’s impatience as he lifted the page of sketches and idly examined its contents, dropping the weighted truth into the tense silence.

“Slipping away.” It was an inadequate description for what would happen if he didn’t find a way to stop the dark magic from finishing its work. What was confusion and spontaneous panic now would devolve into raving madness as Hisirdoux’s very essence continued to crumble. The boy was already losing memories, the spell he had cast only slowing the process, not preventing it. “I have no doubt this was an attempt to kill him.”

“Why?” Her outrage echoed his own. Where his bubbled beneath a thin veneer of self-control, hers revealed itself in a flash of righteous fury, the room rattling briefly as she paced closer. “He’s a child, Merlin!”

“That I cannot say.” His suspicions, founded on his knowledge of the type of magic it took to cause this kind of injury, seemed ludicrous. Hisirdoux was not trained enough to be a threat to anyone yet — besides himself — and certainly not enough of a danger to warrant such wanton cruelty. The being who had attacked his apprentice under Arthur’s very nose had done so with purely malicious intent. To hurt someone in that way, to threaten not only their life but their existence beyond the mortal plane as well... that was an act of pure hatred. More perturbing still, Hisirdoux appeared to have been the only target. Not even Archie had been wounded, despite the fact the pair of them shared the same bed. “Though I intend to find out.”

“I will help in any way I can,” she asserted, coming to stand on the opposite side of the work table. “What about Douxie? Is there anything he needs? Anything we can do?”

“He needs a proper healer.” Morgana scowled, and Merlin’s own glare deepened out of habit. It was a tall order. Neither of them had a gift for healing magic, formidable wizards though they might be, and those of Camelot’s dwindling magical community who were proficient in the healing arts had been some of the first victims in Arthur’s war against magic. Such individuals were typically well-known and notoriously bad at keeping themselves hidden, driven as they were to put their skills to good use. Hisirdoux had shown some aptitude for minor healing charms using his runic bracelet, but not to the level required to mend someone’s shredded spirit; Certainly not when he was the victim.

“Did he tell you what happened?” Morgana was on the hunt. He’d seen that look enough times to recognise it. “A name? A face?”

“No, not yet.” He could have pushed. It was clear Hisirdoux remembered something, and was deeply disturbed by it. Perhaps that was why he’d chosen not to force the matter. Further stress right now would only make things worse. He also had the image of his apprentice reeling away from him in abject terror ingrained in his mind, and wasn’t in any great hurry to repeat that experience. “We’ll have a chance to ask some more pertinent questions when next he wakes. In the meantime, we should continue our efforts to keep the castle secure.”

“You’re worried about Arthur.”

“He is a rather more likely candidate for assassination than my very green apprentice.”

“You haven’t even considered the possibility that you were the target, have you?” He came up short, casting her a piercing look. Morgana rolled her eyes. “Of course you haven’t. He is your apprentice, Merlin. If anyone wanted to draw you out, Douxie is by far the easiest way to reach you.”

It made a disturbing amount of sense, much as he would prefer to deny it. Anyone with even an inkling of familiarity with the royal court would be aware that he would go to Arthur’s aid as required, but the king had an enchanted blade and dozens of trained knights at his beck and call. He would not fall without a fight. Hisirdoux, on the other hand, couldn’t even fend off an enchanted broom. It was entirely possible, even probable, that anyone trying to strike down the Master Wizard would see his apprentice as the weak link in the chain.

Except, that would suggest that the person responsible believed he would set everything else aside to assure the welfare of his student. That assumption was to his advantage; Or, it would have been, had he not spent the last two days doing exactly that. Without the constant renewal of his stasis spell, Hisirdoux might not have survived long enough to regain consciousness. Putting aside his other duties had seemed the right thing to do at the time, weighed against the unnerving thought of no longer having apprentice and dragon constantly underfoot. Morgana was forcing him to face the fact his enemies may have depended upon him making that exact decision, and consider the very real possibility his eyes had deliberately been drawn away from some greater danger.

He wasn’t in the mood to entertain that thought, or to acknowledge the stark fear nipping gently at his heels, so he deliberately set them both aside. There had been no further attacks; It seemed reasonable to assume Hisirdoux was the only target for the time being, as perplexing as that was.

“There is no point speculating until we know more,” he said aloud, knowing the silence had stretched a beat too long. “Better to concentrate on securing our defenses and finding someone to help Hisirdoux.”

“You won’t find anyone in Camelot. You know that.”

That she was right didn’t make him any less aggravated by the observation. “What do you suggest, then?”

“I could try.”

He had not been expecting it, which was the only reason it took him more than a second to formulate his reply. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I think enough damage has already been done without bringing Shadow Magic into the mix, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to hurt him!”

“No, because you will not be using your dark arts anywhere near him. I forbid it.”

She clenched her fists around the volume in her hands, the room rattling again as she stared him down in muted fury. “You know you are part of the problem, don’t you? If you didn’t spend so much time dismissing and demonising that which you don’t understand perhaps Arthur would not feel so justified in destroying every form of magic that does not serve him.”

“Rubbish.” He waved the words away. “We both know where Arthur’s hatred of magic stems from. It has nothing to do with me.”

“You are blind if you truly believe that.”

“And you are wasting my time with pointless arguments in the midst of a crisis. I have better things to do right now than have this discussion with you again.”

He turned towards the door, only to have it come aglow with magic as it slammed shut.

“I am not Hisirdoux to be dismissed whenever you don’t feel like listening.”

“More’s the pity.” He swung back around to face her with his condemnation. “I did at least think you had enough regard for the boy not to delay my work.”

The glare she fixed on him could have quelled Gunmar himself. Merlin simply glared right back, raising an imperious eyebrow in that way he knew she hated.

“Waiting and hoping you’ll think of something is not the answer, Merlin, as you well know. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“What I refuse to admit is that diving headfirst into the Shadow Realm is a viable solution to the problem at hand. Because it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” She gestured with the book in her hands. Not one of his library; He had never encouraged this exploration of dark magic. He didn’t even know where she had happened across it, only that he deeply regretted not having snatched it away to cast into the fire years ago. “You don’t know Shadow Magic. How can you be so certain it won’t work?”

“Common sense, girl.” She glowered at the title, a humbling she had earned with her adamance. “Double the poison does not make a cure.”

“There is nothing there to cure.” She slammed her hand palm down on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin marked Archie emerging from the bedchamber, though whether he intended to intervene or simply wanted to be closer to the unfolding argument was debatable. “Whatever magic did this to him destroyed parts of his soul. They’re not there to be mended, they’re gone. He’s not a torn cloak, Merlin. You can’t just tie the pieces that remain together and hope it’s enough to cover what is missing. Even if you get him back on his feet you will stretch him so thin you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill himself the first time he tries to cast a spell!”

“And how would you know that, hmm? What extensive well of experience are you drawing your theories from?”

“This.” She lifted up the spell book, shoving it at his chest. He seized it on instinct, and she took the opportunity to pluck several more volumes off the table and toss them in his direction as well. He caught those with magic, which was preferable to his face, and watched her storm closer whilst struggling to contain his own rising ire. “You are so convinced that your way is the only way that it has never even occurred to you that I chose to study Shadow Magic for this very reason. For when other means are not enough. You have no idea how it works because you think it is beneath you. I do know. I can use it. And I know that if we have any hope of restoring Douxie’s soul the Shadow Realm is our best chance. Somebody tore that boy to pieces, Merlin, what’s missing doesn’t exist in this world anymore, but that sort of dark magic leaves a trail. I can save him if you will just trust me.”

“And when what you save is not Hisirdoux? When you patch him back together with dark magic and corrupt him entirely? What then, Morgana?”

“I know the difference.”

“No, you think you know the difference, and I will not wager my apprentice’s life on your arrogance.”

“My arrogance? You are the old fool who can’t see past your own self-importance to what your inaction has cost us all! You could have stopped Arthur years ago if you so chose, but you needed him to keep you safe so you could continue your all important work, at the cost of the hundreds of innocents you abandoned. The only reason your apprentice ever needed saving was because you were too much of a coward to stand up to your king!”

“How dare you—!”

“Stop it, both of you!” The outburst was such a surprise that Merlin was actually struck to silence, turning in tandem with Morgana to stare at the small dragon glaring at them both with a baleful expression. “What you seem to be forgetting is that this isn’t your decision to make, it’s Douxie’s. He is the one who has been hurt here, and you deciding what is best for him without bothering to even ask what he thinks is not going to help matters at all. When he wakes up we will all have a civilised discussion on what the best thing to do is. Until then, perhaps you two Master Wizards can put your heads together and properly figure out who was responsible for this. Before they do the same thing to someone else.”

The ensuing hush was awkward, to say the least. Archie refused to back down, standing with wings flared and lips curled back in a faint snarl as he tried to look as intimidating as a dragon that didn’t come up to one’s knees could. Merlin was the first to turn away, stalking back to the table to set down the books Morgana had flung at him in her fury. Unfortunately for him, years spent as his student had taught her to read his silences better than anyone else, and there was disbelief in her eyes when he turned back to face the pair of them.

“You already know, don’t you?” she accused.

“I suspect,” he defended himself. “That is not the same thing as knowing.”

“Yes, yes, it’s completely different,” Archie pressed impatiently. “Who do you suspect is responsible then?”

He had not been ready to disclose this much to anyone just yet. Sadly, he could not see a way out of it without inciting another argument. It was a small miracle they hadn’t already woken Hisirdoux with all the shouting that had been going on, and he didn’t want to subject himself to Archie’s righteous anger should it start up again. Instead, he adopted the stance of a teacher once more, marching back and forth as he spoke, “The ability to injure someone in this way is not common. Shadow Magic might allow you to tether a soul to a traumatic memory, hold it in place, twist it until it bends to your will, or rip it from its mortal flesh entirely, but it does not allow you to cause irreparable harm. This is something older, darker. This is the Arcane Order.”

Morgana exchanged a glance with the familiar, then asked the expected question, “What is the Arcane Order?”

“You mean who,” he held up a finger to emphasise his point. “They are a trio of ancient wizards who protect the balance between the magic and the mortal worlds by rendering destruction on those they perceive to be a threat. If you want to blame anyone for the world’s growing mistrust of magic, Morgana, the Order should be at the top of your list. To say that they are responsible for the deaths of hundreds would likely be understating the bloody mark they have left on history. Part of the reason I aided Arthur in uniting Camelot was because it was becoming abundantly clear I could not continue to fight them on my own, and the divisions amongst the mortal kingdoms made them easy prey. The Order has been quiet since Arthur came to power; I might have known they were planning something.”

“Why Douxie, though?” Archie wondered aloud. “Why not Arthur? Why not you?”

“I do not know.” It grated to admit that much. Morgana’s theory might hold some merit, but he still didn’t understand why the Order would not have come for him directly. He was not an easy mark, but he was not unreachable either. “If it was the Arcane Order, then I do not even know how Hisirdoux survived. These are beings older than nearly any other that walks the earth. Hisirdoux is a child. It doesn’t make sense.”

“We are missing something,” Morgana agreed, leaning across the table to emphasise her next point. “So let me look for it.”

He folded his arms, making his disapproval known. “We are going in circles, Morgana. The answer is still no.”

“But—!”

“Enough!” He called his staff to his hand from across the room just to add the force of slamming it on the ground to his words. “I need to go make sure our king is kept informed of this potential threat. If you want to make yourself useful, try searching my library for a solution that won’t simply kill the boy faster.”

“Kill?” Archie’s head shot up, eyes wide behind his glasses. “He’s dying?”

Merlin took that as his cue to leave the room. Let Morgana be the one to break the bad news. If she was doing that perhaps she wouldn’t feel tempted to go rooting through every scrap of forbidden knowledge Arthur had not yet managed to destroy.

A doubtful outcome, but a wizard could hope.

Right now, that seemed like all he could do.

Story Canon Notes:

"Hisirdoux had shown some aptitude for minor healing charms using his runic bracelet..." - Not strictly canon, but Douxie's role in the Trollhunters game is team healer, which at lease loosely implies he has some sort of remedial spell in his arsenal. His (minor) injuries also disappear between scenes in Episode 8, and I assume he was going to attempt to use some sort of healing spell on Merlin before Merlin stopped him.

[kiss-my-freckle]

The Apothecary

8x5 episode description: “The task force investigates an organization of bank robbers with a special expertise in stealing from other criminals. An old blacklist case resurfaces.”

My suspect: The Apothecary 

Reasons why:

1. Red’s collapses. 

The timing is perfect because it’s like a reverse of The Apothecary’s episode. Instead of suspecting Dembe of poisoning him, Red’s first collapse came at a time when Dembe’s imam was abducted. Red has no reason to suspect him, which removes their need to do an exact repeat. 

Snakes -

The woman’s snakeskin boots as she entered the room. 

"The lab did find one distinct element in the molecular structure of the drops taken from Robert Dahle’s apartment. A peptide unique to the venom of Bungarus flaviceps, also known as the red-headed krait."

Jennifer's reference in S6 that reminds me of Liz's reference in S4 and ties in Red's reference in S2.

"I'm the snake in the grass."

"I’ll do my job, but I am done cozying up to that snake."

"Our fake father's a criminal, and our real one's a snake."

Orion Relocation Services + Fate - 

There are other seeds, like Dembe standing by the Orion stained glass window. 

The Hunter and his arrows. This made me think of The Deer Hunter and Liz's marionette comment, which she first mentioned to Ressler in The Longevity Initiative (2x17).

This also pulls in Keenler’s Capricorn Killer soundtrack.

♪ What arrow? At what angle? And what angel? ♪

And I already know Agnes is that angel because she was referenced twice, by the woman from Paris and Skip Sutherland.

“She’s an angel.”

“For a surcharge, I’ll even watch the cherub.”

Red’s Stairway To Heaven comment. "Who the hell's Elizabeth Keen?" because Liz was wrong. "I'm expecting a little devil of my own." As Red already warned us she would be. "What makes you so sure you're not wrong this time?"

My question is, what the hell happened? You did. You and Agent Ressler.

All that glitters is gold + Like I said, silver linings

Red’s symptoms, which mirror that of his original poisoning, only it’s more like an ongoing attack rather than a one-shot. I think they’re getting the formula wrong because The Apothecary didn’t have Red’s medical file. Kate only needed so much from him anyway because of her skill set. 

“Well, just that whoever poisoned him knew his medical history - intimately. The toxins were uniquely designed to target his body chemistry.”

She attended medical school and she knew of Red’s medical history.

"Your tremors are gone. But not the underlying condition."

His tremors were gone because he wasn't drinking the wine.

"Fun fact - Li Qing Yuen ate wolfberries every day of his life and was said to have lived to the ripe old age of 256."

The tests -

“We thought, at first, you may have had a series of mini strokes. But the MRIs, the EEGs, they ruled that out.”

“Vitals are - okay. Pulse. You need an MRI as well as a CT-scan.”

The medical file -

“There were no medical records, nothing about Reddington on file.”

“About my chart.”

The wine (with both his collapses) - 

“An old blacklist case” for an “old friend”

“Elizabeth, I found the wine that was used to administer the poison.”

“What? Everyone knows wine is dehydrating.”

The difference in doctors -

Dr. Clemons: "Not for her."

Dr. Stark: "Someone she cared about."

For the same reason the woman from Paris didn't turn to Norman Devane for herself, Red didn't turn to Spalding Stark for himself. He's trying to donate to someone he's related to, someone he actually cares about. That's why Red isn't collapsing, having tremors, or showing signs of vision and/or hearing impairment when he visits Dr. Stark, only when he visits Dr. Clemons. He's seeing two doctors for two different reasons. That’s why Dr. Stark purposefully stated that he doesn’t test on children. He’d experiment on Red because technically, he’s considered terminally ill. He has a running hit on his head. Dr. Stark would provide Red with hope of saving his future - Agnes, his granddaughter. Agnes runs opposite Ames in The Pharmacist. That’s why Red is financing Stark.

“My - My daughter’s pregnant. I want to see my grandchild. I can get you the money.”

Just as he financed Dr. Shaw to save Liz. 

2. Elodie killing her husband. 

Taking note how Aram's dialogue to Elodie's dead husband mirrors Red's comment to Tom in 5x8.

"I, uh - I know this is super awkward. But I think this might be in your best interest."

"I’ll say this for you - you’ve always believed that you were acting in her best interest."

As well as Red’s comment to Kate.

"And yet, I know you believe what you did was best for Elizabeth, which is why I brought you here."

Aram's comment... lol

"Quick stick. Oh, God. Oh."

This ties in Liz's second memory wipe. “You were drugged. Propofol, Tramadol.”  imo, the reason they've been mentioning Tom so much lately. 

Add in Elodie's comment -

"Who comes up with all the nicknames? General Shiro. The Pharmacist. The Apothecary.”

And Aram’s -

“You used me. You got me to open up to you. That’s why you kept asking about Blacklisters. To seduce me into giving you a murder weapon.”

3. “stealing from other criminals” like Red’s statement to Marvin.  

"I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re criminals, after all. It’s in our nature to betray."

Judas hits back to The Pharmacist (Dr. Stark). 

“I’ve always found stories of betrayal to be so compelling, so tragic for all those involved. Judas, Iago, men who were beloved by those they’d betrayed.” 

♪ There is a judas among us Nobody here we can trust There is a judas among us ♪ 

4. Marvin and Becky.

This is a man who already lost a son to suicide.

"They tracked him down, of course. Returned the child to his mother. Marvin was disbarred, convicted, and incarcerated. A year later, Timothy hung himself. He was 15."

Went to prison for three years because of his work with Red.

"He forced the FBI to release you from prison a week before your parole so that you could become his accomplice and help him escape during a police standoff. You had a new fiancé at the time, a whole life waiting. What do you have now, Marvin? Alone, on the run til you die?"

While incarcerated, lost his chance to have children with Becky.

"Becky hit menopause while I was in that bird cage. We wanted kids, but if you must know, I had performance anxiety during our conjugal visits."

The bird references are everywhere. Atticus at the mental hospital. Red wanting to hear the birds sing in Isabella Stone's episode. Agnes and her cuckoo clock. Mato and his cuckoo clock. Red wanting to hear the bird sing in Miss Rebecca Thrall's episode. 

"Because I am working in a toy store!"

Then Marvin went to work in the toy section, which likely upset him more, but it's as close to kids as he'll get. It’s also likely he did time with The Apothecary (Asa Hightower) because they took the death penalty off the table in exchange for curing Reddington. 

"I’m here because I need information about the prison where you served. Wallens Ridge, something’s happening inside those walls, and I need to..."

"You take the death penalty off the table, and I’ll tell you how to cure Raymond Reddington."

The father Asa became, the father Marvin wishes he could be. Asa raping his wife pushes to Hannah Hayes' episode.

5. My predictions for Ressler.

I already did a full-length post on my predictions for Ressler. Not sure where it is and I don't feel like looking for it, so I’ll keep it basic. Ressler went with Red to Dr. Stark’s lab FOR A REASON. Red’s two-for-one sale will become his two-for-one investment. “This is gonna be a gas.” Damn right, it is. Ressler’s gonna look at Red’s medical file in the hopes of helping Liz, only to find out Red is Katarina Rostova aka N-13. Then Red is gonna threaten Ressler with fire just as he did Minister D because it’s all about those blackmail dialogues - found in Minister D and The Informant, as well as the one Garvey handed to us with the bones. Add in Dom’s warning to Liz in 8x2 because knowing is enough. 

“I don’t bite. Unless you ever utter my name. In which case, I’ll gut you like a fish and feed you to the lobsters.”

While Red is threatening him, Ressler’s gonna talk his way onto Dr. Stark’s table like Norman Devane was, only it’ll be for a DNA test to see if he's the father of Agnes. “Because I honestly don’t want her to worry. Whether she does or not is ENTIRELY up to you.” This will be what saves his pretty face from fire, and follow through with Tom’s 4x8 iou. Because Agnes is a Ressler, not a Keen. imo, Ressler’s gonna save two people - Red and Agnes. Red’s two-for-one investment simply by bringing Ressler to Stark’s lab. Because Red knows Agnes is in need of a donation, but he has no idea he’s being poisoned. Ressler’s gonna realize Red is being poisoned, while Red is gonna realize Ressler is the father of Agnes. The not-so- cliché future in-laws. 

The Apothecary hits in so many directions.

[glimmerglanger]

LRPD Snippet idk 15

I got some more LRPD prompts over on AO3! Gonna try to work through them the next few days. Starting with a request for a visit from a Force Ghost (there were several requests, they’re all lumped here). Also for information about how Anakin’s run-in with the Sand People went in the LRPD!verse. This got... longer than I planned.

~~~~~~~~

Ben had woken up poorly more often than he could count throughout his life. Surprises when opening one’s eyes usually turned out to be unpleasant. The syndicates still sent assassins after them, every so often, after all. So he assumed the day was about to go poorly when he stirred, woken by a strange feeling in the back of his mind, blinking and noticing a strange blue light that had, most definitely, not been there when he and Anakin fell into bed the previous night.

The blue light came from a man. He appeared to be glowing, almost like a holo. He had tired eyes, long hair, a beard, Jedi robes, but that meant nothing. He seemed familiar. He sat by the side of the bed. Ben stiffened - thinking about the odds this was about to go terribly wrong - and felt Anakin stir from sleep in response. Ben had a lightsaber under his pillow - some habits never went away - and reached for it, slowly, even as he said, “Well, hello.”

“Hello,” the man said, and his voice sounded strange, as though it came from very far away.

It had an immediate effect on Anakin, who stiffened and pushed up, his breath audibly catching in his throat. And, Ben, staring at their strange visitor, finally placed the man’s face at the same time Anakin breathed out, “Master Qui-Gon.”

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon said - impossibly - with a tired smile on his face. “And…” He looked back at Ben, gaze sliding almost immediately away. “Ben, was it?”

“It was,” Ben said, fingers touching his lightsaber. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he knew Anakin’s old Master was long dead; more than a decade passed into the Force. Which meant this had to be some kind of trap, designed to throw them off their guard. “Who sent you here?”

“No one sent me,” Qui-Gon said, standing, his gaze on Anakin once more. He made to step forward, and Ben shoved aside blankets, on his feet without thought, saber in hand and lit.

“That’s close enough,” he said, the night air cool on his bare skin, but barely noticeable. He had… no good associations with Qui-Gon to cloud his mind. In fact, just the sight of the man made his shoulder ache, brought back the memories of old pains and the lowest point in his life. But he doubted the same would be true for Anakin; he’d served with Qui-Gon for years, he’d loved his old Master, whatever this ploy was, it was likely to have an effect on him.

Qui-Gon - or whatever or whoever he actually was - looked at him, apparently surprised, before abruptly averting his eyes. “Ben?” Anakin said, rolling to his feet at Ben’s back, a hand on his shoulder, “what are you doing?”

“He can’t actually be your old Master,” Ben said, reaching out to keep his other hand on Anakin, the flat of his hand against Anakin’s chest, because he knew, too well, how Anakin could be sometimes. “It’s some kind of trick, a trap. Stay behind me.”

“It’s no trap,” Qui-Gon said, looking over Anakin, expression tightening at his leg, at all the scars. “I am--”

“Dead,” Anakin said, quietly, some deep grief staining his voice. “Ben’s right.” The hum of his lightsaber igniting was a sweet comfort. 

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Anakin,” he said, “listen to me, I have found a way to - to return, briefly, to speak with you. And--”

“Whoever came up with this plan is going to be sorry they did,” Anakin said, like a calm fact. There was a tinge of anger in his voice and through him in the Force, and Ben, even years later, tensed at the sound of it. It lasted only a moment, before Anakin released it.

“There’s no plan,” Qui-Gon said, hands extended to the side. “I only wished to see you, I don’t see why everyone is so surprised--”

“You’re leaving, now,” Anakin said, taking a step forward, Ben flanking around automatically; they’d fought beside one another so long, there was little need to speak plans out loud. He knew what Anakin would do.

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon said again, sounding frustrated, “listen to me, it is-- Do you recall, when we were assigned to protect Senator Amidala, and you wished to protect her alone?”

Anakin drew up short, blinking. “What?”

“Knowledge of that mission is not uncommon,” Ben said, from Qui-Gon’s other side, his heart beating at his ribs. Anakin shifted his stunned gaze and nodded, his expression clearing once more.

“But how many know what happened after we found your mother on Tatooine, Anakin?” Ben watched Anakin freeze, going completely still. “How many know what I was forced to do in that camp, to stop you?” There was silence, for a moment, broken only by Anakin’s panting breath, and then Qui-Gon continued, “It is me. Can you not feel it, through the Force?”

“This is impossible,” Anakin said, his voice rough.

“No,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. “Through the Force, it is possible. Please, can we not speak?”

#

Qui-Gon agreed to put any discussions on hold, until they could dress. Ben pulled his clothes on methodically, keeping an eye on Anakin, who seemed… Not quite living in the present moment. Ben felt his distress, his lack of balance through the Force.

Ben himself felt… Uneasy. Looking at Qui-Gon threw his thoughts back into the past. He remembered the man mostly as he had looked spread out in death. The memories were linked, irrevocably, to Anakin gripping his shoulders and shoving him against the wall, to the outpouring of rage into his head, to--

“Ben,” Anakin said, agonized, hands on Ben’s skin, curling him into an embrace, holding him there in the middle of their room. “Force, Ben, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Ben shook his head, turning his face against Anakin’s shoulder, hiding there for a moment. It was an old wound, long healed. Sometimes it still hurt. “I’ll send him away,” Anakin said, stroking a hand up and down Ben’s back. “You just - you stay here, and I’ll--”

“He came here for a reason,” Ben said, eyes closed, breathing in slow and deep, releasing the flood of sense memories away. “You should hear him out.”

“It hurts you,” Anakin said, a protest, “I--never again, Ben, I’m not going to sit there and watch you hurt ever again, I--”

“It hurts you, too,” Ben said, shifting back, enough to cup Anakin’s cheek, to tug on him enough that they could rest their foreheads together. “I feel it. But.” He shrugged. “We can face it. Together.” He quirked a smile. “We’ve faced worse.”

Anakin said nothing for a moment, and then nodded. “We have,” he agreed, and shifted enough to brush a kiss across Ben’s mouth. “Alright. Come on, then.” He straightened, as though preparing for battle, and took Ben’s hand.

#

The… ghost, for lack of a better term, was waiting out in the living area of their current quarters. Qui-Gon stood at the window, looking out over the small city where they’d found themselves. He still radiated blue light.

Ben kept a couch between them, his attention split between Anakin and Qui-Gon, as Anakin moved to the kitchen, returning with two glasses. Ben took his when offered, and drank deeply. “Alright,” Anakin said, after draining his glass. “We, uh, we’re ready. To speak.”

“I thought,” Qui-Gon said, looking over at them, gaze sliding past Ben, editing him out. All the Jedi did that, still, so many years later. Except the ones who met him, first. Those edited out his brothers. “That you and I could speak, Anakin. Perhaps alone, for a--”

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head once, curling an arm around Ben. “Ben’s not going anywhere.”

Qui-Gon grimaced, just a little, before smoothing his expression. “Very well,” he said. “If that is what you wish.”

“It is very much what I wish,” Anakin said, and something in Ben eased, just a little, some tension he had not realized grew within him. Long ago, so many years ago, Anakin had blamed him for losing Qui-Gon. Had wished - however briefly - that he’d chosen Qui-Gon and his feelings on attachment above Ben. 

Ben had not realized he still carried a kernel of the pain left behind by that feeling around, until it lessened. He blinked, rapidly, glancing to the side and releasing the feeling into the Force while working to keep his breathing even.

“I…” Qui-Gon hesitated. “We left things poorly. You and I.”

Anakin made a little sound, amused but sharp. “We did,” he agreed. 

“I am sorry for my part in it,” Qui-Gon said, and Anakin flinched, just a little, as though that was not what he’d expected to hear.

“What?” he asked, quietly.

“I’ve had much time to contemplate,” Qui-Gon continued. “And I am sorry that our bond suffered, before my death.”

Anakin’s fingers clenched tight in Ben’s shirt, hidden from view. Ben rested a hand on his back, an automatic little gesture of comfort. Anakin rasped, “I am, as well. I - I was angry. Furious, really. With you.”

Qui-Gon’s mouth quirked. “So I felt,” he said.

“Force,” Anakin said, rubbing a hand up over his face. “So this is… you just came back to…” He gestured, out to the side.

“Not just to apologize, no,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. “There are… other reasons. But I wanted to… to repair things, between us, Anakin.”

Anakin nodded, something in his emotions shifting. His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke again, to ask, “Who did you go to see, first?” 

Qui-Gon shifted, across the room. “What do you mean?”

“You said,” Anakin said, quietly, “that everyone seemed so surprised to see you.” He swallowed, looking up. “You went to see Once, didn’t you?”

Qui-Gon blinked. “I visited Obi-Wan, yes, he was easier to--”

“That’s not his name,” Anakin cut in, tone growing sharper. “That was never his name. Obi-Wan died on Naboo almost twenty-five years ago, Master.”

Qui-Gon stared at him, but only for a beat, before looking to the side. “And then the Force returned him.”

Anakin shivered, though their rooms were, as always, slightly too warm. He made a little sound, and said, “Force, it really was you, wasn’t it? From the very beginning? He really didn’t--” Anakin stiffened, then. “Wait, you visited him? Is he alright?”

And something about the honest, sudden concern that Ben felt from him soothed another old hurt. Anakin had been angrier with Once than Ben had ever sensed for any other person. When Ben first came upon them in the viewing room, he had been sure Anakin would kill his brother, if not thrown off course.

The few times they’d run into one another after the war had been…tense. They always left Anakin feeling unsettled and unhappy. Guilty and hurt in near equal measure. 

“He seems… unwell,” Qui-Gon said, expression twisting towards misery. “His mind suffered terrible wounds. I thought I would be able to help, but--”

“Not happy to see you, was he?” Anakin said, and turned to the side, dragging a hand back over his head. 

“Obi-Wan has always been--”

“He’s not Obi-Wan, Master!” Anakin rarely shouted, these days. “He’s never wanted to be Obi-Wan. Force, you’re lucky Cody isn’t here. He’d find a way to slug you across the jaw, let me tell you.”

Qui-Gon sighed. He said, “I wanted to discuss this with you calmly, Anakin.”

“Calmness isn’t always appropriate, Qui-Gon,” Anakin said, slumping just a little, looking tired. Ben took his hand, and Anakin squeezed, threading their fingers together. “I think, maybe, you need to contemplate things a little more… Maybe you can… I don’t know. Find Obi-Wan. The real Obi-Wan. Wherever you came from.”

There was silence for a moment, thick, and Qui-Gon spoke softly when he broke it. “I cannot.”

“What?” Ben asked, because there was something alarming about the thought that their progenitor had not… passed onwards into the Force, enough to lead him to interrupting this conversation.

“He is not there,” Qui-Gon said, a grimace twisting his mouth. “Or…. He is, in a way. I sense his thoughts, sometimes. But his presence in the Force is… scattered. Split.” He looked up, then, directly at Ben for perhaps the first time in either his life or his death. There was something reproachful in his tone when he spoke, “He has been denied wholeness.”

“That’s enough,” Anakin said, the words startling Ben almost as much as his sudden movement. He was not entirely sure what had prompted Anakin to shift in front of him, drawing Ben firmly back a step and behind his shoulder.

Qui-Gon looked away, breaking the line of his gaze. He said, tired, “Are we going to quarrel again, Anakin?”

“We might,” Anakin said. “I’d rather we didn’t.”

Qui-Gon nodded and straightened. “Perhaps I should… go. Contemplate further, as you have said.”

“That might be a good idea,” Anakin said, a hand still on Ben’s side, as though… Well. Ben wasn’t sure exactly what he was worried about, but he felt concerned, all the same.

“It was good to see you again, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said, and he looked sad, all at once. Sad and lost. Anakin opened his mouth, but Qui-Gon was gone before he could speak, dissolving into nothing but motes of light, dispersing through their apartment.

Anakin made a choking sound, sagging, and Ben curled arms around him, holding him as he gasped, “Force.”

“It’s alright,” Ben said, automatically, running a hand up Anakin’s back, fingers sliding into his hair, holding him. They remained there, clenched tight to one another, as the sun rose outside their windows.

[theonceoverthinker]

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 3/?)

Tumblr: (1) (2) (B1)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before. AO3

A/N: By some Passover/Easter miracle, this chapter is actually on time!!!! Wahoo!!! I don't know what it was, but this chapter was both super easy and super hard to write! Here’s hoping it’s decent!

()()()()()()()()

Qrow Branwen always considered himself to be a...complicated man.

That was the easiest explanation he had for why he was preparing to scale the walls of the most celebrated general in Remnant’s home at seven thirty in the morning.

Thankfully, while so much of his life was complicated, this plan would be nice and easy.

There was a brooch all but asking to be stolen and he was a bandit, all but asking for something to steal. 

Really, nothing could be simpler.

And once this heist got going, that simplicity would play out nice and smoothly.

Now where the hell was Mercury with that distraction so it could start, already?

Remnant’s streets were as busy and noisy as they ever were. All around, shopkeepers were making deals with their customers, friends were visiting friends, children were playing all manner of games, and street performers were singing for their supper. For most of his typical goings ons, a situation like that was a good thing. More people out and about meant more things for people to balance keeping an eye on, and if a trinket, a loaf of bread, or some coins got lost in the shuffle of the usual crowds, they wouldn’t be missed until it was far too late to do anything about it.

However, while that business often made for a good environment in his line of work, in a case like this where he was scaling walls in broad daylight, discretion was key to success. So, for an occasion like this, he needed a more artificial way of pulling the attention of the masses away from him, and that way came in the form of a distraction by one Mercury Black.

Still, even though he was sure the distraction wouldn't fail, he was annoyed that they had to rely on one in the first place. Qrow had wanted to do this heist last night --  “you know, when people are asleep,” he argued -- but his accomplice insisted they wait until the morning to start. He had no idea what could’ve possibly been more important than completing this heist, nor what had to have possessed him to agree to forego his nighttime plan. It certainly would’ve been easier than what they were doing now!

This, Qrow reminded himself, is why he preferred to work alone. 

Yes, it wasn’t common for Qrow to work on a team -- he was a good enough bandit on his own and less people meant less profit splitting -- but when there was a brooch encrusted with Remnant’s purest emeralds as primed for the taking as was the one situated in General Ironwood’s heavily guarded home, there were suddenly all sorts of things Qrow Branwen found he was willing to do.

That brooch…

With the money he could get from a brooch like that, Qrow would never have to worry about money ever again.

In fact, with the money he could get from a brooch like that, he’d never have to worry about anything ever again.

Now that would be just the kind of break he so desperately needed.

All he had to do to get it was just wait for the signal and then do what he did best.

From the shadowed portion of the alley he was hiding in, Qrow glared in the general direction he knew Mercury’s distraction would come from, as if that glare would somehow will the distraction into existence.

And suddenly, as if the universe itself were abiding by his request, a loud and messy boom of a sound made itself known from the other side of the alley’s wall -- the far-too-long-for-Qrow’s-liking sought after signal.

It was about damn time.

Qrow counted off the seconds as panicked noises emerged in droves, crescendoing, only to then gradually soften as they moved further and further away from Qrow to investigate the strange noise. When Qrow reached fifty, he slowly started climbing up the house’s walls. He checked to make sure the coast was clear and upon seeing that everyone’s attention  -- even including most of Ironwood’s guards, with more exiting the house -- was elsewhere, he continued climbing, now daring to speed up, knowing he wouldn’t be noticed.

He had to hand it to Mercury: the guy and those boots of his were pretty effective as a distraction, and Qrow knew as he hastened to finish his climb up the house’s wall that that very distraction would hold well until their job was done.

The top floor window of the General’s home was closed tightly with a decorative piece of stained glass depicting the brooch with a glowing sunset behind it.

To call the stained glass beautiful would be an understatement. In truth, it was a masterpiece, with every detail of the piece so intricately crafted, and though Qrow was by no means an art critic, even he knew that the glassblower, whoever they were, had certainly outdone themselves here.

It was a shame though that such a magnificent piece stood in his way.

Quickly, Qrow took the satchel at his side, pressed it up against the glass, and punched it as hard as he could at different angels three times.The first time cracked most of it and even sent a few shards of glass tumbling down the other side of the window. The second time shattered much of the glass on the other side, just enough to create a hole he could feasibly get though. And the third time left the window completely destroyed, ensuring that his exit would leave no room for complications.

Again, Qrow was a complicated man, but that didn’t mean his schemes had to be.

Qrow climbed through the window and examined the room. Despite the bright, pale green colored walls of the room and how full it was, there was a certain moroseness to it too that couldn’t be ignored. It was enough to even give Qrow pause for the barest of seconds before he started to look for the brooch.

The room had quite a lot of things in it -- toys, old furniture, crates full of supplies and the like. To anyone else, finding the brooch in here would’ve been as easy as finding a needle in a haystack. 

However, Qrow wasn’t just anyone. He was a bandit, and a damn good one.

Qrow looked to the floors of the room. There were messes all along them. However, one section of the room directly to his left was spared a mess in front of it and it just so happened that that one section gave way to a wide drawer. 

He was starting to wonder just how Ironwood managed to become a general with a hiding spot as transparent as that.

It almost felt unfair taking the brooch under such easy circumstances.

However, ‘almost’ was the key word in that sentiment.

Qrow made his way over to the drawer and looked at the three brass handles that each drawer held. The top and middle drawers were a dark copper color, but the bottom had a hint of shininess to it, implying it was used more often than the others.

Honestly, he’d opened lockless doors more challenging than that deduction was.

And speaking of locks...

There was a lock on the top right side of the bottom drawer, clearly a final obstacle between anyone and the brooch. It also likely served a second purpose -- notifying Ironwood if the brooch’s hiding spot had been discovered by thieves. Whithout the help of a key, whatever thief who had made it this far was likely to make noise trying to open the lock with a whatever they had on hand, or if they were truly dumb enough, they might try to go deeper into the house to try to find the key’s location.

But Qrow wasn’t noisy, nor was he dumb, and he certainly wasn’t a thief.

From his belt, Qrow reached for his weapon, Harbinger and removed it from his sheath. Once in his hand, Qrow flicked Harbinger, unfolding it. 

Qrow was a complicated man -- it only made sense that his weapon would be too, and Harbinger was nothing if not complicated all the way from its inception to its design. Much like the bones of an arm, Harbinger was a scythe able to fold and unfold itself thanks to metal screws that acted as joints, and both of its forms served a different purpose. When it was folded, it ensured stronger blows and made for a handy makeshift shield, acting as almost more of a sword than a scythe, and when it was unfolded, it served the purposes of giving his attacks and abilities range and flexibility.

But while quite the wondrous weapon in its own right, Harbinger had an additional secret ability in the tip of it in its unfolded state. 

In that state, its tip was just the perfect size to use as a lockpick, and Qrow wouldn’t even have to bend down to use it.

Really, this was too, too easy.

All the same though, Qrow wasn’t about to argue with an easy victory. He swung Harbinger back and forth in just the way he knew would unlock the drawer. The resulting click when it did was music to Qrow’s ears.

Qrow took Harbinger out of the drawer’s lock and used it to pull open the drawer at the handle. 

And there, just as he knew it would be, was the brooch.

Folding and putting Harbinger away, Qrow looked at the brooch. The little bits of sunlight that reflected off of the broken stained glass shards on the floor made the brooch’s emeralds shimmer, making it look even more priceless than it already was.

All it took was one long look for Qrow to know that that brooch was going to make him a very rich man.

And it was all so easy...that is, until it wasn’t.

“Step away from the brooch now.”

Without saying a word, Qrow turned around to see the room’s new occupant and spotted a young woman, about his age, standing in the actual door to the room’s open frame. She had a steely gaze, hair that formed the abstract, yet still present shape of two bunny ears, and two large gauntlets in her hands.

He recognized her immediately -- Harriet, General Ironwood’s oldest daughter. 

And she recognized him. It was obvious and not at all surprising. After all, one didn’t become the greatest bandit in all of Remnant without gaining something of a reputation. Apparently, that reputation had spread all the way to the top of the pecking order.

He almost had to wonder now if the king knew about him. Wouldn’t that be funny?

“You’ve stolen more than you ever should’ve from our kingdom, Branwen,” Harriet continued, eyes flaring and tone hitching up slightly, still firm but also somewhat desperate too, “but I swear, on my honor as a knight of the royal guard, that you will not get this brooch!” 

A smirk crossed Qrow’s features as he mapped out his next moves. “Oh, I think you’ll find that I will,” he said, and with not a single beat passing between him and his pursuer, he grabbed the brooch in one fluid notion. “You know,” he continued, swiftly making for the room’s window, carefully avoiding every piece of broken glass in his path, “you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

And as soon as Qrow’s final words left his mouth, he jumped out of the window with an air about him so casual that one would almost believe he was just visiting for tea if not for his unorthodox exit.

Qrow grabbed onto the house’s outer wall, just as he did on his climb up, and turned his head to look behind him. The roof of the next house over was a simple jump over, and Qrow wasted no time taking the leap. He continued rushing across the rooftops one by one.

As Qrow ran ahead, shoving the brooch into his satchel, he took notice of the multiple sounds following him. 

There were the gasps of people who had now noticed his presence from atop the roofs of houses he now ran on.

There was the boom of what Qrow could only assume was another explosion courtesy of Mercury’s boots in an attempt to keep the attention of those who hadn’t seen him yet.

But the worst -- not to mention, the loudest -- came in the form of Harriet’s shouts.

“Come back here, Branwen!” she cried. 

God, was she annoying.

He had a feeling when he and Mercury first came up with this plan that she’d be the worst part of his day.

And with any luck...he’d be the worst part of hers.

Qrow looked behind him, back at the window, and much to his lack of surprise, he could see Harriet glowing yellow. 

It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant.

In all his time stealing his way through Remnant, Qrow had been fortunate enough to not have a direct run-in with Harriet before, or those siblings of hers, for that matter. Like himself, they had a reputation of their own as specialized knights all apprenticed directly under General Ironwood himself. Because of General Ironwood’s renown and his children’s talents, they were considered to be Remnant’s top knights, and many took to calling them the Ace Ops. 

However, just because Qrow never had the misfortune to meet them, it didn’t mean he intended to go about his days in their territory blind to his biggest threats.

And of course, learning about them meant learning about their semblances too, and Harriet was just about to use hers.

In the two seconds Qrow spent looking at the window before turning his attention back to the roofs, he saw Harriet rush out the window and in his direction, getting closer and closer by the second.

Speed semblances...what a pain in the ass they could be…

But Qrow also knew quite a lot about pain in the ass semblances, and now felt like just the right time to use his.

Thinking quickly, Qrow took a sharp right turn and leapt onto an adjacent rooftop, running in a direction that was very familiar to him. 

Harriet was catching up fast, but Qrow kept his lead.

All he had to do was go a little bit further.

There were just two houses to go.

A shout from Harriet boomed just after he got across the first one.

More gasps sprinkled his path as he passed by the second one.

Then, as Qrow reached the roof he was looking for, he was met with a very welcoming creak. He listened wholly to the sound, looked closely at its qualities, and spent the two seconds he had with it focusing all his energy into everything he had gleaned about the wood in that short time. When he was finally done with the step, a smirk crossed his face.

She was done for.

Without stopping, Qrow ran past the rooftop and onto the next one. When he arrived at that rooftop, for the first time since he began, he stopped running and turned, looking backwards once more. Harriet was just two houses away from him. 

“It’s over, Branwen,” she growled as she ran across the first rooftop. Qrow simply stood there and watched, his smirk staying perfectly in place. 

Harriet smirked right back at him and she ran onto the next rooftop.

But that smirk, just as quickly as it appeared, jumped off her face as the rooftop she stood atop caved in on itself. 

Qrow released a dark chuckle and slowly approached the wrecked scene. Harriet struggled under the wood of the roof, her torso trapped under a large support beam. She looked like a turtle stuck on its back, and it was all Qrow could do not to laugh...so he didn’t even try not to. 

Still, Qrow knew from experience that the support beam of that roof was quite rotted and clearly not big nor strong enough to kill or even seriously injure her. That said, he also knew that it was all the same more than enough to keep her occupied under it for a nice, nice while.

“You’re right!” Qrow called. “It is over, just not for me. Must be your unlucky day.” 

“Branwen!” Harriet shouted. 

“Hey! Not my fault the kingdom doesn't invest enough into local infrastructure!” Qrow replied, the now devilish smirk on his face still present, betraying any innocence his mocking tone may have had. “Let’s just thank the Gods that no one lives there, and that you’re safe and secure under that beam!”

Harriet’s eyes flared at the jests. She glowed yellow, clearly trying to use her semblance to free herself, but to no avail. “Stop him!” she then yelled, likely to her guards, but from the view Qrow had of the town, it looked to be towards no one in particular. 

This was almost going to be too easy.

But still aware that guards would be on his tail soon, so as not to tempt fate any more than he already had, Qrow gave the sight below him a final snort before taking off on his current course once more.

With a moment to take for himself at last in his gras, Qrow lowered himself from the next low-to-the-ground rooftop he could find and landed in another deserted alleyway. He placed a hand against one of the alley’s walls, taking laborious breaths only kept quiet thanks to years of on-the-job training. In his line of work, too much noise was the difference between a full belly and a jail cell.

A few minutes passed as Qrow calculated the rest of his escape. He still had at least a mile’s run to get out of the town and into the forest, and of course, distance wasn’t the only thing he had to take into consideration, not by a long shot. 

As if on cue, one of those things made themselves known. The sudden sound of metal clashing with stone from behind him had Qrow freeze in place.

“Finally,” a voice spoke from out of his line of sight. “Managed to catch up to you.” 

Qrow remained frozen, but only for another half a second as he realized who he was speaking to. 

When he finally did, all he could do was roll his eyes and remind himself that this was why he worked alone as he turned around and greeted his accomplice.

“Gods, can you run,” Mercury continued, taking deep breaths of his own, though completely devoid of the hushedness that Qrow had long since mastered.

“Well, if we did this at night like I said we should, you probably wouldn’t have had to run like that. But no. For some asinine reason, it had to be done in broad daylight, and I cannot for the life of me understand why.”

Mercury grunted and shrugged. “I was busy, and we’ve all gotta do what we’ve gotta do. Even a thief like you understands that, right?”

“A thief like me,” Qrow mocked through a scoff. “I know this wasn’t your first time doing this either. And I’m a bandit. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t have your reputation,” Mercury shot back. “And no, there isn’t.”

“As I’ll remind you, it’s thanks to that reputation that we’re about to make enough money to buy our own thieves to argue over this stuff. And yes, there is.”

Suddenly, Qrow grew quiet and signaled to Mercury to do the same as he listened to the sounds coming from the streets. He could hear a number of footsteps stepping in a way he knew well.

Guards were approaching.

“We have to get out of here, and fast,” Qrow whispered. He looked ahead, and upon finding their best option, gestured to Mercury to follow as he headed in that direction. 

For three brief minutes, they were able to retain their anonymity and walk through the streets innocently-seeming enough.

However, at the sight of one of the general’s knights and the gleam of recognition she held in her eyes, Qrow knew that anonymity was as good as gone.

The knight called for backup and the sound of hastening footsteps had Qrow and Mercury once more rushing through the streets.

While the whole affair should’ve had Qrow terrified of being caught, it was a sense of anticipation and well-earned confidence that he found himself to be stricken with as he ran away from the guards.

This was one hell of a way to spend a morning, and in just a few hours, he’d be out of this village, at the black market, and swimming in money.

And maybe then, he could actually do something worthwhile with his life for a change.

...Well, Qrow wasn’t lying when he called himself a complicated man.

[cainsnocreaturefeature]

“A miniature sea, beading at crevices - shadows threatening to claw down the hills of red.”

“I don’t have time for your riddles, King. Leave me alone.”

Ron scratched at his cheek awkwardly. Having roomed with Alice for as long as he had allowed him to at least have a semblance of capacity to understand the riddles that fell from her tongue like prayers from a sinner in church - so of course he understood what she had said outright.

This one was particularly simple - miniature sea beading at crevices meant that Cindy looked like she was about to cry, and the shadows clawing down hills of red referred to her mascara running down and ruining her blush-on. Easy. Sometimes he wondered why people thought these were actually hard.

And then he remembered the last time Alice managed to parrot Billy’s sentence right back at him - but as a riddle. Christ alive.

Cindy did look like she was about to cry though. That wasn’t good.

That wasn’t good at all.

“You know you can talk to us, right, Cindy?” Ron offered lightly, smiling encouragingly. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener on occasion!”

Cindy sniffed haughtily, crossing her arms. She always crossed her arms whenever she wanted to cry but couldn’t exactly mess with her makeup. Woe were the makeup wearers in Ron’s opinion - they always had to think about whether or not they could cry without destroying anything painted on their face. 

When he’d been much younger Ron had once walked in on one of his older sisters grossly sobbing into a pillow while lounging on the loveseat in the sala, and when he came back there were imprints of her foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick left behind on the pillow she’d been using. He’d immediately chucked the pillow into the washing machine in panic because the makeup had left something like a face on the front of the pillow, and he’d been young and impressionable.

... He’d been a baby, alright? He had an excuse for being freaked out by makeup stains!

Ron shook his head wildly, clearing his thoughts. Now was not the time to dwell on his sister’s past transgressions - now was the time to help Cindy and figure out... whatever the fuck problem she had at present. As far as he was aware, there hadn’t been any present problems to cause her such distress - enough that she’d moved towards one of the windows to stare outside into the starry night instead of really participate in the ballroom festivities.

...

“It’s not me, is it?” Ron asked in a panic, tugging on the lapels of his suit nervously. “Was it something I said? Did I-”

Alice lightly thumped the side of his head with her fan.

“Ow!”

“That wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“No, but I like to make you feel a semblance of guilt for minor inconveniences you cause me that aren’t inconveniences at their core.”

Alice whacked his shoulder, a little harder this time.

“Ow, ow, okay, I yield, I yield!”

At the sound of a snort, Ron perked up and looked back at Cindy, the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly in a small smile. Good - she wasn’t intent on crying anymore. That was good, that was great, a Cindy with ruined makeup was not a happy Cindy - they’d prevented a catastrophe tonight.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Ron asked cheekily.

Cindy rolled her eyes before tapping on his forehead with two perfectly manicured pink nails. “Not forgiven for calling me Cindykins. But tonight you didn’t do anything except make me laugh. I owe you a favor - not a big one, but a favor.”

“So I didn’t do anything?”

“Of course not, you dumbass.”

Ron beamed before his face fell into a concerned frown. “So... what was that then?”

“What was what?” Ah. She was avoiding the topic again.

Alice stepped forward this time, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers idly. “You were about to cry, Cindy. I think we have a right to ask as to why.”

“It’s stupid,” Cindy muttered. “And I wasn’t going to cry over something so stupid. I just got something in my eye.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “And Ron doesn’t have a fondness for red.”

“HEY!”

Cindy snorted, uncrossing and crossing her arms the other way, her fingers drumming against her arms. “Fair enough. I still wasn’t about to cry or anything, though. A lady such as myself doesn’t cry over something as simple as a dashed hope or a burgeoning disappointment.”

“And yet you were about to,” Alice pointed out simply. “Now stop beating around the tumtum.”

Silence.

Cindy worried her lower lip, staining her teeth slightly with lipstick. Her eyes didn’t leave the floor. “... I guess I’m just being silly. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up that he’d come, and yet I did.”

“...”

“I guess it’s nothing new though, right?” Cindy sighed. Her gaze flitted over back towards the outside, and Ron and Alice followed her line of sight towards the outside. Some of the partygoers were milling about on the lawns, bathed in the gentle light of the moon as fireflies danced all around them, but none of them were the friends that they’d been looking for the entire night. “He’s never been one to stay for too long. It was probably too much to hope that he’d come tonight.”

“You’re talking about Buggs,” Realization dawned in Ron’s eyes as he looked back at Cindy herself, finally noticing that despite the beauty and poise in which she held herself, it couldn’t hide the fact that her body language betrayed her disappointment.

Cindy made a ‘tch’ing noise, but it was halfhearted. “No, Ron, I’m talking about Santa Claus. He didn’t come and leave presents in my stocking last Christmas and I’m still bitter about it.”

“Well, they’re both round,” Ron joked - which thankfully elicited a snicker from her as her gaze flitted to him briefly. “But anyway. What made you say Buggs isn’t coming?”

Cindy’s fingers toyed with the cool metal of her necklace, two of her fingers rolling the single pink glass bead over and under. “I don’t think he’d be able to make it back here in a day from Guam of all places. It’s a long shot, and I’d rather he be safely in Guam than busting his ass trying to get over here when he’s not even sure he’ll even arrive on time.”

“Quick flights have happened before,” Alice murmured. “Have a little more faith in him.”

“I do. I have so much faith in him. So much faith that as we speak, I still cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe... he’ll still come through,” The girl barked out a harsh laugh, biting her lip. “God, how pathetic of me. Maybe I should consider becoming the next Mother Mary and devote my life to something better than this.”

Ron frowned. “Cindy...”

Alice nudged at Ron’s arm. When he didn’t respond immediately, she nudged him again, this time with increased urgency.

“Not now, Al. I need to figure out how to cheer up Cindy,” Ron furrowed his brow and pondered the situation, adopting a pose much like that of Winnie the Pooh as he thought.

Alice visibly rolled her eyes before sandwiching Ron’s head in between her hands and forcibly turning it in a certain direction - and in said direction, Ron found a familiar group of people approaching. His brow immediately straightened back out, his face lighting up in genuine delight as he said in a singsongy voice, “Oh, Cindykiiiins?”

“I thought I said that if you called me that again you’d never see the light of day again, Mabini.”

“Well, technically, you said something else, but I know the sentiment stands. STILL!” Ron tapped on her arm bravely before jabbing a thumb in the direction he’d been looking at. “You might want to turn around.”

Cindy raised an eyebrow, and then lifted her gaze from him to see a rose. And attached to that rose...

Her eyes dared to look up higher. His own eyes were soft, uncharacteristically so, quietly asking her for forgiveness. In the background, Billy was giving him (and presumably her) a thumbs up.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for so long.”

Buggs.

-=-=-

Out of the many things he’d expected out of the night, walking in on Carla and Monty kissing hadn’t been one of them.

Okay, well, MAYBE he’d half expected it. He just didn’t expect it to be them out of everyone in the group. Nugget and Lily he’d been all but certain of, or perhaps Ozzy and Madison, but Carla and Monty? Hell must have certainly frozen over.

Kidd coughed loudly into his clenched fist.

Carla and Monty visibly froze before parting, looking at Kidd like deer in headlights or as though he’d just threatened to murder their entire family in a single fell swoop. Carla’s lipstick was smudged all over Monty’s lower lip in particular, and when he opened his mouth to point it out, Monty sent him a withering glare.

“Whatever brought you here had better be a good reason,” Monty crossed his arms, an eyebrow raised at the unfortunate third wheel. He didn’t seem very happy about the circumstances.

Because of the way his mask was designed, neither Carla nor Monty could see how grave Kidd’s facial expression had become. “I need some backup.”

“Something afoot?” Carla tensed at the concept. “Who’s being targeted?”

“Ted. And if my guess is correct, Penny too,” At the mention of his sister being potentially in danger, Monty immediately stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “We need to get out of the ballroom without being noticed as much, and locate Ted. He went chasing after ‘Penny’ outside.”

“I can hear the quotation marks,” Carla pointed out.

“That would be because I have the sinking feeling he got tricked,” Kidd muttered before gesturing for the two in green to follow after him. “Whoever it was took advantage of the fact that he was very close with Penny, and disguised themselves as her. I’m afraid to think about what they could have done to him, so-”

“- so you came to us for backup,” Monty finished as they trailed after him while trying to act inconspicuous. Which was borderline difficult, given that the music had started up again. Acting almost on instinct, Carla’s hand found its way back to his again, and together they weaved their way around the other dancers as Kidd shimmied his way through solo. “Though if this was someone dressed as Penny instead of Pen herself, shouldn’t you have called Nugget and Buggs on for backup instead?”

Kidd did a half twirl around a pair of dancers that dipped and spun around each other. “You two know the Huxley manor grounds better than they do. If anyone could navigate this place, you two could.”

“Flattering to know you trust in our navigational skills that much,” Carla teased. “But I’l admit that that still leaves the hedge maze unmapped - Ted himself doesn’t know the way to its center, and I never had to map it out for myself when he asked me to test the security of this place.”

As Kidd stepped out into open space, free from the dance floor, Monty led Carla out with a small leap and a quick twirl in place before pulling out his phone, scrolling through his apps. “If we’re lucky, the satellites have mapped out the maze from above, and we can follow the map itself- aha! There, it’s... mostly decent?”

“It’s all we’ve got, and honestly? I hope we don’t have to investigate the hedge maze,” Kidd sighed before gesturing for them to hurry after him. As Kidd and Monty darted out onto the grassy lawns, Carla cursed and untied the ribbons that kept her shoes in place before kicking them off, picking them up and running after them, the shoes slung over her shoulder.

Monty had gone off ahead a fair distance to circle around places he knew Penny and Ted would have frequented by the time Carla had caught up, so when they saw him turn back, Kidd yelled, “See anything, Monty?”

“They’re not at their tree, nor at the flower arches,” Monty shouted back. “And everywhere else on the grounds is currently blocked off.”

Carla groaned. “Please don’t tell me that means they went into the maze.”

“With our exceptionally shitty luck? Yes.” Kidd sighed. “Come on, you two.”

-=-=-

With the satellite-generated map, navigating the maze wasn’t as hard as it was supposed to be. Carla had offered to just set the hedge on fire to get to the center before they went, but she was reminded that the Huxleys would have her head if she did so, so she’d refrained.

At last, however, they’d reached the center of the maze, the blackthorn looming ominously above them and casting its shadow far. And under its shadow, among the begonias...

“Ted?!”

How terrible. How terrible.

Theodore Huxley lay shadowed under the tree, unnoticeable unless you were looking for him.

Carla’s hands had already flown to her mouth in her shock at the sight. “God, it’s like his head got bashed in... is he dead...?”

Kidd knelt by Ted’s body, turning over and tilting up his head, checking for a pulse. “... No. No, he’s alive. He’s still alive, that’s good - he’s bleeding though. Really badly. Carla? Got any-”

“Not contraband, no-” Carla patted herself down for items before her hand slipped into one of the folds of her dress’s skirt, pulling out a long handkerchief. “I got this though. Pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, then see if we can get him to wake up.”

Monty winced at the blood that had dried around Ted’s head. “If he wakes up.”

“God... okay, just- we need to calm down. He’s going to be fine. We’ll be fine. We just-” Kidd took the handkerchief from Carla before gesturing for Monty to prop up the unconscious Huxley, pressing against the gash as best he could. He wasn’t a first aid person, no - but he’d had enough scars to at least have a general idea of what to do in situations like these.

God, Ted was dwindling fast. Now would be a good time to-

[ D E N I E D . ]

Reset...?

He couldn’t reset again. What the fuck. What the fuck.

“What’s wrong?” Monty asked, seeing Kidd’s thoughts written plainly across his face. “You look like you’ve just realized Ted’s bloody and unconscious.”

“... I can’t reset,” Kidd said numbly.

Carla paused in the middle of tying her dress around her waist. “... Excuse me?”

“Reset. I. I can’t reset. I can’t- I can’t reset.”

That can’t be right. That- that can’t be it.

[ D E N I E D . ]

Kidd’s hands trembled. Fuck. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Fifteen years he’d gone by living in caution and fear, unable to reset, unable to make a single mistake, unable to risk anyone he cared about. Fifteen fucking years of remaining cautiously idle, unable to act-

- and then Alice had died right before his eyes, and suddenly the familiar taunting jingle that accompanied each time he felt the last of his life escape his lips had played in his ears - wait.

Kidd froze, looking at Ted. Ted, who was still propped up against Monty’s leg, Carla’s handkerchief pressed against the gash on his forehead. Ted, who was teetering precariously on the verge of death in his unconsciousness. Unlike Alice had been, he was slowly dying. He didn’t have the mercy of a quick death.

If... if this means what I think it means...

Ted looked so distressed in his unconscious state. He really didn’t deserve what he was about to do.

“Kidd?” Monty asked as Kidd took off his mask - his mask of sharp edges and bladelike protrusions - and revealed his face, stormy with thoughts of what he believed he had to do. “... What are you doing?”

Ted. I’m so sorry.

Kidd tested the edges of his mask for the sharpest point with a finger, the edges so much like a knife’s blade that it split skin but not blood vessel when his finger passed by. The moment he found it...

Carla’s strangled shout was the last thing he heard. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING-?!”

Kidd plunged the tip into Ted’s chest and ended his misery, just as a familiar sensation overwhelmed him and forced him into reset.

[ TED DIED. ]

[ SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN BLINDED BY YOUR INFATUATION, TED. ]

[ R E S E T  T H I S S E C T I O N ? ]

-=-=-

The loop wasn’t as far as he’d hoped. It was still right after he’d seen Penny - the real Penny - come into the ballroom, decked in blues and whites. This time he didn’t provide Billy - or anyone - with an explanation; he just stood up and dashed towards where Carla and Monty were, interrupting their kiss again but with a more fervent urgency. This time, he was more inclined towards Carla burning the hedge maze down - but Monty had convinced them both against it, reminding them yet again of the Huxleys’ wrath should they do anything to it.

Kidd remembered the path. It made things much faster.

They got to Ted much faster.

With how much quicker they made it to Ted, it meant that less blood had managed to make its way out of him - which meant he was infinitely much more stable than the first time they’d encountered him. By the time Carla’s handkerchief was applying some pressure to his head again, he was actually beginning to stir, unlike the first time.

The relief that flooded through their veins when his eyelids fluttered was palpable.

“Ted? Ted, can you hear me?” Kidd asked, kneeling by Ted’s side.

Ted groaned, weakly blinking open blue eyes that looked between him, Monty, and Carla. “Kidd... Mont... and... Carla...? Where...?”

“You were knocked out here, bleeding,” Monty explained grimly. “That’ll explain why you feel lightheaded at present - you lost some blood and might have a concussion on top of that. I’m not a doctor so I can’t say that for sure.”

Carla frowned. “Can you tell us how it happened though? If you remember, that is.”

“Got... knocked out...” Ted shifted, trying to find his bearings as Monty gently propped him up a little higher. With a distressed frown, Ted held a hand to one of his temples as he muttered, “Shovel... followed... saw...”

Ted went statue still.

“Ted?”

“I followed Penny down here. Into the maze. But Penny doesn’t know the maze, neither of us do,” Ted whispered, almost too softly for the other three to hear. From where they were situated around him, they could see his hands begin to shake. “I followed Penny in here, but it wasn’t really Penny. It- it wasn’t Pen. I followed someone else in here and they knocked me out with a shovel. They tricked me.”

Carla put a hand on his shoulder. “Who was it, Ted?”

Ted was silent for a few moments - from the way his hands were shaking so violently, Kidd was afraid his skeleton would rattle right out of his skin. In the end, however, he said something - something that turned the air icy cold.

The name he breathed out was one that Kidd had suspected, and yet, hearing it get confirmed was still a punch to the gut.

“Felix. It... it was Felix.”

-=-=-

“For the final dance of the evening, please gather around as we welcome the heir to Applesoft himself, Mister Theodore Hercules Huxley, and his partner of choice, to the dance floor to regale us with a final display.”

“That’s your cue, you two,” Jerome nudged Penny closer to her partner, who only gazed down upon her rather serenely.

Penny bit her lip nervously. She’d known that being asked to the ball as Ted’s date meant that eventually, they would have to dance, but to put a spotlight like this on the two of them...? Oh, woe be her kneecaps. She had half a mind to back out-

- but then she’d found his hand, extended towards hers in a most gentle, wordless invitation to dance, and she found that she could not turn him away. Not when his eyes of blue stared at her like that. It made everything inhuman inside her shut down - made her feel much more human again.

“Will you dance with me?” He murmured so softly, only she could hear it. It was so soft, so raspy - she didn’t think he was able to reach that kind of vocal shift.

Her insides were on fire.

With a shy nod, she took his hand, and let him lead her to the dance floor.

[emo-rejects-archive]

“To Ahsoka and Ventress, I dare you to a feeding contest. Winner gets a lifetime supply of any treat you want. Courtesy of my benefactor.”

Ahsoka carefully walked down the elaborate hallway, looking over her shoulder every once and awhile. A few days ago, she had received a message from an unknown sender, telling her to come to a manor on a planet in the outer reaches of Republic controlled space. Sneaking out of the Jedi Temple undected, Ahsoka hopped aboard a traveling cruiser that carried her to the planet. What was most troubling was that when she arrived on the planet, she couldn’t help but some sort of disturbance in the force, a presence of sinister origin. Even now, as she walked down the halls of the manor, she felt a foreboding darkness within the buildings walls. But Ahsoka continued on, treading carefully down a corridor. Eventually, she came upon a giant double door with ornate designs. Ahsoka’s skin crawled. Whatever was lurking within the mansion was right behind the door, she could feel it. The young Torguta gulped. It was too late to call for backup, so she was going to have to face this alone. Taking a deep breath, Ahsoka pushed the doors open. Her eyes widened, as she was greeted by a familiar, but unwelcomed face. “Ventress!”

“Greetings, Padawan Tano,” Ventress spoke, her words colder that the ice of Hoth. “It’s been quite some time.”

Ahsoka drew her lightsabers, igniting the green blades, assuming a fighting position.

The Dathonirian mearly rubbed two of her fingers together, her expression uninterested. Oh please... I no longer pledge my allegiance to the Sith, so I am anything but your enemy.”

“But you’re not my friend either...,” Ahsoka mumbled. She hesitated, before putting her lightsabers away and folding her arms. “What do you want?”

Ventress made a gesture in the direction in front of her. “Sit down.”

Ahsoka looked at where she was gesturing, finally taking in her surroundings. The room before was quite massive, tall enough to reach well above head, with a glass ceiling showing the night sky above them, while electric lamps lined the wall, brightening the room with an ominous glow. In the middle of the room was a wooden dining table, upon which were multiple platters of fish, fruit, and deep-fried nuna legs. Ahsoka took the seat across her ex-mortal enemy, not taking her eyes off of her. “What do you want?” She repeated, this time slower.

Ventress put rested her hands on the table, cocking her bald head and sighing. “If I must confess, I’ve always considered you something of an equal...,” she began, carefully forming her words. “And I suppose I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic as of late, so I decided that I wanted one last test of strength between the two of us. But not another frivolous duel, but rather, a battle of wills. An eating contest, if you will. Whoever consumes more will be the victor.”

Ahsoka cringed. “An eating contest? So that’s what all of this food is for?” She placed a hand her head, tracing the milky white markings on her cheeks. Could she really do this? SHOULD she really be doing this?

“Scared, Tano?” Ventress prodded. I thought that Jedi were trained to not feel fear?”

Ahsoka glared at the ex-Sith. She couldn’t back down now, not after that last comment! “Fine. Bring it on!”

“With pleasure,” Ventress snickered, her purple lips curling into a sneer.

And with that the two began. They grabbed and ate whatever they could get their hands on, but still tried to stay focused on specific platters. Maybe it was warrior instincts in her blood, but Ventress mostly consumed the nuna legs and fish, chowing down on the greasy meat-based delicacies one after another, meat juices dribbling down her sharp chin and into the cleavage window of her purple top. Ahsoka mostly ate the fruit, chomping down on sweet, ripe apples and pears from Naboo. Eventually, the young Jedi picked up her pace, determined to beat Ventress, practically inhaling one fruit after the other. The quicker she ate, the less she focused on her table manners, splotches of fruit juice staining her fingertips and the area around her lips. The two ate and ate, demolishing platter after platter of food, both in it to win it. However, such a reckless display of gluttony didn’t come without its consequences. Naturally, when one consumes a hearty amount of food, they’ll find that their stomach will bloat. The more the two female warriors devoured, the more their guts swelled. Eventually, their bellies stretched so far that they actually pushed both woman away from the table, leaving them no choice but use the Force to feed themselves, levitating food into their mouths. Many hours passed, both Ventress and Ahsoka becoming so engrossed in eating that they lost track of the time. By the time that they were finished, all of the plates on the table having had been licked clean, every single drop of food having been disposed of inside of the two Force wielders’ stomachs.

Ahsoka moaned, leaning back in her chair, gently rubbing her overly-swollen gut. During the course of her stuffing, the fabric of her red top had lifted up, leaving her bronze tinted stomach fully exposed. Her gut was so bloated that it forced her legs apart just to give her some breathing room, so stretched that it passed the caps her knees, hanging off of her chair. She winced in pain with each little rub she gave that tan mass, all because of how tight her skin felt. “I... Huff... I... Oooh... Th-Think that... I won...,” she spoke breathily.

“N-No... I... Ooof... I ate more than... You...!” Ventress exclaimed, grimacing. Her own stomach was in a similar state to Ashoka’s. The wrappings that normally covered her torso had shredded apart, letting her stuffed gut jutt out. Pink stretch marks appeared here and there across the surface of the Dathonirians drum-tight navel, and her navel had popped out.

“N-No... Gaah... I won...!”

“No... Ergh... I... Won...!”

The two continued back and forth like this for the next couple of hours, but in the end, neither could figure who had won their last test of strength.

[theseerasures]

counterpunches replied to your post “spoiliors for you know what[[MOR] y’know when i was like “what if...”

helen no

rowanwould replied to your post “spoiliors for you know what[[MOR] y’know when i was like “what if...”

helen maybe?

wow!! guess i have no choice you guys really twisted my arm

i’m drawing, i’m just drawing

i’m remembering something, that’s all

It’s fairly easy to slip away. Anna has a list that drops to the floor of all the things she wants to do with Elsa while they’re together for the weekend, but she’s the queen now, so when the inevitable not-life-threatening-yet-incredibly-urgent crisis materializes (something about cheese?) Elsa just has to reassure her into the room for visiting dignitaries, and then she has at least a few hours to herself.

(Not that she wants to keep what she plans to do a secret, exactly, it’s just...something she wants to try out herself first.)

Her old bedroom looks untouched. Were it not for the conspicuous lack of dust, Elsa would have guessed that no one had set foot in there at all since she’d left it the day of her coronation. There’s her old bureau, the fireplace Father always took pains to light whenever he came to visit, the large glass window she’d spent more than half her life gazing out, ravenous and terrified of the outside world--

But that’s not the way to start this whole thing. The spirits had warned her that reviving memories is a tricky thing--stray feelings could get caught in the crosshairs, she could end up summoning something unexpected, or just irrelevant. There isn’t any reason to get all emotional right now, before she even started, there isn’t any reason to...

Feel.

Right now, Elsa hastily amends to herself as a vivid specter of Anna’s concerned, outraged frown appears in her thoughts. There’s no reason to get all caught up in feeling right now.

Elsa rubs her neck, feeling the telltale sign of a tension headache already blooming there. Right. The goal is just to see what kind of memory the water in this place might be keeping, since she knows it so well, and so much of her magic already marks its walls. She needs to leave herself open to the possibilities here: it could be just her. It could be Gerda dusting. It could be nothing at all--she’s never tried to draw up a memory that might have her in it before.

Deep breath. She’s home and she’s safe, and it’s been more than three years since this room had been the stone on her back.

Elsa finds a place to crouch down, then closes her eyes and begins.

The strain immediately makes itself known. This isn’t a waterlogged shipwreck; the castle is strong bedrock that extends down deep into the earth, and water has to travel obliquely. Still, the traces are there: melted ice leaving stains quickly painted over, cold scars on the ceiling, the corners. She gathers them up, lets them become. Concentrate. Listen.

--know that you have a choice--

“What?” Her eyes fly open. There's a figure coalescing around her old bed--slender, hair in a delicate bun, clad in a dress with a design that Elsa knowsknowsknows

But there isn’t enough water. The figure still looks blurred out, and the room seems spent. When Elsa tries to reach farther, deeper, the water from elsewhere--the garden outside, her own ice spires--tries to answer back, but she brushes them away; she doesn’t want this scene contaminated, doesn’t want it to change, she wants--

Tears drip down her face, and then she gasps as they, too, float up to solidify the form, her own contribution to the memory.

And then her mother is there.

“...know you feel trapped,” Iduna is saying, and as Elsa unconsciously moves closer to the bed she sees that there’s a miniature version of herself on the bed, twelve years old, curled up and facing away.

“I imagine that you feel horribly alone, like maybe...you don’t even belong here, in your own home, with your own family,” Elsa mouths the words in time to her mother’s voice; she remembers this, remembers it now. “But this is your home, Elsa, and--I know you think you have to do this, that you have to shut yourself off all the time, but I want you to know that you have a choice. You do. Your powers don’t have to be a prison, you can use them to help people. And if you don’t want your home--our family--to remain like this, you have the power to change that too. You get a say in how your life should proceed. I want you to know that I believe in you, Elsa, even if you--”

A stop. A sigh. “I want you to try,” her mother continues, “try just letting yourself be, Elsa, instead of hiding. Try thinking that maybe you can do good, maybe more good than anyone else could, because of what fate afforded you, and because you are good, Elsa, and I--”

“Love you,” Elsa whispers, after her mother’s voice in the memory cuts off and fades, “More than anything else in the world.”

In the memory her mother’s hand is reaching down, a hair’s breadth away from touching the braid of her past self. Elsa doesn’t bother sparing a glance down at what her own face looked like back then, stiff and terrified on the bed; she already knows.

Her face in the present is still wet; nil-three for keeping it together with memories of her parents now.

“I thought Papa sent you up here that night because he was tired of dealing with me,” she says. Her voice is steadier than she imagined, steadier and duller. “He usually...handled me, and when you came in I thought...maybe he needed a break. You usually didn’t come in here alone, and I...”

She sucks in a deep, slow breath. “I guess I just always thought that you were afraid of me.”

“Or that you were still mad about what I did to Anna. I didn’t blame you,” she quickly adds, “I couldn’t, not when I--anyway. Papa was always the one who came in to check on how I was doing, on my progress, and I thought that he was...so fearless, for still wanting to stay so close to me. But you...”

There isn’t much of her mother that she can remember in The Intervening Years beyond shadows and parts. A figure in a doorway, a hand on her shoulder, quickly shrugged off before she could do any damage. But that was all life to her in those days; even her father eventually became nothing more than the mantra and pinpricks of expectation. Everything had to be abstracted down to what she let herself see within the four walls of her room, to what she let herself feel within the vice of her heart.

She lets out a tired chuckle. “I guess I had both of you wrong, didn’t I?”

The sound of soft laughter filters through the door. Elsa tenses, but it just fades as whoever it had been walks past. Probably one of the new staff; the castle is so alive now, and it changes all the time.

Elsa reaches out and clasps her ungloved hands to her mother’s. “I am trying, Mother,” she says, and lets the memory crumble away.

[shanghai-ohmy]

MaoMaoctober Day 7: Adventure

Today’s fic is really long! More than 2x my daily average for the previous 6 days, actually. It’s about Mao Mao taking Adorabat with him on a business trip to Red River City, her first time ever leaving Pure Heart Valley. It was fun to play around with some worldbuilding, because it’s not something I usually do. As per usual, you can read below the cut or on AO3. Thanks!

Adorabat stared wide-eyed at the scenery below her. The aerocycle rushed over red rock bluffs, mesas, and ravines. She had never seen anything like this before in her entire life.

She was going with Mao Mao on a business trip to a far-away city. It was the first time she'd ever left Pure Heart Valley. It was her first real adventure! She wished Badgerclops was here too, though. He had to stay home to keep the city safe while the two of them traveled.

Adorabat gawked at a passing spire of rock, shooting up out of the ground and rising even higher than they were. "Mao Mao, did you see?! That rock was HUGE!!"

Mao Mao laughed. "Welcome to Red River City, Adorabat. Pretty different from home, huh?"

Adorabat turned her head as far as her neck would let her, trying to take in every detail. "This is SOOOOOO COOL!!!" But something had her confused. "But Mao Mao… where's the river? And the city?"

Mao Mao tightened his grip on the aerocycle's controls. "I thought you might ask. Hold on tight, Adorabat." He swerved the aerocycle into a crevice in the ground, and suddenly they were enveloped in craggy cliffs of striated rock. Mao Mao laughed and Adorabat screamed as they tore through the chasm, narrowly avoiding the walls. They took a series of sharp turns, swerved under a land bridge, and then…

Adorabat's jaw dropped. They had emerged into an enormous valley nestled among the bluffs. On the far end was a massive waterfall, spewing from the rock face above and tumbling into the basin. It glittered golden-red in the hot sun. Around its banks laid a lush ribbon of greenery, and around them a bustling city. It was absolutely incredible.

"You see Adorabat, the river picks up silt and iron from the rocky caverns it runs through before emerging here and depositing them," Mao Mao explained. "It turns the water red and leaves behind fertile soil for growing."

It was unbelievable. The strip of green, red, and gold was brilliant among the desert rocks and sand. And the city around it was amazing too! The buildings were made from a strange material she'd never seen before, with flat roofs that people could stand on. There were brightly colored glass tiles everywhere, in the streets and on the buildings and even on the cliffs themselves. The people even wore totally different clothes! Adorabat gawked at it all as they touched down in an open parking lot.

Mao Mao was saying something to the attendant, but Adorabat didn't pay any attention to what; she was too busy looking at their outfit. It looked like a single sheet of flowy cloth, but it had sleeves somehow too. It even came up to cover their head, held in place by a thin belt decorated with glass tiles. It was so pretty!! 

The attendant noticed her looking and smiled. They looked different from all of the sweetypies Adorabat knew. They were a lot taller, but not as tall as Badgerclops. They were less brightly colored than most sweetypies, though a rim of bright yellow scales highlighted their eyes. Adorabat figured they were a snake person, but she wasn't certain; the only snake she knew was Orangusnake, and he didn't really have legs or arms. 

"Is this your first time visiting Red River City?" They asked, crouching to be closer to her level. 

"Mhm!" Adorabat nodded. "Your clothes are really pretty!"

They laughed. "Thank you! I bet they don't have anything like this where you're from."

Adorabat shook her head.

"You see Adorabat," Mao Mao chimed in, "it's much hotter here than back home. Most clothes would get too warm. So the fashion here is to wear light fabrics."

"And most people cover their heads too," the attendant added, "to keep the sun off. You get hot faster with your head exposed!"

"Oh!" She pulled out a baseball cap from the backpack Badgerclops had packed her and put it on.

Mao Mao smiled and patted her. The attendant straightened up. "All set?"

"Yep! Eight hours, all paid. Enjoy your visit!"

They began their walk towards the downtown area. Mao Mao paused and turned to her on a street corner. "We'll walk there through the city and then come back along the river, okay?"

"That sounds fun!" She wanted to see as much as she could.

Mao Mao took her wing and led her across the street. She noticed a lot of people carrying briefcases. Way more than back home. 

"There's a lot of trade in this city," Mao Mao said, following her gaze. "People come from all over the world to do business here."

It wasn't long before they reached their destination, a large government building adorned with glass sculptures and dozens of gently-flapping cloths. It was beautiful. 

"We're here to register the valley as a sovereign nation," Mao Mao explained. "Because it's been off the map for so long, it's technically unincorporated. This is an important step for Pure Heart Valley."

Adorabat stared at him. That was a LOT of big words.

Mao Mao noticed her confusion and shook his head at himself. He explained: "Basically, we have to show the people here proof that Pure Heart Valley exists. Once we do, we’ll be an official sheriff’s department, and then we’ll be allowed to deal with any outsiders who cause problems.”

“Oh… So we’ve been beating people up illegally?”

Mao Mao covered her mouth with a finger. “SHHHHH! Don’t… say it like that! Just stick with me and stay quiet, okay?”

She saluted and grabbed his hand again as they walked into the building. It was instantly cooler inside. She wiped her forehead with the back of her free hand, realizing how hot it had been out there. It was weird being inside a building like this in another city. Adorabat recognized a lot of the same services - a front desk with a receptionist, a big line of people waiting by a bunch of booths, and lots of offices - but the design was totally different. Tubes of glass poked from the ceiling, somehow piping in sunlight from the outside and illuminating the rooms. In place of the polished wood floors back home, there were rugs laid over large, smooth tiles. Actually, there was barely any wood at all.

Mao Mao lead her up a staircase and into an office crammed with filing cabinets. She looked around at all of the papers strewn around. It seemed way messier than the other offices they’d passed. There were maps and charts everywhere, and lots of weird looking scrolls.

“Just a moment,” said a voice. Whoever they were here to meet was rummaging around behind the desk. “Got it!” He straightened up and extended a white-feathered wing across the desk. “Mr. Mao?”

Adorabat was amazed. This guy was definitely as tall as Badgerclops, for sure! Adorabat thought he might be an egret, but she wasn’t certain. His whole body was covered in white feathers, a puff of longer ones jutting from the back of his head. His legs accounted for most of his height. A comically frazzled expression sat on his face.

Mao Mao shook his wing. “Please, call me Mao Mao.”

The egret laughed. “Now now, no need for full names! That’s much too formal.”

Mao Mao squinted for a moment. “Mao Mao isn’t…” He sighed. “Forget it, Mao is fine. Thank you for taking on our case, Mr. Etson.” 

The egret gestured to a pair of chairs, taking a seat behind the desk himself. Mao Mao dropped into one chair as Adorabat perched on the back of the other.

“It’s no trouble at all, Mao!” From her position atop the chair, Adorabat could see several empty, coffee-stained mugs on the desk. “It’s not every day a legendary lost civilization reappears in the middle of nowhere!”

Mao Mao chuckled. “Well, my life is pretty legendary. Here.” He reached into his sash and pulled out a thick binder of documents. “This is the town chartar, along with records of every citizen going back three hundred years and a copy of the original constitution of the monarchy. Apparently there was a fire before that, and a lot was lost. I keep saying this town needs a fire department, but nobody listens.” He muttered that last part to himself.

Mr. Etson took the binder and leafed through it, head darting from page to map to calendar and back again. Apparently satisfied, he nodded and pointed at a map on the table. “According to our records, these were the previous boundaries of your jurisdiction. After the civilization disappeared, they fell under this district...” He pointed out a different map. “...which eventually became unincorporated land about one hundred and eighty years ago.”

Mao Mao nodded. “And the town charter lines up?”

Mr. Etson nodded in return. “Indeed it does. So, I need you to fill out…” he searched around the surface of the desk for a moment, then found the paper he needed. “...this form, and I’ll have my assistant copy what we need from your binder.” He opened the door and nodded to someone outside, handing off the book.

As Mao Mao hunched over the desk and began writing, Adorabat spoke up. “Um, excuse me Mr. Etson? What’s this building made out of.”

He looked at her brightly. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t have these in the Pure Heart Valley! We build everything we can out of mud bricks.”

Adorabat gasped. “MUD?! But it’s so clean!”

Mr. Etson laughed. “The bricks go through a special drying process that keeps them sturdy and clean. Did you notice how much cooler it was in here than outside?”

Adorabat nodded.

“That’s because of the bricks, and some special building techniques. Mud bricks absorb the sun during the hot day, then radiate it at night when it gets cold. Plus we use special windows to make sure that the air moves through our buildings quickly, so it doesn’t get too hot.”

“Why don’t you just use air conditioning?”

“When we build like this, we don’t need to! It’s hot for most of the year, so we came up with ways to avoid the heat.”

Adorabat realized something. “We have slanted roofs on our houses back home so the snow falls off!”

“Exactly! Pure Heart Valley gets much more rain and snow than we do, so you build with that in mind!”

Adorabat was amazed. Why didn’t they learn about things like that at skewl?

Mao Mao signed the document with a flourish and handed it to Mr. Etson. “There you go, all done.”

The egret looked over the document for a moment. Then he held his wing out again for Mao Mao to shake. “Mr. Mao,” he said, “you’re on the map.”

Mao Mao took his hand, grinning. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Etson. Pay us a visit sometime, alright?”

Mr. Etson nodded. “I’d love to, Mao.”

Someone handed Mao Mao the binder of town documents as they walked out of the office. “All done, Adorabat!” Mao Mao said, patting her on the back. “We’re a city now!’

“Wow!” She paused for a moment. “Um, Mao Mao? I’m hungry.”

Mao Mao glanced up at the wall clock as they left the lobby. It was definitely time to eat. Plus, they had a few hours of parking left...

“How about we check out the market?”

Adorabat couldn’t wait.

===

Happy and full, they strolled along the lush banks of the red river. The sunset made its unusual coloring even more striking. All around them were small patches of farmland, making full use of the fertile soil. Adorabat pointed at each crop and asked what it was. Mao Mao knew some of them. They came across a vendor selling some sort of local fruit from a stand next to a whole grove of trees.

“How about some dessert, Adorabat?”

“Yes please!!”

The vendor smiled, handing them each a fruit. They were rosy pink and egg-shaped, but bigger than a regular egg. “The best way to eat them is to jam a claw into the tip, then pry outward. It should come out in a clean segment.”

Mao Mao tried it with his and peeled out a wedge. He bit into it and his face lit up. “Oh, that’s delicious! Adorabat, try yours!”

She considered for a moment. She didn’t have claws. But what she did have was… Sharp teeth! She drove one into the fruit and pulled the whole thing away from her mouth. The segment popped out, stuck to her tooth. She pulled it off and bit into it. The flavor was really weird, kind of crispy like an apple but much more flavorful. It was good!

Mao Mao thanked the vendor and bought a bag of several more to bring home, then they continued walking as they finished their fruits. It wasn’t long before they were back on the aerocycle, headed for home.

Adorabat yawned. She was sitting on Mao Mao’s lap at the front of the aerocycle, secured in place with a special seatbelt. The sun had set now, and they were cruising over a dark, vague landscape. Adorabat could feel herself slipping into sleep. She mustered up her energy for one last thing.

“Hey Mao Mao?”

“Yes, Adorabat?”

“Thanks for taking me with you. I really love going on adventures with you.”

Mao Mao patted her on the head. “I’m glad you had fun. You can take a nap now if you want. I’ll put you right in bed when we get home.”

She nuzzled into his stomach and was out in an instant.

[jadeender]

The Battle for Freedom part.1

Time looked out at the other five heroes as they all stood before the heavy oak door adorned with the phrase “Enter and battle if you desire freedom”. The others with Twilight currently in the lead stepped up and Twilight placed a hand on the doors handle. 

“Let's end this.”

“No.” The word came from Time’s own throat as he felt Eternal rip away his control. The last thread he had been holding onto for these past weeks cut in a single moment.

“Kishin help.” He called but the deities voice was silent. “Please.”

“Shut up.” Eternal snarled. He looked around the room and once again his eyes fell on Twilight but they were full of anger, rather than the calmness they had before. “Now’s the time mutt, and to any of the rest of you who are still loyal. Take control of the pathetic lights bodies and we’ll slay the rest.”

Time began to panic. What was Eternal doing? He was going to kill them? Of course, Eternal is insane, he’d do that. 

Eternal looked back and forth between the other heroes who stood still, none of them making an effort to move towards him, in fact Ravio backed up a little bit.

“None of you? Not a single one are strong enough to take control? Or do you all want to pass up this opportunity to destroy the lights completely and totally?” Eternal said as his face contorted in anger, he took several strides toward Twilight pulling out his sword. “Not even you Mutt? After all the time I’ve spent training you, and still you’re a disappointment. A pity you’ve even been doing so much better recently, you actually landed a blow on me.”

Somewhere in the back of Time’s mind he knew that Eternal had been “training” Twilight as proxy for weeks, he had ignored it for all this time. Believing what Eternal told him, that it was just a nightmare, a fear to be used against him. 

“Finally caught on have you Time? I had to literally spell it out for you. You must care for this mutt even less than I do.” Eternal mocked in his head.

“No, I’m not going to let you get to me now.” Time resolved though he knew only a miracle would grant him control again. He had felt this drowning feeling, this feeling of absolute helplessness only once before.

“Oh but I already have.” Eternal said. At the same time Twilight spoke up.

“No, I’m done doing your bidding. And so is Savage. Once we separate you and Time I’m going to be the one who kills you.” Twilight said his face unflinching before the wrath rising from Eternal.

“So the mutt lets his light fight his battles now does he? Even more pathetic. I was going to just dust you and wait until Savage reformed but he’s proved useless too many times.” Eternal stepped forward his sword practically at Twilight’s neck though the youth remained completely calm.

In a moment Eternal was surrounded by a ring of swords, and even Ravio had joined in wielding a large hammer. All the others except for Twilight were against him.

“What a pity, I had hoped even one dark would return to my side. Oh well, I’ve never liked sharing the spotlight.” Eternal swung his sword forward at Twilight who nimbly dodged out of the way shifting into wolf form.

“Give it up Eternal, you can’t take down all of us.” Legend said as he and the others closed in on Eternal again, they didn’t yet attack for risk of hurting Time. 

“Ah Acidic, you really are the weakest of the of all of us, and you had the nerve to call yourself a true dark.” Eternal taunted but Legend didn’t waver his blue and red eyes only squinting at the man.

“Better this than to be like you.” Legend sneered in response. 

“Time, get…get the…. Get the mask!” Kishin’s voice came back in slowly as though he was far away.

“Why? What are you going to do?” Time questioned.

“Help… you...just do it.” The deity reinforced and Time began to try and think, all he needed was a little control just a mouth or a hand. Eternal was still monologuing making some sort of degrading insult to the others who still had him surrounded.

Time summoned what energy he had left and leapt at his chance while Eternal’s attention was off of him. Stopping mid speech Eternal turned toward Legend and just said “Mask now.”

Legend nodded and went forward immediately as Eternal wrenched back control. “Touch that mask and I’ll take off your head.”

Legend didn't respond but ran forward pulling the pouch off the back of Time’s belt as Wild and Four came forward blocking Eternal from attacking as Legend pulled out what he was looking for. 

“I need an opening.” Legend grunted out as he stood. Wild caught his sword under Eternal’s and with a push of strength forced the darks sword out of the way causing him to stagger. Legend pushed forward slamming the mask on the others face.

Eternal staggered backward as the mask fused to his face, the man screamed as the transformation took over, in a moment in the place of the red eyed dark stood an eight foot tall colossus of a man with white hair and eyes, red and blue markings adorned his face and he clutched a double helix sword. 

“Thank you. If you intend to save your friend you need to do it now. I cannot hold this form forever.” Kishin said, the others nodded quickly. 

Kishins voice projected into his mind. “Your friends need to finish this quickly, my powers feed of the soul of my host, and I cant pull from this dark. If it takes too long your soul would be lost.”

“Help them please, I don’t care if I have to sacrifice myself to save them, I can’t let Eternal hurt them. He won’t show mercy.” Time pleaded.

“I will do my best but I will not risk using my full powers until absolutely necessary.” Kishin responded. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Legend turned away from his transformed friend and pushed open the doors to Veran’s boss room. Time had trusted him to save them all from Eternal and he wasn’t going to stop now. The only thing to do was to defeat Veran and force her to turn them back.

As they entered the room a cathedral like space that was long and wide, stained glass windows lining the room. As they walked by the heroes saw they depicted their past foes; Yuga, Zant, Vaati, and many more as they made their way to the end of the hall. The largest mural depicted Ganon himself in full pig form.

As they reached the end of the hallway in a flash of smoke and flair Veran appeared standing before the mural of Ganon.

“Welcome heroes. You’ve passed my trials, designed to test your powers, your resolve, and your bonds of dark and light.” She cooed mockingly at them, raising her hands as she spoke. “Now you face me, and yet I ask, I have given you a gift haven’t I?”

“A gift? You forced us to share are bodies with our darks! We could have been killed from that.” Warriors spoke angrily. “It’s because of you that Time was almost lost, that I slaughtered my comrades, and why Legend is stuck like that.”

Warriors was angry but that still hurt to hear. Legend knew being….. whoever he was right now wasn’t right or normal but didn’t it feel normal?

“Oh my dear child I didn’t do any of those things, you did. You couldn’t fight off your darks, or in some cases embraced them a bit too much. But I’ve given you understanding, a dialogue between the sides. Really you should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” Warriors took a step forward. “You’ll die for this.”

Legend stepped forward and held back his angry friend. “She’s trying to manipulate you, if she can catch you off guard she can possess you and make us fight against you.” Legend turned to face the witch. “This is all about your revenge, about avenging your master. Don’t try to act high and mighty.”

Veran’s face turned into a sneer. “Of course it was child. And one other thing, a deal I made, after all I wasn’t able to get into the dark realm without help.”

“You bitch.” A voice behind Legend roared. Turning around he saw Hyrule striding forward his eyes glowing red in rage and bloodlust, an anger he had never seen from Callous. The dark was cruel, even more so than the others, but patient, very patient. Whatever deal Veran broke must have been very important to him.

“You stole my victory and double crossed me. I will make sure you suffer before you die.” Callous promise drawing his sword.

“I would have expected a being of darkness above all others to expect this would happen. But if it’s a fight you want I will oblige.” 

As she finished speaking the room grew dark as she flew forward directly at Hyrule, and into him. Shrieking Hyrule’s skin turned blue, he spun around and faced his friends. “Whos first?”

[eye-raq]

Below.

This is an entry for the With Love, From Wakanda Valentines writing prompts.

Prompt: That’s it. No more wine, ever.

Warnings: Fluff.

Summary: Directly below her, an intriguing man she’d grown to befriend gives her company on Valentines Day.

“Breathe Lola, it’s just roses.”

It was a warm day in San Fran, just one day before Valentine’s. Lola Duvall climbed the stairs to her apartment on the seventh floor, the nursing shoes on her feet feeling like bricks. She had a long day in the ER for twelve hours straight, registering outpatients of different statures. Her belly growled, making her motions a lot faster as she finally made it to her door. She placed the roses from her mail slot in the crook of her arm, unlocking her tattered apartment door.

The first thing that hit her was the AC, and the smell of old burning inscense. Lola places her key on its designated hook along with her work bag full of nothing but old papers, ink pens, and crumbled up granola bars. Next were the bricks on her feet. She kicked them off quickly, wiggling her toes. The tips were chipped from a quick boring paint job the other day, the white not so flattering anymore.

“Bills, bills, bank statement, magazine I’ll never read.”

Lola places the roses on her living room table, mentally reminding herself to put them in a vase. She assumed they could be from an old flame? Maybe one of her good girl friends showing her love. Whoever it was the roses were beautiful. Lola walked towards her window seat, pulling her phone from her back pocket, spotting nothing new. She lets out an exasperated breath, eyes studying the skyline of San Fran. Scratching at her curly bun, Lola brought her attention back to her mail, only a few trash worthy envelopes in her hand.

“Baby shower invite, oh, how nice.” She smiles at the pretty gold script. Her long time best friend since childhood, Jacqueline, was having twins. Lola hadn’t the opportunity to go shopping for her, but she had a few items in mind. Flipping through a couple more times, Lola pauses over a single red envelope no bigger than the rest. It was embroidered from what it felt like against her fingertips, a simple gold sticker holding the flap down. The front was blank, the anonymous piece of paper making her mind wander.

Lola glanced over at the roses on the table, her eyes dancing from her hand and back at the smooth dark oak. So it was most definitely an ex, or maybe... a secret admirer? Whoever it was, she couldn’t help but to smile. Lola was a chill girl, strikingly beautiful yes, but not an IT girl. She liked the little security she had, it added to the mystery that men had about her. She was a sucker for secret notes and letters, this entire thing reminding her briefly about high school and the Secret Valentine’s they would do with a small mesh bag filled with smarties that read out cute little messages.

Your so cute!

Just wanted to say I adore you

Xoxoxo

Be mine?

Hugs!

Flirty!

“Catching eyes, Lola?” She spoke, finally taking her squared pedicured French tip to rip a clean slit in the back. Inside was a perfectly folded piece of paper, one that looked to be ripped out of a journal. Dropping the envelope down, hearing it slip between her heater, she unfolded the thin piece of paper, adjusting her cat eye red frames before reading it.

I made love to her on paper. And spilled ink like passion across the sheets. I caressed her curves in every love letter. I kissed up and down her thighs in short sentences and prose. I tasted all of her innocence, without a spoken word. I bit her lip and pulled her hair in between the lines. I made her arch her back and scream, it only took a pen.

Her feeble fingers.

Lola’s brown eyes read over the cursive with a new interest each time. She yearned for the culprit. Who would send her such a lulling yet steamy, sexy, well though out poem? The tips of her nails brushed against the back of her neck, causing the short curls to fall from her bun. Just a day before Valentine’s? Lola was imprisoned in her thoughts, her mind trying to piece together the clues like a thousand piece puzzle. Lola studied the paper and noticed a smudged stained finger print in the corner. Bringing it closer to her face, she studied it, before sniffing it with caution.

“Chocolate?” Whoever wrote this must have been munching on Hershey kisses. Thank God it wasn’t some horrid unhygienic stain. After letting out a content smile with her mind still focused on her poem, she went to pick up her roses, ready to give them a new home. Just a single slender vase that her mother gave her sat on her kitchen counter directly in front of the tiny window. The poem sat open directly next to it, her eyes scanning the lines that had her knees weak. She could lean over that counter and stare at that piece of paper for hours, but it was going on seven o’clock and she needed some food and rest. Kissing her fingers lightly, Lola places them against the poem, a soft smile gracing her heart shaped lips before walking away.

Freshly showered and enjoying her usual spot outside on her personal balcony that was attached to the fire escape, Lola took small sips of the aged wine that was gifted to her for her 30th birthday. It was Armand de Brignac Rosé. Rich bouquet of red fruits gave the pink champagne a fresh full bodied feeling on the palate, lingering and complex. She placed the glass between her legs, adjusting her head wrap before hearing the familiar sound of balcony doors opening and the sound of boots hitting the metal surface.

It was him

Her Below.

He was quiet, definitely a loner, and stylish. Lola could talk his ear off again. She enjoyed his voice and admired his handsome features. Lola lifts softly from the ground, leaning over the railing to find him smoking with his back against the doors to his balcony and his knees drawn toward his chest with his forearms draping over them. He looked just as perfect as always. His dreads braided back, a pair of gold rimmed glasses on his face, black sweats with a white tee, and Doc Marten’s on his feet.

“Mind if I tell you about my day?” Lola seemed to have startled him, but as soon as his eyes looked towards hers, a simple yet genuine smile graced his lips.

“You know I love it when you talk to me, Lola.”

Erik puts out his weed against one of the rails of his balcony, placing it inside of his pocket before ascending the stairs to her level. With each step he took, his eyes never left hers and his lips remained in a permanent smirk.

“You look like you had a long ass day girl.” He leans against the railing directly next to her, his arms folded over his broad chest.

“Stressful AND long...you know how my work days normally are, I talk your ear off about it all the time.”

Erik shrugs, eyes lingering to the floor of the balcony, noticing her glass of wine.

“All I do is sit around my apartment, and write all damn day.” Erik yawns, before reaching for her glass.

Lola knew about Erik being a writer, but she didn’t know what kind of writer. He was pretty mysterious when it came to his personal life and day to day activities.

“So, uh...what do you write, exactly?” Erik brings his nose to her wine glass, taking a tentative sip before smacking his lips.

“This is some tart ass wine.” That didn’t stop him from taking another sip. Lola admired the way his full bottom lip would hang over the edge of her glass, the hot air from his nose fogging it. When he removed the glass from his lips, he would lick at the corners of his mouth, dimples deep. He was really something.

“You’re gonna tell me what you write about?”

Erik gave her a look, his eye brows shooting up with a crease of his forehead.

“I guess it’s fare that I share it, right?” Lola nodded her head in agreement, accepting her half empty glass of wine and taking a sip herself.

“I write erotica.”

The burn of the wine hitting the back of her throat caused her to cough faintly, a hand to her mouth and an uncomfortable crease in her brow. Erik couldn’t help the smile that fought to surface, shaking his head at her.

“Erotica you say?” She liked Erotica, literature or art intended to arouse sexual desire.

“I got your attention huh?” He teased her, licking his lips.

“Yeah, I’m not going to lie you did.” She reaches down to pick up her wine bottle, adding more to her glass, not so much to drink but more so to have something to do. Erik could be intimidating, and she didn’t want to come off as desperate while standing next to that beautiful man.

“Why write about sex?” His eyes glinted, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“You sure you wanna turn up the heat Lola?”

Oh boy. What was she getting herself into tonight. She bit her lip in thought, her finger swirling around the rim of her glass.

“I’m curious, feed my curiosity Stevens.” He gave her a coy smile before clearing his throat to speak.

“I write to fuck with your brain, your heart, your morals, and your sense of self. Lust, love, desire, denial, boundaries, pain, pleasure...”

“So, it’s not about the sex, it’s about what reaction you get from it?” Lola could feel the wine doing its job, her movements becoming more loose with a blithe expression.

“I like to see how my words imprint on a women when they read my shit.” Erik fixed her with a gaze.

In that moment, Lola wanted to descend those stairs to his place, and pick through his writing. She imagined he had mountains of papers littering his desk with a lone type writer sitting in the corner. Maybe he even had piles of books for reference and some of his own work. His articulate nature was very sexy.

“I bet your words have an enormous effect.” Lola could feel his eyes on her, attempting to focus on drinking her wine rather than take in his sanguine eyes.

“They do. You wanna find out?” Erik pulls his phone from his back pocket, scrolling and typing. Her wary gaze traveled to his fingers, admiring how thick they were. She wondered how they looked holding a pen, or maybe even her hips? Taking a look at her wine glass, she suspected all of these thoughts were because of the tart alcohol. Her skin felt ignited and her lips extra moist from the assault of her tongue.

“Okay, Princess. Here is something I’ve been working on for a bit. Tell me what you think, aight?”

“Alright, I’ll be your critic.” She took his phone gently.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me if my shit is bad.” He gave her a leering gaze, one that already answered the questions in her head about how freaky this writing could be. Lola’s eyes finally fixed on his phone, shutting him out momentarily.

Turn around, and give me the perfect angle, the perfect silhouette. Let my eyes admire the pretty brown flesh with your delicate pedals peaking at me from behind, my staggering hands reaching under the bridge of your body to cup your breasts. Fuck abandonment, I wanna devour that flower from the back and shock your round flesh with my overworked hands while you stroke that slit on my aching tongue. Let me feel you shower me with that honey and shake under my assault. Grind me, feed me, suffocate me, while you moan and whisper a yess. Look back at me princess with those beautiful eyes and a nibble of your lips. Look back at me and instruct me, tell me what to do and how to do it. I want you immobile. Take my gift like the good girl you are. My soft lips, my wet tongue, my thick fingers. I need to explore you. Tell me where you like my tongue and how you want me to dip it. Is the texture just right? Am I being greedy with every satisfying stroke and flick? You’re breathtaking and I’m dangerous. Your delicate and I’m primal. It’s safe to say I delve into your deepest and tightest spot, claiming what’s mine with each invasion. Coax me further and yearn for the feeling, we got all night.

Panting, sighing, struggling to keep it together, Lola finally ends where he stopped. She hadn’t realized that her glass was empty again, and hadn’t noticed the grip she placed on his arm to keep her steady. Erik’s fingers sooth her back, the service alone feeding her wonder. She couldn’t even form words, her eyes blinking and her tipsy movements fighting with her.

“That was..”

“Forbidden territory?” He chuckles deep within his chest, his frame much closer than before.

“I don’t care, I’ll trespass.” She giggles nervously.

“Oh for real?” He said that deeply. “Tell me when and I’ll let you in. I’m just below you, Lola.”

“Are...are you flirting with me?” She trailed her hazy eyes down his frame. His stance definitely changed, he was practically looming over her like he was her personal shade to cool her off, and his face was gratifyingly close to hers.

“Is that a fucking problem?” He rumbled.

“Nah. I-I’m just...” Lola was on the brink of wrapping her legs around this man’s waist.

“Good, cuz we don’t need one unless it’s a problem you want me to fix?” Lola’s creamy brown skin grazed his bare arm, electrifying her. So apparently Erik has a thing for her. Lola thought back to the rose and letter from her secret admirer, wondering if it wasn’t a secret any longer...

“E...” she closes her eyes, flicking her lips with her tongue. This wine...

“What’s your plans for Valentine’s?” He cut her off suddenly.

“Nothing... it’s not like I have anything to look forward to.”

“Why don’t I keep you company? I would hate for you to be lonely.” The shock she felt had her insistent. Erik’s bold, brash behavior surfaced.

“So does that mean you can give me something to look forward to?” Her soft voice trailed off.

He licked at those lips, his fiery gaze strong and withholding. It was definitely clear from the signs that Erik was responsible for sending her the valentines surprise. Your mind traveled back to those words and the way he described the capabilities of that tongue of his. How was his erotic writing on the same level of his actions? She truly wanted to know. Why the hell not? What was the harm in being his naked demonstration? The chemistry was clearly there.

“That’s it Lola. No more wine, ever.” She let out a graceful laugh before batting her lashes at him.

“I like this Lola though, she’s bold. I’d love to tame that ass.” Erik brushes her cheek with his knuckle.

“Was that what you had in mind when you wrote that sexy little poem Erik?” He didn’t hide or deny anything, he just trapped her between him and that railing, his breath tickling her cheek.

“I got a lot of shit in mind. We got all fucking night into tomorrow, and yes I can go for that long ain’t no problem for me.”

Sex with Erik. It could be right where they stood, or on the floor in his apartment. Either way...Lola wanted to sample this man to see what she’d been missing. She wanted the opportunity to settle below him this time, but with her legs over his shoulders and his dick buried deep inside of her.

“Words Lola. You have a mouth, use that shit.” The scent of his breath was definitely that of chocolate. His hands delicately gripped at her neck, trailing down her chest and to her hips. Erik could definitely feel her heart beating through her clothes.

“I want you to show me, let it take all night if it has to.”

The friction of his hands on her hips increased as he lifted her up with ease, her legs wrapping around him swiftly. Her secret admirer walked down those stairs with her entangled within his embrace, her arms around his neck and his lips attacking her neck. This definitely had to be his plan. He smoothed his way into getting a chance with Lola, and now he had to ease her delicate body into the rough, frantic, scorching sex they were about to have.

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