#--and the shit she is comfortable+used to going to rather than compassion+attentivity towards what he just said. does that make sense) is--

[beeapocalypse]

henryk gives levi a bowl of soup at the train that he ends up throwing up bc of withdrawals + it being more rich than the food hes used to and karin IMMEDIATELY goes to thinking he just poisoned levi and comes very close to shooting him

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Post#2: Gray Area

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by mandos-sluts

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 2.2K (second post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

A/N: Diving into "the heist" part of the story so I'm introducing more characters + plot complexity. Quick recap, ofc (Thuli) is undercover using an alias (Kasya) working the job Mando picked up back in Volume 1

Content warning - this post contains brief references to the ofc's past abusive relationships (no details but they are mentioned)

_______________________________

II. “Dunno, love. I says he tryin tae be sweet tae ye.”

Your new coworker, Belen, is a very sympathetic listener. This job involves a lot of long hours working elbow to elbow together, cleaning with a crew of mostly women. So each day, the conversation inevitably turns toward the tawdry state of everybody’s love life.

Good sex, bad partners, stubborn children, pushy in-laws, irregular menstrual cycles, trashy holo-dramas, cautionary tales of sexually transmitted diseases—it made the work go faster.

With eight grown children and now on her third husband, Belen is considered the voice of wisdom around here, dealing with all matters of the heart.

Blessedly, you’re usually spared from having to participate due to the tragic nature of your cover story, which involves escaping from an abusive ex-lover. ‘Kasya Hawat’ had the misfortune of falling for a Spice runner who was violent and possessive, and now she had to lay low working on the cleaning crew at Tagge Corporation's coaxium refinery on Lakaran until he forgot all about her.

A solid alias should be built on a sturdy foundation of lived truths. As such, your made-up phantom ex is a composite of all the most toxic characters you’ve ever dated. And oh, there had been a few. It’s the reason you can’t judge the Mandalorian for his attraction to cruel women. Your own track record is hardly flawless. 

Which just begs the question, the nagging voice in the back of your mind taunted, what the fuck is he doing with you?

While he hadn't said as much, you get the impression that you may be the first and only woman the Mandalorian has ever loved. In the weeks apart, this should have been a source of comfort to you. Instead, the realization made you uneasy. Could his tenderness really endure? Or would he grow to resent the ties that bind you to someone who shares their heart rather than burying it?

You weren’t exaggerating when you warned him you don’t always navigate 'couples shit' in a healthy way. That’s the legacy of these past relationships—the insecurity, the doubt, and paranoia that can eat away at your peace if you let it. There was the narcissistic fleet captain who was a mean drunk, a spectacularly manipulative intelligence officer who constantly lied to you, and one of Ingtar’s enforcers who may have been an actual sociopath. 

Gods, that was such a nightmare! The first thing you promised yourself after starting your new job as a mob doctor for the Black Sun syndicate was that you would not, under any circumstances, get romantically entangled with your new colleagues. ‘Do not shit where you eat’ being the wisest adage since time immemorial. 

But he was so good-looking and very keen to thank you for saving his life, and you have the worst habit of learning everything the hard way and terrible impulse control…It had ended with Ingtar breaking his leg under threat of death if he ever spoke to you again. 

Most women didn’t have a towering gang boss to save them from an abusive ex, so it’s not difficult to imagine the desperation of fleeing to this abandoned sector of the galaxy if Ingtar hadn’t been there to protect you from the obsessive, unwanted attention. So, in the end, it wasn’t that much of a stretch to build your alias.    

Mercifully, a mixture of earnest compassion and, in some cases, the worst kind of judgmental pity compelled your fellow cleaning ladies to give you space and not press you for conversation about it. 

And thank Erenada for that! It’s a good cover for being quiet and withdrawn. The less you open your mouth, the less likely you are to get caught in a lie. 

To be fair, despite your initial fears, it hadn’t been too disorienting to slip into the role of 'Kasya Hawat.' Nito was right, the repetition of constantly hearing her name directed at you over and over again was enough to make your brain accept it in the same way you might grow accustomed to a nickname. Someone said, Hey Kasya! and your body knew that means me.

“Then why the hell won’t he just fuck me in his own godsdamned bed, Belen? I can assure you, there’s nothing sweet about getting railed in a supply closet.” Humia let out a pathetic sigh. 

She really is too good at this.

Your partner in espionage has taken the exact opposite approach to infiltration. Humia wanted to be noticed. She made friends with everyone and was seemingly everywhere all at once. The public hall, the bathhouse, the bars and cantinas, and when she could convince someone to break company policy about unauthorized personnel—the Tagge Corp dormitories. 

Sleeping with TaggeCo employees is how Humia gathered most of her intelligence. 

She slept with so many of them it wasn’t suspicious when she took an interest in someone new. And the Tagge Corp facilities were exponentially more appealing than your scrap metal hut, so it made perfect sense why she’d want to fuck them on company property. 

And because she was dismissed as some opportunistic slut looking for favors, who they were all passing around—not the greatest security threat they faced—Humia knew virtually everything that happened around the Lakaran coaxium processing plant.     

“I wish I could be as efficient,” you’d told her a few days ago with sincere admiration. “But I’m terrible at pretending to like someone when I don’t.”

“Yeah, you are,” she huffed in agreement. 

Humia had recently brought home one of the TaggeCo security guards back to the hut you shared with a few more of Ubaa Dir’s spies, and you’d glared daggers at that asshole until he took off his shoes. The wood floors might not be polished, but he damn well better respect your house rules. 

“You don’t have to like someone to fuck them, Kasya.” 

Which is a fair point, except that you do. Not because of some righteous moral high ground! You spent years on the front lines where people took gratification where they could, who found sex a zesty, life-affirming enterprise that was only as complicated as you chose to make it. 

That was all true. Except that you needed something, a spark that ignited attraction. A mutual interest, a shared joke, or a moment of vulnerability. Something.

There’s nothing quite like horniness to give you a surge of self-confidence. 

Of course, your intuition isn’t infallible. Hence, the attraction to your toxic exes. It’s just that without a spark, your body could not perform intimacy. In place of confidence, there was fear and apprehension. You physically recoiled or froze in hesitation. Kissing that noxious Duke only worked because you’d been aroused by vengeance rather than passion.

Hmmm, maybe that’s exactly how Humia made it work?  

“I mean, touché,” you rolled your eyes at her. “But you’re not just fucking them, are you? You’re drawing out their secrets. And while I’m sure you are an absolutely fantastic lay, I’d argue that’s the greater talent.”

“It’s not always about what they tell you,” Humia explained. "Each time someone sneaks me inside the dormitories, I learn how they sneak out. Plus, I rifle through their papers, that sort of thing. The trouble with intrigue is that you don’t always know what’s significant until it is.”

“How do you keep track of it all?”

“That, my dear,” she smiled triumphantly. “Is my real talent.”

A flash of motion pulls you back to the present, and you set aside the calibration wand you’d been wiping down absentmindedly. 

“What about you, Kasya?” One of your other roommates, Serenio, signs. Her peachy-pink eyebrows arched teasingly. “Anyone caught your eye?”

You’ve always been better at recognizing languages than communicating, but you’re working hard to pick up more Twi’lek signs, and Serenio is a good teacher. 

That said, you don’t exactly know the correct signs for it’s complicated, or I’m already sleeping with one stubborn man, and while I’m not sure we’re monogamous, I don’t have the energy to juggle another.

Shit, now that’s all you can think about, the feel of his lips on your skin, the way his strong hands grip your waist, his thumb pressing into the crease of your hip, the slide of his tongue over your…

Gods, it had been so good!

Finding a spark with the Mandalorian had not been an issue. Hell, there’s not a single part of your body that did not physically respond to the mere memory of him. Fuck if you’re not so turned on right now just thinking about his tongue that you have to shift your weight to ease the ache between your thighs.

“Work is hard,” you answer, shaking your head. “Too tired.” 

“If’n ye needs so…” Belen cocks her head mischievously. “Johar wad bung yer knees t’ower.” 

Your esteemed elder laughs, cackling with delight at her own vulgarity. Pretty sure she just suggested Johar Kessen would be keen to throw your legs over his shoulders and bury his face between your thighs.  

You blanche. Johar Kessen is a mercenary working for House Tagge. While he is handsome, in a foxy older gentleman kind of way—hunting down assassins certainly helps him stay in shape—his interest in you is confusing to the point of being oddly suspicious. 

“Askit me bout’cha,” Belen winks a crinkled eye at you before hunching back over her mop. 

“Well,” you shrug. “I’m the new girl. I’m sure it’s nothing prurient.”

“Some men like a puzzle,” Humia smirks.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Despite joking with Mando about creating a salacious backstory for 'Kasya,' you’ve taken the most sensible course of action and made yourself very unremarkable. Though heartbreaking, your hair is now cut to your shoulders, dyed a sandy brown color, and always worn pulled back into an untidy knot. You look like a root vegetable in your work coveralls, with your breasts bound and wrapped into an amorphous lump. And as a rule, you avoid speaking to anyone who isn’t part of the cleaning crew. 

Not that any of this protected you from the harassment that just came standard working in contracted service labor. Your job entails cleaning the laboratory facilities, so you don’t have it as bad as the crews working in the dormitories or executive housing. Thus far, there's only been one bizarre incident in which a lab technician whipped out his dick in front of you to urinate in the eye wash station. 

But you're not exactly turning heads when you walk into a room the way Humia did. And no one is seeking out your company. Except for Johar Kessen, apparently. Honestly, you have no idea how you managed to come onto his radar. 

No. That’s a lie. You know damn well that you never would have crossed paths with Johar Kessen if you had stayed away from the card games in the public hall. You don’t go out drinking or dancing with your roommates. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the bath house, but you’d had your fill of communal bathing back in the military. The only time you didn’t spend on the job or in your hut was playing Sabacc. 

Okay, so maybe Mando’s got a point. You miiight have a gambling problem. 

When Kessen came to play cards, the man always sat at your table. Not because of you—probably—but because you cut in with the serious sharps. The kind of folks who played through the dark hours of the morning.  

In no way have you encouraged his flirtations, and most of the time, he doesn’t even speak to you directly. But he is a charming man with a good sense of humor who had a habit of looking at you from out of the corner of his eye whenever he told a joke to see if you were laughing. 

“Telt him tae be soft tae ye,” Belen raises a knobbly finger. “Soft heart,” she presses her arthritic hands over her chest. “Hard cock,” and she thrust out her hips in an absurd pantomime. 

Your eyebrows ascend so rapidly that they are in danger of disappearing into your scalp. Maybe this woman shouldn’t be doling out sex advice?

Doubling over with laughter, along with all the other cleaning staff, tears stream down your face until your supervisor stomps over to comment about your productivity. “Do I have to separate you ladies like schoolchildren?”

Gods, it felt good to laugh like this.

And that’s why morality is really fucking complicated. You could never work for Tagge Corp to feed yourself. Every meal you bought with this blood money would turn to ash in your mouth. But you were free to make that choice for yourself. You didn’t have three grandkids at home who would starve for the sake of your pride. 

Plus, Belen isn’t technically a TaggeCo employee despite cleaning their floors for nearly a decade after her husband, a miner at the coaxium deposit that fed this refinery, was paralyzed from the waist down after falling off a ladder.

What would happen to Belen and her family when there was no more refinery?

Although, that would be a moot point if the Tagge family decided to implode the facility from orbit with you all inside rather than surrender.

There was a time when you would have cheered on the New Republic busting this place for poisoning Lakaran and its people, sentencing everyone from Tagge Corp, confident they were all monsters who deserved their long prison terms. Now you know better.

Coaxium is what made interstellar travel possible. The New Republic had no intention of doing anything that disrupted the supply of coaxium-refined hypermatter.

Oh, sure, they would file complaints about rights violations and environmental degradation. They would bemoan the poverty that compelled locals like Belen to clean and feed and clothe the bastards who were slowly killing them. But that would be the extent of it.

Ubaa Dir and her revolutionaries were the only ones prepared to fight. They had fought the Empire when they processed the coaxium on Lakaran, and now they would take down the Tagge Corporation. 

And they had hired the Mandalorian to help them liberate the processing plant.   

You had to believe that what came after would be better. That they would save Belen and every other soul living on this godsforsaken compound. 

Because if you failed? If Tagge Corp opted to self-destruct—? 

Well, that’s why you spent all day talking about stupid shit, like whether Johhar Kessen could still get it or if Humia was at risk of developing a UTI from having sex in the public baths.

*************************

Continue reading: Volume 4-Post #3: Life During Wartime

Back to Volume 4 - all posts

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Thoughts on the ship Rosalie/Bella?

While it’s a nice thought, sadly, I don’t think either Rosalie or Bella are what the other would ever seek in a partner.

Indeed, I think the other would be too close of a reminder to what they see in the worst of themselves. So, even in better circumstances, I don’t think they’d choose each other.

Let’s break that down.

What is Rosalie Looking For?

Rosalie’s past is one filled with brutal trauma, betrayal, and heartbreak. She has been violated by men in the worst of ways, betrayed by the man she thought would be her husband, and then has the surreal experience of being turned into something that, while alive, is not human.

She romanticizes the human life she could have had, clinging to it, never acknowledging that circumstances were such that she never would have had it.

Rosalie never was going to get that simple future of being a humble, good, simple man’s wife with beautiful children and a comfortable life. She was raised in society, uncommonly beautiful and charming, and was set to marry the wealthiest man she could. It might not have been Royce, she could have married a good man, but she would have married into this wealthy world and not ended up with someone like Emmett.

I think this is very telling.

For very understandable reasons, Rosalie has never confronted nor truly gotten over her trauma. Oh, she murdered her rapists and murderers, and put their deaths behind her, she married Emmett and has a (fairly) good relationship with him, but she hasn’t taken her full final steps to recovery.

I think this in part shows in her ending up with a guy like Emmett.

Emmett’s not bad, don’t get me wrong, but it’s very telling in what he loves of Rosalie and that Rosalie loves him for it.

He worships her beauty above all other things and is described as a very simple but pleasant and laidback guy. I think Rosalie is at the point where she wants to be worshipped, especially for the quality that was most valued in her human life, her beauty.

She wants to be with someone safe, someone who loves her, and that someone is definitely Emmett.

I think in the short run this works out very well for the pair of them and perhaps even in the long run. I think both could have chosen a better partner.

Rosalie is complicated, she’s not the shallow vain bitch Edward complains she is nor is she what Emmett seems to see her as. Emmett doesn’t really get his wife, or defend her all that much, he’s in love with her beautiful cheerleader persona. Rosalie, similarly, is in love with this man whose greatest attribute is his love of her. I’m sure there are moments she finds Emmett rather boorish and slow on the uptake.

What Do I Think Rosalie Needs?

To be honest, of all the characters where I raise my eyebrow at Meyer putting them with someone of the opposite gender, Rosalie’s one of the ones where they raise the highest.

Even Carlisle, when Rosalie drags in this man’s bleeding carcass, goes, “Oh, is this your cousin?” And has a “Him?!” moment when Rosalie explains this is her new husband.

I always would have expected, especially after her experiences, for Rosalie to be with a woman. That said, I do think her society’s prejudices and expectations would be a huge barrier for her and she’d have to do a lot of character growth before this would ever be possible. And I mean a lot of character growth, as in, Rosalie hasn’t reached this point even post Twilight saga.

Right, regardless of gender, I think Rosalie needs a partner who a) understands her b) does not value her looks c) accepts the good and the bad parts of her.

Like all of us, Rosalie is flawed. She’s a very impressive, down right intimidating, woman who has an iron clad will and gets what she wants. She has a deep love for her family and a great capacity for compassion. However, there are times when she’s the sixteen-year-old girl who has very much not escaped her society’s mindset. She fully advocates Bella Swan’s murder so the family won’t have to move, not realizing until Carlisle points it out that this is a heinous thing to do. Rosalie says vicious, racist, things to Jake likely never realizing exactly what it is she’s saying. She’s stubborn, proud, and as Edward put it a bit pig-headed.

Emmett tends to just go “Yeah, she’s a bitch, but she’s my bitch”. Which... great, thanks Emmett, that’s very helpful.

Bella Swan is Not That Person

Bella per the start of the series is a seventeen-year-old girl with cripplingly low self-esteem, huge parental issues, and a dangerous inclination towards depression.

Bella shows serious interest in women sexually (her relationship with Alice has some serious homoerotic undertones) but she’s also very intimidated by them. Rosalie, especially, makes Bella evaluate and feel worse about herself as she knows she will never be as beautiful as this teenage blonde goddess.

In other words, this Bella is not in a position to be the kind of person Rosalie needs. She’s too caught up in figuring out who she herself is, cares very much about Rosalie’s appearance and using it to compare against her own, and isn’t stable enough to be what Rosalie needs.

And by the end of canon... Well... Bella’s left the planet and will soon join Esme in being a hauntingly strange person entirely divorced from reality.

What if we’re in a slightly AU world?

Well, we’re banking on a lot of character development for Bella that I don’t believe can happen with Edward around. Either Bella shows interest in Edward or, well, he eats her. (No, seriously, this is canon, both Alice and Edward confirm as much.) 

And if the family packs up and leaves during New Moon and never comes back... Well, of all the people Bella might end up with after that, I think Rosalie might just be the least likely (not to mention Rosalie would not be down for hanging around Edward’s stupid human girlfriend).

What is Bella Looking For?

Bella’s looking for validation of her very self. She wants to be loved, more than that, she wants to be worth something.

Bella has such a low opinion of herself that, at this point in her life, she needs this feeling to come from elsewhere. She finds this in both Edward and Jacob.

And it doesn’t matter how scary they are (and both are, indeed, very scary towards her), it doesn’t matter what it is they value, just that they both seem to want her even though she’s a foolish, clumsy, pale, ugly, human, nobody, loser. 

That’s all Bella wants.

Edward’s a perfect storm in that he’s inhumanly perfect, beautiful beyond all comprehension, and completely obsessed with her. In Edward’s eyes, Bella is not just perfect, she’s fascinating.

And then, of course, she’s not and it utterly destroys her. 

Basically, Bella’s is a very sad life.

What Does Bella Need?

Bella needs time to grow up and find out who she is and how to value that.

Bella is your very typical teenage girl. She’s precocious, has a lot of issues growing up with her mom, but she has a lot of issues many teenage girls do have.

I think, before Bella can find a truly good partner, she needs to learn how to value herself.

This will be painful and take a lot of time. In New Moon, I think Jake actually sets her back as she uses him to find value in herself for her (essentially replacing Edward).

Only after Bella discovers who she is, reaffirms why she is important and worthy of love, can she find someone.

What does that person look like?

Well, it sure as fuck isn’t Vampire Patrick Bateman, otherwise known as Edward Cullen. Nor is it Jake Black who sexually assaults her, tells her to kiss him or he’ll kill himself, then tells her that her dying is pointless as it means he and Edward fought over nothing. 

It also isn’t Alice, who treats Bella a lot like she would a life-sized Barbie Doll rather than a friend and a human being.

I’m not sure who it is, to be honest.

Someone who recognizes who Bella is, certainly, the good and the bad. Someone who is able to... reconcile her with the world she truly lives in. Maybe, circumstances changing around a bit, it’s Carlisle Cullen? (Though that would certainly be a dumpster fire of divorce and despair with Edward and Esme) Maybe it’s Jasper (also a dumpster fire of divorce and despair with Edward and Alice)? 

I really have no idea here. Unlike Rosalie, I can’t even tell you what this person would need to be like.

What I do know is...

Rosalie is Not That Person

Just as Bella views Rosalie as a threat, as something to measure herself against and feel unworthy of in every way, Rosalie does the same.

Bella is a pretty human woman who captures Edward’s attention in a way she never can. Rosalie, at the time we start canon, for all her accomplishments and all she’s done is still insecure enough that she needs to be the prettiest woman in the room. 

Just as Bella’s not secure enough to be what Rosalie needs, Rosalie is not secure enough to be what Bella needs.

Rosalie also doesn’t see Bella for what she is. Rosalie sees, at first, a normal boring human teenager and dismisses her. She falls into the typical Cullen trap (for all but Carlisle) that they forget humans are people too. Later, Bella discounts Rosalie’s very earnest advice and Rosalie never forgives her for it. This is understandable, Rosalie lays her soul bare, but she forgets Bella’s a teenage girl and more can’t see what Bella herself is battling with.

Bella thinks being human is worthless because Bella thinks being Bella is worthless. Children and a human future mean nothing to her.

It would take a lot, A LOT, of character development for Rosalie to be someone that Bella needs in this situation and even then... Well, they’d have to deal with the horrifying shit show that is Edward. Because if Edward/Bella isn’t happening...

It’s lunch time.

TL;DR

I’d say pin your hopes on Alice/Bella, except that one’s not happening either for all that they do have their very homoerotic friendship.

[surveillance-0011]

TBOI Headcanons: Horsemen

Death

He/him

He’s...nice. Not a good person by any means but he’s the most polite of the bunch. Kind of strange though. Creepily calm, a bit sarcastic, and he has a pretty morbid view on the world.

Reserved and usually grumpy. He can be rather chipper off-duty, though. Putting up with the others takes a lot of energy from him.

Tired....

A bit neurotic but good at coming off as a down-to-earth guy.

He’s the most book-smart of the bunch and he’s fairly wise. A bit emotionally stunted, but he tries his best to be mature and make the right choices.

Death is more than a bit nihilistic and pessimistic. He has a hard time just... caring, mostly about himself.

Not to say he’s completely apathetic, he can be pretty empathetic but he tries not to act on that too much because if he did his job would have broken him by now.

He likes to think he’s got it all under control, but he does not. He’s more prone to pettiness and stupid decisions than he’d like to admit.

That being said he’s been pretty good with like. Growing and maturing though. He’s changed more than he realizes in just in the past.... decade or so ago. A bit of a late start for an immortal but hey at least he’s slightly less of a scumbag.

It’s usually not easy to anger him unless he’s really tired or something’s already set him off. When something does piss him off badly he’s a bit prone to freaking out. He’s not very good at handling his emotions. 

Sees his own job as a necessary evil, because hey, someone’s gotta do it.

Interested in botany/gardening, as well as literature.

Genuinely nice- or at least polite- to the kids when he’s not supposed to be murdering them. He sees no reason to go out of his way to do so, especially since unwarranted cruelty towards others has only bit him in the ass.

Famine’s older brother. The two have always had each other’s backs.

Diligent, and always considers the logistics to things instead of acting on emotion alone.

Protective of the other horsemen.

Pretty short tbh

His horse’s name is Chili.

Famine

She/he (bigender). You can use both interchangeably or only use one set, she doesn’t care. Fine with they/them too but it’s never really clicked w/ him enough to be preferred.

Usually prefers more masculine terms (brother, sir, mr...) but fine with anything.

.Flips between bouncing off the walls and having no energy whatsoever.

Impulsive, she’s got terrible judgement and has the most idiotic of ideas sometimes.

Fairly easygoing, tries to forgive and forget and doesn’t let little transgressions get to her

Actually pretty damn sad. Needs some self care but never looks after herself.

I mean she’s optimistic and usually happy but like. There’s always just a bit of sadness, you know? He’s dealt with a lot and it’s definitely taken its toll on him.

Disaster Lesbian

Tries to be a graceful loser but she can get a bit more competitive than she’d like to admit.

Has a hard time relating to others and considering how they feel, at least when it comes to anything more complex than “bad thing happened now I’m sad/mad” He’s a drifter by nature, always onto the next big thing for a quick thrill.

Eats a lot. It’s never enough.

Plants and a good deal of food will decay if she touches them, or even gets too close to them.

Like his brother he has some interest in nature. Famine is more on the adventurous side, though. She’s tried to live off the land a few times with varying success.

Named her horse Frisk

Pestilence

He/him

Calm, quiet, but also a pessimistic jackass.

Always in a bad mood. I mean, he’s permanently sick with just about everything contagious and deadly. You’d be grumpy, too!

Surprisingly high pain tolerance. A good deal of his nerves have probably just.. shut down or something. Or maybe he’s just numb to everything after a lifetime of pain.

Sleeps a lot

Dislikes his situation a lot, but doesn’t mind the company of the others.

Lazarus is terrified of this dude. The other kids are mostly grossed out or annoyed by him.

Likes to be alone.

Fairly smart, but comes off as absent minded bc he’s pretty much too sick to function. He slips up a lot and he’s pretty damn clumsy

Probably the most rational of the bunch, when he’s not in airplane mode. 

He’s also got a fairly strong moral compass. He doesn’t really like fighting the kids unlike War and Famine. Or just having to go up against people in general. Hell he hates the fact people get sick because of him. At the very least Pest has higher standards and is fairly transparent

But that isn’t to say he’s a good person. Yeah he doesn’t go out of his way to hurt others for shits and giggles and He’s Not Conquest but he doesn’t ever object to any of the shit the kids are put through and well. Yknow he still does kill them. He will also encourage some of War’s antics when it’s against someone he dislikes.

Tries to be as supportive as he can for the others. He knows he can’t do too much without overexerting so he tries to be encouraging and comforting as he can.

This compassion usually isn’t extended to humans, though.

Not very emotive, the only emotions he ever really expresses would be disdain and mild concern.

Not very fond of Conquest but they don’t hate each other. They actually work together well, too.

Friends with Mahalath. They’re pretty close!

His horse’s name is Moses.

War

He/it

He’s not very friendly, he’s pretty defensive and always on edge.

Out of all the horsemen, he’s probably the one closest with the Beast.

Lots of scars n injuries, it’s practically stitched together

One gold tooth

Impulsive, prefers solving issues through violence than through reason.

He can be fairly clever, though.

Intentionally angers/upsets others, likes causing problems and ruining things for people.

Desires wealth and power

Gets burnt out pretty quickly.

Emotional, insecure, and sensitive, and he hates this part of him. Definitely overcompensates for it.

Explosive temper, quite literally. Catches fire when upset and explodes if it’s more intense. Damage done to him also makes it happen. It’s not entirely voluntary but can be held off, and his “sobbing” sprite is him doing exactly that (but he’s probably also trying not to cry lmao). In the Ultra War fight, however...

Its daily routine leaves a lot to be desired. It wakes up, goes to work, then it goes home and just. Sits and rots.

Also, his diet is god awful. Please just eat a fruit or vegetable for once maybe you’d feel better goddamn.

He cannot remember if his horse is actually a horse or not but uhh he named her Bellum.

Conquest

He/they.

High and mighty sort of attitude. Can be very selfish. Stubborn, set in his ways. Gets defensive if you call him out or tell him he’s wrong.

Gay + nonbinary but in the closet (and denial) about both of those things. They’re trying to unlearn years’ worth of internalized bigotry.

Used to be worse, now trying to unlearn his toxic behaviors. But he’s still awful.

Doesn’t remember anything before their death. However they’ve held very strong Christian (specifically Catholic) beliefs all their life and they have a pretty black and white way of thinking.

Very cold and clinical. He has a bit of a temper but there’s a sort of calmness to everything he does even when he’s pissed.

Just as argumentative and aggressive as War but like more of a threat.

The others call him Connie sometimes, especially Death, who practically almost always calls him by this nickname.

Doesn’t harbor ill will towards Pestilence. They might have been overshadowed, but it’s not Pestilence’s own fault. If anything, being out of the spotlight has been good for Conquest, even if they do miss the attention sometimes. The only reason the two dislike each other is because their personalities clash.

Now if there’s anyone he hates that would be the Headless Horseman. Fuck that guy amiright

Very protective of Death. The two are close, Death is probably the only person who is consistently nice to him.

Utterly terrified of needles (hypodermic, not sewing needles, though he’s not good with sharp objects tbh) and medical stuff makes him anxious

Seems very... off. Just weird vibes but no one can pin point what about him is wrong.

Oh uh and his horse’s name is Josephine.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Another Year

OKAY so it is @frenchy-and-the-sea’s birthday and I am HERE with a terrible gift that is just... okay, listen. LISTEN. I had feelings and I just wrote them down and if it is wildly out of character please just pretend it is a really weird AU! 

Aaaanyway, Alex and Tahir belong to the wonderful Frenchy and live in her amazing original work, Seven Cities. If you haven’t already, join me in this glorious rabbit hole and come fall in love with all her characters!

Happy Birthday Frenchy <3

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

If someone had told a young Alex that her life would be shaped like a cradle of wood, set adrift over the ocean chasing fairytales, she would have laughed them out of the room and told them not to bother coming back. Hell, sometimes she felt like laughing herself out of the room when she paused long enough to think about what they were doing. Seven cities. Sitting cross-legged by the Ranger’s bow, her head resting against one of the railing posts, those two words alone were enough to stir something deep and quiet in her chest. It was hard, not to long for answers to unasked questions. Particularly when they had been planted in your head by someone else. Some days, that meeting with Jon, and all the things that followed, felt like a dream. A story that had happened to someone else, a long time ago, that she just happened to overhear at a pub in some piss-soaked harbour town. A story full to the brim of adventure and triumph. Fuller still of mess and mistakes.

“Another year, huh?”

Alex huffed, not bothering to pull her eyes from the waves. “Not sure what you mean. Not sure I care to know, either.”

Of course, she knew exactly what he meant. Maybe at another time, in another place, Tahir might have laughed at her almost dramatic sullenness. But not this time. Instead, he just hovered for a while, before finally lowering himself down beside her with a soft grunt. Exhaling, he tipped his head back. Dark circles framed his eyes, same as hers. There had been some long days, of late, and even longer nights. They wore them about as well as could be expected. “You know, after all this time, I thought you’d soften up to people wanting to celebrate your birthday.” His gaze flicked down, and Alex’s averted just as fast. “It’s a good thing, lad. Means you’ve eked out another year in this mad place. And there’s no one alive who can take that from you.”

“If you’re feeling like waxing poetic, Tahir, there are better audiences for it.”

“Ah, well, Adelina is asleep.”

“Try Duchess.”

The pair exchanged a flat look, like siblings poised to push each other’s buttons. Normally, Alex’s glower was a thing of legend, but this time she felt the corners of her lips twitch traitorously and had to break the contest, masking it by casting her attention back out over the water with a huff. Rather than reveling in his victory, Tahir just allowed a faint smile to spread freely across his face. He was a spot of brightness in the inky dark. Somehow, when she needed him to be, he always was.

The silence lingered until she broke it. “I don’t make a fuss or demand a song and dance because I don’t care about it, Tahir.” Alex wasn’t sure why she started speaking. Normally those kinds of words had to be pried from her like a coin from a miser. “So unless you’ve been spending your lonesome evenings knitting a cape from old hemp sacks and sail rope, best to just treat it the same as any other day.”

There was a pause. “Well,” Tahir began slowly, “I’m not sure about the knitting, but if I’d known you wanted a cape made out of old hemp and---”

He broke off with a surprised grunt as the heel of Alex’s boot connected solidly with his thigh, then quickly caught her foot in one large hand. He raised it slightly, as if to say don’t make me confiscate this, then set it back down on the wooden deck at a pointedly safe distance. “In seriousness,” he continued, one eye still watching for any further signs of attack, “have a drink, at least. Even if it’s just with me or Adelina. Celebrate a little.”

Alex arched a brow. “That an order?”

“It’s a suggestion, Alex. From a friend.”

“Yeah, well…” Alex reached up and ran a hand through her hair. Or at least, she tried it, tangled as it was from the salt and wind. “Consider your friendly suggestion noted. I just…” Her arm suddenly felt heavy. Too heavy. She let it fall to her lap like an anchor to the seafloor. “I just don’t feel in a celebrating mood. Not of late. It’s… there’s so much to do, Tahir.”

“Like what?”

“I…” Alex hesitated. There were things to be done. Of course there were things to be done! There was always something to finish, or begin, or re-do because some half-asleep idiot fucked it up the first time. They were all tired. All drained dry. That meant something was leaking – something that needed to be fixed. Something she needed to fix.

Yet, when asked what that thing was, she found herself at a loss.

Tahir shifted his weight, boot scraping over the deck as he bent his knee and propped his elbow on it. “Sometimes, we have bad weeks. All of us, together, on this ship.” He was looking at her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she didn’t, he continued anyway. “None of us blame you for it, Alex. We’ll blame the gods, or the weather, or a bad hand at a tarot reader’s tent well before we’d ever blame you. This is just… how things go sometimes. We can’t change it any more than we can change the tide.”

Finally, Alex turned to face him. “So… what? I’m just meant to accept that sometimes everything goes to shit for no reason? Make my peace with it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because punishing yourself doesn’t make it any easier.”

Alex opened her mouth – to retort? Argue? She wasn’t sure. But once again, she found the will to fight had abandoned her. Or maybe, just maybe, Tahir had a point, and she’d just rather cast herself into the sea than admit it right now. 

Instead, Alex just grunted; a quiet kind of acquiescence, open enough to interpretation that she could stomach it well enough. Tahir, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, accepted it with wordless grace. They sat in silence for a little while longer, side by side, lulled by the creaking of the ship. Then, there was a rustle of fabric as Tahir reached into his side-pouch and extended a further sign of peace.

A flask.

“What’ve you got in there today?” Alex took the flask and set to unscrewing it with half-numb fingers. The night-chill was starting to rise already. She convinced herself the drink was just to chase it away. Nothing more.

Tahir relaxed back against the rail, stretching his legs out again. “Something you’ll like.”

Frowning, Alex eyed him warily as she slowly raised the flask to her nose. The first inhale was short – a test, of sorts. When she didn’t keel over from a poorly conceived prank by one of the twins, she relaxed and allowed herself a deeper breath. What met her was something rich, lightly spiced, and possessing just enough edge to promise a good, trickling warmth that curled its way to her fingertips. Even without tasting it, she knew one thing for certain: it was good. “When did you even get this?” she asked a little accusingly. Last time they were at port, he’d insisted on staying with the ship while the others enjoyed a well-earned shore leave. 

Apparently not.

As though reading her mind, Tahir quickly raised his hands. “Easy there, Captain. I convinced Davin to take my place for a bit. The Ranger was in good hands.” He hesitated. “Well, reasonably good hands. He was still sober enough to stand.”

It was easier to laugh, somehow, with that flask in her hand. Not just because its contents sent a comforting warmth straight to her stomach, but because it was something she hadn’t known she needed. It was a moment with someone she trusted above anyone else, sitting on the bow of her ship, letting sea and sail carry them towards a distant point of the compass.

Some leaks are small. Barely even noticeable, at first. But god, it feels good when someone takes the time to patch it.

“That good, huh?” Tahir asked eventually, after Alex had helped herself to a third hearty swig. Humming contently, she smirked and held out the flask.

“You tell me.” When Tahir raised his brows, Alex just rolled her eyes. “Listen - given you probably owe Dav a favour now – a thing no man alive would envy – you can at least partake in the spoils.”

Laughing, Tahir shrugged his large shoulders. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

There it was again. That smile. The one that reminded Alex that she had her own. And she found it, then, as Tahir took the flask and allowed himself a long, deep swallow. Then another. Then another…

“Hey - don’t go emptying it!” There was a moment of frenzy, Alex grabbing for the flask, Tahir twisting away, keeping her at bay with a frantically extended elbow. Eventually, Alex managed to snatch it back and tipped it up, peering inside as though to measure the precise depth of his betrayal. “You rat bastard.”

But Tahir wasn’t listening. He was too busy laughing, one hand on the rail, hauling himself to his feet (and, more importantly, out of range). Once upright, he swayed slightly, then stretched his back. Cat-like. Content in his flagrant hubris.

 Duchess would be proud.

 “Come on, then,” he said. “Up you get.”

“What?” Alex was still fuming, trying to fish out the last few boozy drops with her finger. Traitor. “Why the hell should I?”

Tahir just grinned. 

“Because the rest of the bottle is with Adelina, and you’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

☆ For better or worse ☆

Author's note: Another sparxshipping, yeah, no surprise here. WHY AM I SUDDENLY OBSESSED WITH VILLAN/HERO PAIRING??? Anyways... in this story Bloom didn't destroy Valtor(obviously because I'm a trash and a sucker for happy ending, probably because there are so little of those in real life) and the story kicks off in season 4 and continues through the very same season.

Summary: leaving him alive proves to be the worst decision she's ever made... until it turns to be the best

Warnings: LEMON, SMUT, however the fuck you choose to call it, anyways, SEX

For better or worse

Fuck.

Bloom cursed in her head. Why the fuck did she think leaving him alive would be a good idea.

"Because you're a stupid bitch and apparently a masochist as well." The voice inside her head, that Bloom recognized as her own, spoke mockingly. Sure, leaving Valtor alive seemed like a pretty good idea at the moment she should have been the one to pull the metaphorical trigger. But right now, as the said wizard sat in front of her in her living room in Alfea drinking fucking tea while waiting for headmistress Faragonda, it seemed like it could take the cake in her imaginary competition of Bloom's worst decisions.

She sighed. Valtor looked at her. And then he had the audacity to smirk at her like he fucking knew she was regretting her stupid moral compass. And if fighting him for almost a year now has thought her anything, it was thet he probably did know that. Just why couldn't she be more like Icy or maybe Valtor himself? She sure as hell wouldn't be in this position right now if she were. She buried her head in her hands that rested on her knees. "Stupid."

Her train of thoughts was brought to an abrupt stop as the door to her room opened and headmistress strolled in, Grizzelda hot on her tail. Faragonda looked at Bloom before turning her gaze to the man that currently occupied the sofa, still not paying attention to anything in particular, while sipping his tea that Flora generously offered him. Faragonda frowned. Bloom face palmed and elbowed Valtor in his ribs causing him to almost spill the tea all over himself and her in the process.

Valtor, in exchange, shot her a nasty look while attempting not to choke with a surprisingly delicious tea that the fairy of nature gave him. When he was satisfied with amount of glaring he projected at Bloom, he turned to the old bat. He sat his teacup on the table and then promptly swung his arms so they rested at the back of the sofa while he propped his boot clad feet on the coffee table. He saw Bloom narrow her eyes at him in his peripheral vision and he let smirk grace his face once again. She was so easy to rile up. The old bat, however, chose not to respond to his seemingly lack of manners (because she knew he had impeccable manners, and because she also knew he was doing this to simply rise an emotional response from lesser beings) and instead she cleared her throat and began with a speech that will for sure give Valtor's ears good reason to bleed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes so hard they might get stuck.

"I understand this was a somehow... sudden decision." She was looking at Bloom while she was saying that and the said girl lowered her gaze to the floor, seemingly regretting it now. "However, I'm willing to compromise this one time. If, of course, Valtor proves himself worthy of such decision." Her gaze switched to him as she spoke and this time he did roll his eyes, albeit not too hard.

"And what, pray tell," his blue eyes met Faragonda's, "is that supposed to mean?"

The girls, Winx (whom decided to join the conversation, Valtor noted) and Bloom gave him the look that said 'shut up before she sends you back to Omega or does something worse'. Valtor's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Apparently that will become a part of his routine since he will be staying with these girls that were no older than 20. That made Valtor a bit self concious, he was after all, old. Now he looked good, he knew that much. His body was still in top physical shape, broad shoulders, muscular chest, abdomen and thighs, high cheekbones... the Trix seemed all too fond of his looks, so he knew he looked damn good. Still, being in a presence of very young, vital, good looking women didn't help his case. Faragonda halted that train of thoughts when she spoke again.

"It means, my dear Valtor, that you will be under the watchful eye of an entire magical council and the Winx and myself." Her eyes were smiling as she said this and Valtor had to suppress a groan and instead opted for a glare. She didn't flinch. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?" The girls nodded and Valtor, though reluctantly, nodded as well. Seemingly satisfied with everything, Faragonda gave a nod of approval then turned on her heel and marched out of the room, Grizzelda once again on her tail. Valtor let out a breath he was unaware he was holding and lowered his feet form the coffee table. He turned to Bloom that was looking at him with a guarded look in her eyes.

The rest of the Winx club was looking between the two keepers of the dragon flame unsure whether to interrupt their starring contest or not. Without breaking eye contact, the fiery fairy snapped her fingers and levitated pillow and a blanked that she sat between her and Valtor on the couch. He raised an eyebrow.

"So I'm assuming I'll be the one to take the couch." It was more of a statement rather than a question. The fairy gave him a nod and then without looking back rose from the couch and headed to her room, the rest of the Winx following suit, not without leaving Valtor with a 'watch what you're doing' glare. The fairy of nature was the last to leave the room, but not before giving his shoulder a squeeze. He was surprised but shook it off never the less. The Lymphea fairy seemed like the friendliest of them all anyway. He made his 'bed' and then crawled in between the sheets, not before shedding his clothes and leaving them on a nearby chair, and then promptly passed out from exhaustion.

Morning came too soon for Valtor. He always had a problem sleeping in a room where it wasn't completely dark, and since this was his luck, girl's room was full of fucking windows and facing East. As soon as the first specks of light hit those windows, Valtor's sleep was lost. He groaned, a sound low in his throat, as he shifted on the uncomfortable couch, turning on the other side and slamming a pillow over his face. And when he said uncomfortable he meant uncomfortable. "Seriously, how can anyone sleep on this shit?" When he realized there was no going back to sleep, he finally opened his eyes and sat up while the joints in his neck and back protested, loudly.

Little miss perfect apparently took more out of him that he'd anticipated in the first place. Everything was hurting, every bone, every muscle and every joint. But he felt lighter than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Probably because there was no demon resting inside of him, Bloom took care of that, oh, and his connection with the Ancestral witches was, as of yesterday, nonexisting as well. Fairy dust can work miracles. He rolled his neck from side to side, feeling and hearing his joints creak and mentally cringed at the noise. "What a horrendous sound." He stood up and raised his arms above his head thankfully not hearing anything break or snap. He was about to take his clothes and use the bathroom when the door to one of the dorms opened and half asleep redheaded fairy stepped out of it. She was rubbing her eyes, quite adorably Valtor noted, but she stopped the moment her gaze landed on him. Her cheeks turned as red as her hair and Valtor rised an eyebrow.

"What?" He asked, not maliciously but genuinely curious.

The fairy rolled her eyes and gestured to him with her arms. He looked at himself and only then realized he was clad in his boxers that left almost nothing to the imagination. He managed to stop himself from turning as red as Bloom, but light pink still crossed his cheekbones.

"Why are you almost naked in our living room?" She asked with raised eyebrows, her blush still quite evident on her cheeks.

Valtor smirked. "Don't tell me you've never seen a man naked Bloom. And if you haven't, well then, I would be happy to provide a reference." A pillow slammed in his face and he staggered a bit, loosing his balance form an unexpected impact.

Princess of Domino sent him a grin, while Valtor had to physically restrain himself from using magic. Harming his saviour won't do him any good. Instead he dropped the pillow on the floor and stalked towards Bloom that stood leaning on the door was still sporting that grin. He saw her breath catch in her throat when she saw him striding towards him and he smirked. He only brushed passed her however, and entered the bathroom. He locked the door, slid the last remaining article of clothing to the floor and then stepped into the shower, letting warm water soothe his aching muscles and joints. He didn't linger long, opting to quickly wash his hair and then shut the water and get out. He brushed his teeth and then brushed his hair as well, stupid thing was prone to tangles, and then looked in the mirror. Dark circles still rested underneath his eyes but they were less noticeable. Sleep helped. He felt refreshed and better than he'd felt in a long time. He looked at his clothes. "This won't do." He snapped his fingers and his traditional clothes was exchanged for something lighter and more practical. He ditched his coat and vest, leaving only white shirt (without ruffles this time, and more modern looking for sure) and black slacks instead of his signature purple, while his boots became nice looking shoes while still maintaining comfort. He dressed and starred in the mirror. The person starring back looked like Valtor but it didn't feel like Valtor.

Gone was the power hungry megalomaniac and in his place stood just a normal wizard. He dried his hair using magic because he had no time nor patience to do so with a blow dryer. A knock on the door brought him back to the earth. He opened the door and before stood him a fiery fairy twisted in an unnatural position with her legs crossed and squeezed together. She was glaring at him.

"Took your sweet time, haven't you?" He raised an eyebrow at her tone. It somehow managed to be both teasing and bitter at the same time. How she did that, he had no idea.

"I would have let you do your business if you had told me you had to go." She seemed surprised but she brushed past him and Valtor closed the door on his way out. He was, after all, a gentleman. He heard the shower start and made his way to the kitchen. Might as well make himself useful. Or he would have, if he knew what girls preferred for breakfast. He rolled his eyes and debated asking Bloom about it. He shrugged and took off towards bathroom again. "What the hell." Its not as if he wasn't bored. He knocked on the door and when he heard a muffled 'who is it' he opened the door while putting his hand over his eyes. He heard a scream and Bloom shrieked at him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING GET OUT!!!"

"Relax princess. I'm only here to as you if I should start making breakfast and coffee." He rolled his eyes behind his hand.

"AND YOU COULDN'T HAVE WAITED UNTIL I GOT OUT OF THE SHOWER???" She was still screaming, how she had energy this early in the morning was beyond him.

He shrugged. "I was bored."

He heard her sigh. When she spoke her voice was back to normal. "An omelet should be fine. Coffee is in the upper cupboards." He nodded and said his thanks, then promptly turned and closed the door on his way out.

When Bloom got out of the shower she was greeted with the weirdest sight she has ever seen. Valtor stood in their kitchen clad in different type of outfit than she was accustomed to seeing on him and he was making breakfast. Just a sight of a crazy megalomaniac standing in her kitchen making food for her and her friends was enough to crack her up and she doubled over in laughter. She had to support herself with a hand pressed to a wall to stop herself from falling over. Her loud cackles woke the rest of the club up and one by one they made their way out of their rooms. Fairy of shining sun, Stella, wasn't too happy that she was woken up so early. But she too lighten up when she saw coffee and breakfast on the table. She rushed over to Valtor, who was still sending a nasty glare towards a redhead, and took coffee mug out of his hands and then proceeded to swallow every last drop in a few gulps. At that sight Bloom lost it once again, or it might have been a stupid face expression Valtor was for sure sporting. A girl he was enemy with until yesterday approaches and then proceeds to take the mug he was drinking from and the promptly gulp down it's content, was surprising to say the least. Blond fairy turned towards him, surprise written all over her face.

"You made this?" She asked with eyes wide as dinner plates. Valtor nodded. She squealed, squealed, and then threw her arms around him i a hug he was definitely not prepared for. "You are making coffee form now on. Sorry Bloom, you're fired."

The girl in question was supported by her roommate, the fairy of nature, as she was still struggling to control her giggles. She wiped a tear from her eye and let out a few more giggles before finally composing herself. She looked at Valtor.

"I'm sorry, that just took me by surprise." She said with a smile on her face and Valtor couldn't bring himself to hold this against her.

"What, your prince or Eraklyon doesn't know how to make breakfast?" He inquired mockingly but the girl only smiled.

"I doubt any of them know how to make breakfast." It was a musical fairy, Musa if he remembered correctly, that provided an answer.

Valtor shook his head and gestured at the table. Six girls eagerly sat down while Valtor put plates with omelet and mugs of coffee in front of them. He took a seat as well. He was seated between Bloom and princess of Andros, Leyla. Leyla was shooting him looks every now and then, but that was normal, he deduced. He was, after all, responsible for everything that happened on her home planet. He made a mental note to apologize later. They ate in comfortable silence that was occasionally broken by the Solarian fairy. After breakfast Bloom offered to take care of the dishes until Valtor took the plates out of her hands.

She was surprised, and if judging by the looks the rest of the Winx were giving him, so were they. He shrugged. "I'm bored."

Bloom rolled her eyes but let the wizard have his way anyway.

In between next few months they all spent together, a bond formed. They would take turns making meals, event thought it was Valtor that was responsible for majority of them. Faragonda became more trusting because she gave him permission to use the school library as long as he doesn't steal any spells. He stuck to his promise, because he liked the access he had to everything but at the same time he didn't feel the need to steal anything. He was slowly rebuilding his powers, the only exception being the dark magic because he didn't possesse any if that anymore.

And so the time to resurrect Domino came. Valtor was surprised that Bloom found a way to do such thing. He himself thought it would be impossible to save his home planet. The one he destroyed with his own hands. They fought the battle against three witches, the very same he thought he would never had to come into contact with again. But they managed to save the day, or planet. Valtor still cringes at the memory of meeting Miriam and Oritel after 17 years. The look that crossed their faces when they saw him was... priceless and disturbing at the same time. It took some time, but the managed to 'forgive' him for everything that he's done. And by that, he meant they were willing to tolerate him for the sake of their younger daughter that formed a special sort of friendship with the wizard. Plus, even though he hated to admit it, Faragonda helped too. She was the one that convinced Miriam and Oritel he was no longer power thirsty wizard and that three Ancient witches had no control over him for quite some time. And in a meeting between Valtor and Faragonda, that included a lot of eye rolling on Valtor's part, he thanked her.

Valtor still remembers the day he saw Bloom coming down those stairs dressed in a beautiful blue ball gown that looked amazing on her. She was accompanied by her mother, and it was only then that Valtor saw incredible resemblance the two shared. It was then the first time he actually remembers feeling something for the redheaded princess, only then he couldn't, or more accurately wouldn't, put a finger on the emotion.

Months flew by and Winx girls found themselves back in Alfea, this time as teachers rather than students. Valtor himself was offered a teaching position, which was something that raised a lot of eyebrows, but to everyone's surprise, Valtor took it. He usually thought defences classes and mostly first year students, but he was a good teacher that possessed a lot of patience (he worked with Trix in close proximity for a year, he had to have patience), and soon enough he became one of the favourite professors on the whole campus.

In the meantime, Bloom broke up with Sky. It was something that also raised a lot of eyebrows mainly among the Winx girls. Bloom didn't talk about it, but it was Valtor that knew the whole story because he found her in lying in a ball on the couch (the same couch he slept on from the beginning) sobbing into his pillow.

It was a stressful day. He returned to their room (it still felt weird referring to Winx's room as his own) stiff as a board from hours spent sitting in an uncomfortable chair, toed off his shoes and made his way to the living room. It was the test season, as it was almost time for the 'winter' break. He didn't expect anyone to be there so it came to as a surprise when he saw a ball of blue and red lying on the couch, face swallowed by a pillow, shoulders shaking with sobs. He approached carefully, like he would to a scared animal, as if not to startle her. He laid his hand on her shoulder and she recoiled almost blending her body into the couch she was lying on. Her sobs became more audible. He sat next to her on the couch, rubbing comforting circles on her back (or at least he hoped they were comforting). She turned around so fast Valtor started fearing for his life but she only straddled his legs and propped herself in his lap before shoving her face in his neck and coiling her arms around him. He sat there motionless for a few seconds before his brain finally kicked in and he hugged her back, while rubbing her back and shushing her. She rocked back and forth on his lap, and Valtor had to physically stop himself from reacting in a way that would be pretty obvious to both of them. "Think puppies, kittens, Faragonda in underwear." That seemed to do the trick and he made a face at the mental picture of headmistress in lacy number.

He didn't notice that Bloom had stopped shaking and was now just hugging him. He pulled her back and run a hand through her tangled hair, something completely out of character for him. Her blue eyes were red an puffy a sure sigh she had been crying for a long time.

"What happened?" He asked after a few minutes of just starring at her and her starring back at him, while still untangling her hair with his fingers.

Her lower lip wobbled before she bit it with her teeth to stop the motion. "Sky cheated." She confessed in a small voice and Valtor wanted nothing more than to teleport himself to Eraklyon and murder the blonde prince. He stopped himself. "Whoa where did thar come from?" He thought, "Since when do you care about how Bloom feels?" He wanted to slap himself. "Good job idiot. You fall in love with a girl that will never love you. How come you always do that? First Griffin, now Bloom. What's next? Leyla maybe?" He shook his head to get rid of these thought. Now's not the time.

"He doesn't deserve you." He found himself saying. His eyes widened. "Great, you've also lost your brain to mouth filter. You've been hanging out with Stella bit too much." Bloom, poor thing, seemed surprised with this statement as well. His hand found it's way to her neck and it pulled her head to rest where his neck met his shoulders. He rubbed her back and just sat with her for a while. In the meantime he considered his thoughts. Was he in love with Bloom?

He couldn't deny that the redhead was beautiful. She had pale flawless skin that contrasted beautifully against her vibrant red hair, beautiful big blue eyes and had legs that went for days, especially in that Enchantix dress he would rather die than admit he liked how it looked on her. She wasn't just looks, she had brain and brawn to match. She was a spitfire for sure. She was funny and naive and she sometimes laughed so hard she snorted and - oh great dragon, you're in love with her. Valtor let his head fall to the back of the couch. This was not good.

Bloom ended almost all contact with Sky after that and she and Valtor became even closer. Trips to Domino became more frequent and Valtor accompanied her on most of them. They brought the Winx with them of a few occasions as well. Even Marion and Oritel seemed to warm up at the idea of Valtor being close to their daughter. They joked and laughed and even got drunk together few times. Well, Bloom got drunk, he got tipsy. Seriously, the amount of alcohol he'd have to consume to get drunk would be enough to kill a dragon, or an African elephant (Earth's equivalent). They shared stories about Trix, and he even told her about the role he played in the war that raged on Domino. She listened, but she didn't seem angry. She even laughed at a few stories he told her about the Ancestral witches.

Girls generally became more physically comfortable around him, squeezing his shoulders, hitting his arms when he made a joke and even hugging him. He liked the contact. After spending so many years in ice and then one more year focusing on getting revenge on those who wronged him, he didn't exactly have time to focus on physical contact of any kind. He was ashamed to admit it had be over 18 years since he last took woman to bed. Maybe that's why he developed this attraction to Bloom. Lack of release that accumulated over the years. Not even masturbation. He didn't have time, plus it would be kind of awkward jacking off in a bathroom that girls occupied as well. So he just gave up on that after doing it and then feeling somehow guilty.

But then again, that still wouldn't explain his attraction to Bloom. If the lack of sex was to blame he would have a boner for every girl in this room, and yet, nothing. It was time to face the music. He was in love with bloom, and that was that. Nothing would change that. The fact that she was also single didn't help either. He found himself watching her more closely and more often and he tried to stop doing that as often. Key word, tried.

A few days before ending of a school year, wizards of the black circle attacked. Winx were almost powerless against them in their Enchantix form. He was essentially the only one that had power over them, and so he was left to fight the wizards by himself. He heard about them. The fairy hunters. Earth was once a magical powerhouse until four wizards came and defeated queen of Earth faeries, stole their wings and locked them away. What they were doing here, he had no idea. His heart leaped to his throat when the vortex sucked Bloom in but it dropped back down when it spat her out just as quickly. And then in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

Valtor managed to deal a good amount of damage to the wizards but he was alone and there were four of them. Flora essentially suffered the most and was taken to the infirmary while Valtor took care for the rest of the Winx. He watched Bloom closely, making sure no lasting damage was inflicted. He caught Faragonda's eyes while he was fussing over the redhead and she nodded at him. He nodded back. This was one of the things Faragonda couldn't keep from them. Tomorrow she would explain everything.

They returned to their dorm and the girls went straight to bed. Bloom offered to keep him company, however he refused and sent her pouting ass to bed. He couldn't sleep that night.

The next morning he joined Faragonda in explaining everything that happened and how to stop the wizards. It was decided that the girls will leave for Earth to find the last Earth fairy. Valtor will accompany them. Bloom was in charge of everything because she's the one that knew Gardenia the best having grown up there. The tree of life provided more than enough help with narrowing down their search from an entire planet to a single city. Girls and Valtor packed their things and they were on their way to California. It was clear to Valtor that Mike and Vanessa were surprised at the sudden appearance of her daughter and her friends and an unfamiliar guy. While girls unpacked their things Bloom took a chance to introduce him to her parents. They seemed like decent human beings to Valtor and he was pulled aside by Mike for some bonding over beer and football, or is it soccer? While the guys watched football, Vanessa and Bloom chatted about girl stuff.

They spent a few days in their house and while Valtor tried not to be a nuisance, the girls were a different story. They weren't trying to be rude, but heir behaviour was a story for itself. They weren't doing anything different from what they would normally do in Alfea but Stella's constant intergalactic phone calls in the bathroom and Flora's obsession with plants kinda disrupted the calm life Mike and Vanessa were used to having. Valtor sighed. Time to take matters into his own hands.

While Mike and Vanessa were at work, he sat the girls down. "Ok. Now I understand that you all have a specific routines, however, you all need to be aware that we are in someone else's home. And while I am aware you are trying not to intrude, you are shit at it. Ok?" The girls looked at each other and lowered their gaze.

Musa was the one that spoke. "Shouldn't Bloom be telling us that? It's her house after all."

The girls looked at Bloom who was avoiding their eyes. "Well the truth is... Mike and Vanessa aren't too happy about this. They love me, and they adore you guys, but it's a small house." She smiled sheepishly.

"I found us a job." That earned him six surprised stares. "The payment is not too much, but we have to start looking for a place to stay." The girls nodded.

The next day, girls were in charge of clearing out the storage room full of plush toys, but somehow they turned the bunch of plush toys into a real life magical animals. Valtor, who stayed at home, cleaning the house (how very domestic of him) got a biggest shock of his life when he came from the bathroom and the living room was full of flying animals. He face palmed. Those girls just can't stay out of trouble.

The Winx found him sitting on a sofa, Mike and Vanessa in the kitchen, surrounded by sleeping animals that took the liberty to snuggle next to him. Bloom snorted and quickly covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late. He heard her and he leveled her with a meanest glare he could produce at the moment. The rest of the girls scrambled to get the animals away from a fuming wizard while Bloom just stood leaning on doorway and busied herself with giving him coy looks. When the girls dissapeared, she plopped herself next to Valtor and swung her legs over his lap. He raised an amused eyebrow and she sent him an innocent look that proved she was anything but innocent. Without taking his eyes off of her, he took off her shoes and started massaging her feet. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tipped her head back while letting out the most erotic moan Valtor has ever heard. His fingers stilled for a second and he gulped, shifting her feet so they weren't resting on his crotch. There was no time to stop the images that assaulted him. He could only hope his physical reaction won't be so obvious. His prayers weren't answered, of course, and he found himself in a very compromising position, his obsession's legs hiding an obvious tent in his trousers while Mike and Vanessa chose that moment to reenter the living room. Bloom went to take her legs off his lap but he caught her by the ankles and stilled them. She looked at him and went red at he look he was giving her. His pupils were blown wide, making his irises appear dark blue, his chest area was moving rapidly and she could see veins straining in his neck. She had an idea what caused his reaction and as she brought her foot to scratch her calf, she ran it over a very hard bulge, his breath caught in his throat and his fingers tightened on her ankles. Bloom went bright red. Luckily Mike and Vanessa seemed too focused on the story they were telling, they didn't notice their reaction.

Half an hour later, and a whole hell lot of mental images of very unpleasant things, Valtor was able to calm himself. His breathing returned to normal and his dick now only created a faint outline rather than a tent. That's when he felt comfortable enough to excuse himself and go splash some cold water on his face. When he returned Bloom was the only one left and Valtor cursed his luck. He sat next to her on the couch and bit his lip. She avoided his eyes while she fidgeted with the hem of her shorts. The air around them was awkward.

"So um..." she began, painfully aware if the tension in the air, "are you, um... ok?"

Valtor squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed bile that was threatening to rise. "I-I don't know." He stuttered. Stuttered. Him. The big bad wizard. This was bad. He took a deep breath and turned towards her. "Look I'll be honest with you. I haven't had sex in over 18 years. In fact the last person I bedded was your sister." Bloom's eyes widened at that and Valtor wanted to punch himself really hard. Why in the ever loving fuck would he say that to Bloom? Oh hell it was too late already so he might as well try to save his ass. "The reaction I had was not something I'm proud of, but I'm not going to run away from the fact that I am a man and this thing happens from time to time." He was breathing heavily by the time he finished his rant.

"Y-You slept with Daphne?" Valtor rolled his eyes.

"Really? Out of everything that I just told you, that's the part that intrigues you the most?" The princess shrugged. He sighed. "Yes I slept with Daphne. We were... drunk. It was at a party that your parents threw in honor of your birth. That's all I'm going to say." Light pink was visible on his cheeks and Bloom found herself giggling at this. He looked at her like she was a shit at the bottom of his shoe and she sobered up pretty quickly.

"Sorry. It's just that I'm so unused to seeing you blush." He wetted his lips. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it." She sighed and the tension seemed to disappear. "Don't you guys take care of that? I mean..." she looked him up and down her gaze lingering at his crotch, something which didn't go unnoticed by Valtor. "Doesn't work for me. Besides, I'm living with young women, and jacking off seems kind of wrong." Bloom went bright red at the profanity, but she couldn't deny it made her feel hot, especially if Valtor was the one saying them. "I um, I think I'll go to bed." Valtor nodded and she stood up. "Goodnight princess." She smiled. "Goodnight Valtor."

Between taking care of the 'Love and Pet' shop, finding the last earth fairy, fighting the wizards, getting Believix, specialist's arrival, meeting Roxy, freeing the Earth faries and then fighting them for the sake of humans, there was no time for anything, let alone romance or fantasizing about anything. Jumping between different destinations would take toll on anyone, let alone fairies that fought bunch of vengeful earth fairies in order to stop their vengeance on humans. In between all that ruckus, Ogron and his minions decided to surrender themselves in order to have a 'trial' which was something that didn't sit with Valtor very well. Why would these wizards suddenly decide to surrender themselves and ask for forgiveness? It didn't make any sense. Sybila, one of the nicest earth fairies took them in until their 'sick' friend was safe to travel. Which, of course, didn't happen. Ogron and his remaining two buddies opened a portal meant to suck in the very last fairy from earth and Valtor together with Winx and specialists tried to stop them, however, it was Nabu, previously known as Ophir that paid the ultimate price. And while the final gift of destiny could have brought him back to life, Ogron took it before once again proving to be cruelest being Valtor has ever had displeasure of meeting.

But apparently, that wasn't enough drama. Because, as luck would have it, Leyla, in order to avenge her fiancee, joined Nebula and helped them overthrow Morgana, imprisoning her in a fucking mirror non the less. Valtor felt the beginning of a really terrible headache. What else is universe going to throw at them?

He spoke too soon. He really should learn to keep his thoughts in check. Because of course, Morgana has a daughter, and her fucking daughter is Roxy, and a lot of this shit could have been avoided if only they knew that tiny piece of information. He groaned. This was turning into a real soap opera. The wizards ran into the fucking Omega, because universe apparently hates him so. So here he was now, in Omega, helping specialists take Morgan's fairies to safety. He turned towards Bloom that was about to take off deeper into the Omega and grabbed her hand. She looked at him with eyes that were so full of determination. She pulled him by the lapels of his jacket (a different one, because he ditched his coat a long time ago) and gave him a brief kiss on the lips. When they parted, both the Winx and specialists were looking at them with eyes that were as wide as dinner plates.

"This is our fight." She said, "We need to get Leyla back."

He nodded and pulled her close once again. The kiss he gave her this time was brief but it didn't lack passion. They parted and she took off. Valtor spared one last glance at the cave entrance that was beginning to crumble, he shook off his worry and pulled the idiotic specialists out in the safety. He could feel someone's eyes burning holes in his person and he had a pretty good idea to whom they belonged. But for now he didn't care in the slightest.

A few minutes passed, but to Valtor it felt like hours. He could feel massive amounts of energy radiating from the ground meaning the fight continues on. And the suddenly there was nothing. Silence. Valtor didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign. Suddenly the ground lurched and the Winx, minus Bloom flew out. Valtor's heart stopped beating for a second, but it kicked back into gear as soon as he saw her dragging Nebula behind her. Roars and cheers were echoing through the kingdom of Tin Nan Og, greeting the new queen, as Morgana is coming back to Earth to be with her family. Leyla departed soon after that, saying she needed to bring the flower Ogron gave her back to Andros. Valtor stood on the side admiring the view. For the first time in Dragon knows how long, it was peaceful. His eyes met sapphire blue. Bloom stood surrounded by her friends but she obviously wasn't paying attention to what Stella was saying because she was looking at him. Stella stopped talking long enough to push Bloom towards Valtor, and she stumbled, obviously not expecting that. She turned to glare at her friend, but Stella simply shooed her away. She turned and made her way towards him. The closer she got the faster she seemed to walk. Until a hand grabbed her.

"Bloom, can we talk?" Valtor heard Sky say but she shook his hand off and quickly added, "Not mow Sky."

She once again quickened her pace and when she was in arms reach she flew into Valtor's open arms. She buried her head into his neck, breathing in his scent, while one of his hands supported her and the other went through her hair, detangling it. They stood there, just hugging and feeling each other for a minute or two before finaly parting. Valtor cupped her face in his large hands and sealed their lips together. The roar of pure happiness could be heard and Valtor subconsciously registered Stella saying to someone they owed her money. But nothing at that moment mattered more than the fact that he was holding, touching and kissing Bloom.

Her lips were soft as velvet and as she sighed happily into the kiss, Valtor took the opportunity to slip his tongue in, making the redhead moan and clutch onto him even tighter. Her arms coiled around his neck and brought him even closer, deepening the kiss even more. Valtor broke the kiss, but not before taking her lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it, making the redhead whine, before soothing the ache with his tongue. One kiss was not enough for him, or her for that matter as she connected their lips once again. Valtor's brain shut down the moment his lips touched Bloom's. He forgot where he was, who he was with and why they were here. He only cared about Bloom. Which could be the reason his hands began to wonder, slipping from her waist to her lower back, cupping her ass and back of her thighs before bending down slightly to get a good grip on her legs and lifting them up so she could wrap them around his waist. Everything was quiet up until that point, when Stella of all people began complaining about them 'getting a room' and 'being sweet enough to give cavities'.

He remembered then who he was and that they were in public, surrounded by her friends, bunch of fairies he didn't know the name of and specialists. Bloom looked at him, his eyes mirroring his in appearance with pupils blown wide and their breaths coming in quick and short bursts. She blushed when she realized in what position they were. Her with her legs warped around his middle and her arms coiled around his neck, while his arms were holding and squeezing her ass, in front of everybody. She cleared her throat and he bent down so her feet could touch the ground while she returned her arms back to her side. She stood straight up, blush still evident on her cheeks and looked at Valtor. He looked a bit dishevelled and his hair was a bit messed up, but aside from that, he looked perfectly normal, no trace of blush on his cheeks and a cocky grin on his lips. He slipped his hand into hers and intertwined their fingers. And she smiled too.

When they returned to Gardenia and left Roxy with her mother and father, they all hit Fruit Music bar to celebrate. They choose a table and ordered the drinks before siting down. Since no table had enough chairs, most of the girls were sitting in their boyfriends laps. What surprised Valtor, however, was when Bloom decided to sit on his lap. Even when she was involved with Sky, Valtor knew she avoided public display of affection, but he seemed to be an exception to most rules, because she kissed him in front of bunch of strangers today, and now she decided to sit in his lap as well. He wasn't about to complain. He loved the feeling of her lithe body pressed up against his own. She didn't seem too interested in her drink, she was playing with her straw more than she was drinking from it. Valtor was running his arm across her back and his face was buried in her hair. The hand that was rubbing her back dissapeared and it reappeared moment later when it pushed her long red curls from her neck and she felt hot kisses being pressed there. She shuddered. It would appear Valtor wasn't interested in drinking tonight either. She locked eyes with him and a silent understanding passed between them.

She got up first, startling everyone in the process, but when Valtor stood up behind her and took her hand, a nod of approval form Stella seemed to send everyone the message they shouldn't ask questions. They were almost at the exit when Stella's voice broke through.

"Should we even come home tonight?!" She yelled from across the bad. Bloom turned red while Valtor merely smirked and yelled back. "You can, it might be a little loud for you! No one will be getting any sleep!" Bloom staggered and she would have fallen over had Valtor not been there and supported her. Stella's laughter could be heard from the next block. They walked fast, Bloom took off her heels so she could walk faster. When they finaly reached the shop, Bloom wasted no time unlocking and opening the door and then locking it again.

As soon as they were inside, Valtor pushed Bloom against the door and kissed her passionately. She opened her mouth almost instantly to his wandering tongue and she moaned when two tongues met in a dance. He pressed her up against the door even harder and wasted no time hauling her up so she could warp those legs around him. Still kissing her, her staggered blindly towards the stair case stopping every few seconds to press Bloom against the was so he could focus on kissing her. He couldn't stop. Even the sheer thought of stopping brought him pain. He waited her for so long, thinking she could never be his, and now that she is, he's never letting her go.

When they reached her bedroom, Valtor single handedly opened the door while he used the other to support her ass. He closed the door and spun around pressing her into it, making her gasp and arch her back. Never breaking the kiss, he slipped his hands into her crop top, running his hands over her ribs until he reached her breasts and gave them a squeeze. He was pleasantly surprised to find she wasn't wearing a bra. He pushed the shirt up and she raised her arms so he could take it off completely. As soon as the shirt was discarded he turned his attention to her nipples that were shaped into tiny peaks hard enough to cut glass. He hauled her up even higher and took one nipple in his mouth, circling it with his tongue first before completely enveloping it in his mouth.

Bloom arched her back and let out a delicious moan at his ministrations. She tugged at his shirt, desperate to get it off so she could feel her skin pressed up against his. He chuckled, a dark and seductive sound, coming somewhere deep from his throat. She wasn't even aware he moved them until she was being lowered and her back being pressed against cool set of sheets and Valtor disappeared from her arms. She whined but was quickly pacified when he returned, this time lacking both shirt and trousers. She could feel his naked torso pressing against her hard nipples, his chest hair tickling her, his naked legs intertwining with her own and something hard and thick pressing against her clit. She shuddered. She rolled her hips into it desperate for more friction, while Valtor chuckled at her impatience and pinned her hips down. She struggled against his hold, but with no use, he was too strong. He trailed kisses from her neck over her breasts all the way to her navel where he licked a long stripe over her underwear line before taking hold of her skirt and panties before yanking them down her legs. He chucked them across the room and settled himself between her thighs making her blush and spread her legs to accommodate his wide shoulders. The look in his eyes could best be describes as predatory as his gaze caught her eyes and stayed there while his tongue licked a long stripe from her opening to her clit. Bloom threw her head back and let out a long moan, while her hand, seemingly on her own accord, shot across the bed and her fingers tangled themselves in his long reddish blond hair. He continued his ministrations, focusing most of his attention to her clit. Her hips strained against her fingers, pushing her closer to his mouth and evidently, closer to her orgasm. She was shaking, panting and almost sobbing mess underneath him as she climbed towards the peak. She pulled on his hair directing him where and how she wanted him. He let go of her hips and clutched at her thighs that were spread out to accommodate him. She let out a long moan and stilled against him before dissolving into a shaking mess and twitching hips as she was dropped from her high. He licked one last stripe across her pussy and planted a kiss on her clit, making her shudder from overstimulation,before propping himself up in his elbows and crawling towards her. As soon as he was close enough she captured his mouth in a kiss. He opened his mouth and she gladly took his invitation, tasting herself.

She broke the kiss and panted heavily against his neck while her hands traveled from his shoulders to his nipples, where she pinched them, enjoying his response. Her legs once again circled his waist and pulled him close. His cock, long and thick, laid erect on her stomach. She could feel the size and shape even through the boxers he was still wearing. Her hands traveled lower until they reached the elastic band that was holding them on his hips and her fingers pulled on it, going underneath it and cupping his rock hard ass. His hips grinded against her in response and she smiled. She kissed him once again as she lowered his boxers low enough so her feet could take that job, sliding them across his long muscular legs and then chucking them across the room to join the rest of their clothes. Her hands slid to the front and took hold of his erection carefully spreading precum from the leaking tip to his long and thick shaft. If this were anyone else but Valtor, she would have feared for her nonexisting virginity. Funnily enough, two years ago if you had told her she would be spread out underneath the man that was responsible for destruction of her home planet, she would have laughed in your face and then proceeded to blast you with her dragon fury. But right now, she couldn't imagine anyone else in this position.

He shuddered against her and she aligned his cock with her entrance, kissing him gently in permission. He slid into her with little difficulty,her previous orgasm making her wetter and tighter. He exhaled against her neck when he bottomed out and gave her a few moments to adjust to his size and girth. She moaned and grinded her hips against him almost making him loose his mind. He lowered his entire body so it covered hers then pulled his hips back until only the tip remained inside her and then slid back in faster. She clutched and scratched at his back while his kisses swallowed her moans. He set a fast pace, having realized neither of them will last long enough for slow tender love making right now. He rose himself on his elbows and looked at the beauty spread out on the bed. She was panting and sweating, trying and failing to suppress her moans as he slammed into her in now short but powerful thrusts. Her legs enveloping his waist, her heels pressing against his ass, forcing him deeper into her. He could feel his orgasm approaching fast, but he refused to come before her, his male pride not letting him. He brought his hand in between them and found her clit, stroking it in tandem with his thrusts. She flew over the edge, almost screaming her release, pulling him into the abyss as well. He slowed down do ride out both of their orgasms and then completely stilled before leaning down to capture her waiting mouth. She winced as he slid out of her but turned on her side to face him and to snuggle with him non the less. She laid there, pressed against his torso, his left arm supporting her head while his right drew patterns on her back, both of them fighting to get their breathing back to normal.

She looked into his eyes and at that moment she couldn't help but to think, that yes, leaving him alive was the best decision she's ever made.

He locked eyes with her and leaned to kiss her, the kiss quickly escalating, while he once again, pinned her to bed.

Oh yes. Best decision indeed.

The end.

[jacks-jester]

Mine.

[Jerome Valeska x Reader]

Words: 2,136

Warnings: Extreme aggression, someone gets the shit beat out of them, murder, toxic jealousy traits

Requested? Yes / No

Summary: After your childhood best friend and long time crush is broken out of Arkham alongside you, and a few other inmates, you have to adapt under Theos watchful eyes. What will happen when one of the female escapees becomes a little to close to Jerome for your comfort?

A/N~ Thank you for the request! Anon I’m definitely am willing to write smut for Jerome, I’ll just need a bit of time to sort it out since I haven’t dabbled in smut quite yet. I’ll definitely keep that other request in mind though!

Autumn leaves, the type that crunch underneath your feet in the most satisfying way, their fiery colors blinding your vision yet so beautiful you can’t look away. Thats what always came to mind when you thought of your best friend Jerome Valeska - the spunky, albeit a bit psychotic, ginger, carnie kid. You and Jerome had both grown up traveling with Haly’s Circus, the two of you becoming friends the moment you met each other. Your parents were acrobats, you and your mother specializing in Lyra aerial work. You and Jerome could always be found causing mischief around the carnival grounds: loosening a few safety net ropes, loosening the board for the knife throwers Wheel of Death, sharpening the sword swallowers knives a bit too sharp.

You were kids, and kids liked causing trouble, you and Jerome both craved attention. So often were your parents the center of attention, it was rare they’d pay you any mind at all aside from aerial practice. You hated your parents, maybe the hatred was undeserved but nobody could deny that they were neglectful to say the least. Jerome on the other hand, he had every right to be livid with his mother. She was a whore, a drunk, and abused Jerome to no end, even letting her brother get it on the action occasionally - Jerome's uncle preferring scalding soups and oils to the hitting Lila normally took up when harming Jerome. You and Jerome never separated form each other, always there for each other through thick and thin.

When news broke of Jerome's arrest, you went totally, and completely ape shit, blinded with rage at the fact Lila and several others could get away with abusing Jerome and yet Jerome, when he defended himself, was arrested and charged. It was in that moment you decided you were without a doubt going to burn this corrupt, and wretched city to the ground one day, no matter the cost. You later on got apprehended after word broke that you assisted Jerome in hiding the body and were planning on helping him dispose of it. You didn’t know he was going to do it, but when you found out what took place you were anything but mad, instantly assisting Jerome in the clean up. Apparently conspiring to hide a murder and sticking up for a “madman” gave you a one way ticket to Arkham Asylum in this city. 

You and Jerome hadn’t been locked up for long when the break out happened, blue gas being the last thing you remember from the asylum. You and seven other inmates were broken out that day, though only seven of you made it through Theos “orientation”, if you could even call it that. Jerome and you had adapted the quickest out of the group, the two of you bouncing off the walls at the newly found freedoms Theo had given to you. Overall you didn’t mind the other inmates, aside from one of them, she was the only other inmate you and Jerome's age. Her real name was Dixie Smith, about as bland as you can get, she gave herself the nickname of Trix however. 

Imagine the most arrogant and obnoxious person you could imagine, the obsessive and clingy type, like a leech that just continued to fester and  thrive off your energy until you were nothing but a sorry shell of the person you once were. That was Dixie, you called her Dixie purposefully to get on her nerves, Jerome even joining your petty little game of annoying the annoyer. Dixie was in Arkham for the murder of her tutor, apparently she’d gotten fed up with her math work and stabbed the teacher with her compass needle. She was a stuck up, rich, daddy's girl who was supposed to spend a two weeks in Arkham with the help of Daddy's money. She was just in these for a rebellious spurt, wanting to prove she wasn’t like every other millionaires daughter apparently. You couldn’t stand her.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It was the day of the Maniax media debut, Jerome painting the teams name on the outfits of a few shipyard employees and tossing them off I roof. The images on the news were incredible, the police were all over the case but weren’t getting anywhere near the team. Only four of the members went out to finish the media stunt, Jerome being among those four. You and the to other girls stayed at Theos instead, Dixie whining continuously the entire time the group of boys were gone. She kept going on about how she missed ‘Her Jerome’, though she was sorely mistaken if she believed that to be true. 

It was a few hours before they returned, having to be careful to escape any stray police officers. Jerome as always was grinning like, well... like a maniac when he came back, instantly taking a seat at the head of the large dining table, his legs and arms sprawled in a relaxed posture. You were about to approach him with some clever quip when you were shoved out of the way by a hyperactive cockroach of a girl, Dixie immediately making her way over to Jerome and plopping herself down in his lap, her arms wrapping over his shoulders. 

You could feel you blood boiling as she sweet talking to him, though you were disappointed he wasn’t shoving her off or at least detesting her actions. However, what caused you to snap wasn’t Dixie, oh no, it was Jerome. Rather than continuing your inside joke of calling Dixie by her name, he said something that made you wish he’d just said he nickname. “Long time no see Trixie. Miss me much dollface?” You could feel your vision go green with jealousy as you entered autopilot, your body moving on its own accord. You stormed over to where they were sitting, your hand gripping Dixies obnoxious braid and roughly pulling her off Jerome and to the ground.

Jerome didn’t move, his lips only quirking into a smirk as he watched the scene unfold before him, amusement sparkling in his intense gaze. Dixie shouted in surprise, a yelp of pain emitting from her mouth as her hair was tugged on. “What the fuck was that for you fucking bitch?!” Dixie looked at you with rage in her eyes, outraged at the thought someone would dare lay a hand on her. You shrugged, glaring her down, “Is the princess hurt? Daddy isn’t gunna buy you out of this one ‘dollface’.” You spit the pet name out with venom and disgust, as if it were poison on your tongue. “Next time think a second before touching things that aren’t yours, that must be hard for you though.”

Dixies eyes made eye contact with y/n, embarrassment and frustration clear within them. “Bite me.” Y/n only chuckled in response, “Is that all you’ve got princess?” Dixie let out a scream of annoyance, flipping out a concealed blade and holding it out to y/n in a threatening matter. “Try me.” Y/n looked Dixie up and down for a moment before impishly grinning, “Alright.” Without a moments hesitation, y/n darted towards Dixie, carefully dodging each unplanned swing the cockroach made. Dixies skills with weapons were honestly laughable, devastatingly uncoordinated in comparison to the carnie knife throwers y/n had grown up around. Y/n ducked as Dixie swung wildly at her, y/n bringing their leg out which caused Dixie to tumble to the ground, the obnoxious girls knife gliding across the floor and away from her. 

Y/n quickly found herself perched atop Dixie, straddling the smaller girls waist as she began laying blow after blow on the tanned girls skin. Welts almost instantly formed as y/n layed it on her, blood seeping out of Dixies clearly broken nose and busted lip. The girl underneath y/n was now screaming and sobbing at this point as her face became nearly unrecognizable. Only with Theo stepping in did y/n climb off of Dixie, stepping to stand beside Theo as the beat up girl tried to stand trying to run off without a word. Y/n decided to have one last jab as the girls back was turned, attempting to retreat to her room. Y/n leant down and picked up Dixies discarded knife, “You forgot something princess.” With that y/n put her knife throwing practice to use, the knife quickly flying across the room and embedding itself in Dixies side.

Y/n watched as Theo let out a small hum of amusement as Dixie collapsed on the staircase. Theo slowly made his was over to Dixie, quickly picking up on the fact she was still conscious. “My apologies Ms. Morgan but you’ve confirmed me and Tabitha's fears, you’re not cut out to be a part of our... operation. And you know to much which unfortunately leaves us with only one choice.” Without so much as another word, the delirious and sobbing girl was dragged out of the room by Tabitha. Greenwood began capping slowly from the opposite side of the room, “Nice work, I call dibs on her when Tabitha's done. Its been a while since I’ve had fresh meat, pork hasn’t been up to par lately.” Despite the joking tone of Greenwoods words, you knew he was serious and cringed a bit. 

Your eyes flick to Jerome for a moment before looking away, instead opting to go to your room. You were only stopped a way down the hall, familiar arms wrapping around your waist from behind and spinning you around. “Gunna just ignore me after I was gone all day?” Y/n turned and glared lightly before continuing their walk, Jerome catching up to walk alongside you. “Ahhh.. the silent treatment, I only know one cure for that.” Without another word, Jerome flipped you around to face him, his lips immediately clashing against yours. It wasn't the first time you and Jerome had kissed, just in the past it was teenage curiosity induced by stolen alcohol or simply out of boredom. The way his lips moved passionately against yours, his teeth gently nipping out your bottom lip was different than the innocent kisses from before. 

You pulled away slowly, your e/c eyes meeting his dark brown, nearly ebony eyes. You caught your breath, both from the kiss and the intensity in which he was now staring at you with. His signature smirk decorated his face as he looked down at you, “ That was quite a show you put on out there doll.” You and Jerome always had a strange friendship, walking a fine line between best friends and romantic. He had always called you doll or dollface, knowing it flustered you, which you supposed is why you had snapped when you heard him mutter the pet name to Dixie. You didn’t respond, only turned away in annoyance and embarrassment.

 His fingers found their way under your chin, guiding you to turn and look at him. “I like when you're possessive, you always have this fire burning behind your eyes when you get mad. What's was it you said to Dixie?” Jerome feigned mock confusion and thoughtfulness for a second to annoy you. He clicked his tongue as it ‘came to him’, “Think a second before touching things that aren’t yours’ wasn’t that it?” You glared up at him as he continued jesting at you, his eyes aflame with mischievous amusement. You rolled your eyes lightly, only reconnecting with his when he spoke up again. “Doesn’t sound to bad does it? We could probably be the most badass, freakish power couple there ever was. I can see it in the headlines now: J and Dollface: Homicidal maniacs murder thousands.” You knew he was joking around but couldn't help the butterflies that fluttered around your stomach at the implication of you two being an item.

You let out a soft sigh and looked away, your arms crossed across your chest, “Don’t joke about that stuff J.” He quirked an eyebrow at you before his smirk returned, “What if it weren’t a joke, then what dollface? I only messed with here to get a rise out of you, get your attention.” You looked at him with confusion, trying to see if he was telling the truth or not. “What do you say dollface?” You didn't say anything, instead opting to pull him into another deep kiss, his hand immediately finding your waist. It seemed like you were kissing for an eternity before you pulled away, your foreheads pressed against each other, your lips staying only a few inches part. Jerome squeezed your waist lightly, pulling you flush against him. You flushed lightly as his next word came out a low, raspy growl, “Mine.”

You couldn’t help the smile that quickly made its way to your face, only replying with one word in return, “Mine.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[I’m gunna try to time my rights from now on.]

Time: 1 hour, 33 minutes

Not grammar reviewed yet so apologies for any typos. 

[asifetch7]

Nameless - Chapter 2: Three questions, a hundred answers.

Genre: Mafia AU, gang AU, BTS

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Hoseok x Reader, BTS x BTS

Warnings: Cursing. Gang violence. Gun violence. Kidnapping. Angst. Future fluff. Future smut. Referenced death.

—— Summery

We’re back at the mansion of Bangtan. The guys try interrogating the girl they captured, but things don’t go according to plan and a lot of new information is revealed.

——

previous//two//next

Monday 8th of June, 2020

"Three days, it has been three days since that bitch from Marco Polo last opened her mouth Jin. I want answers and I wanted them yesterday so when the fuck is she gonna start talking?" Yoongi yelled at his old friend. He didn't mean to lose his temper like this but it had been a stressful couple of days for him. Not only for him, he knows that, his whole crew has become anxious and nobody has slept more than a few hours. 

He still didn't know how it all went down. After the girl spoke Hope's real name it escalated quickly. The only thing he saw was a red flag flowing right in front of him and like a bull he barreled straight towards it. Nobody knows the real names of his inner circle. For a few years even he was clueless to what some of them were called. Their names were only revealed to those who earned their trust and Yoongi knew damn well that nobody from Marco Polo earned that privilege. 

So, how did she know? How did she gain this knowledge? Where did she even find it? Did she know all of their names? Questions have been running through his mind 24/7 and he wanted answers but those were difficult to obtain. See, right after she called him a bitch, which still upset him, the girl revealed a pill from under her tongue that she broke with her teeth and swallowed before her words even reached his ears. He didn't know what it was but it knocked her out cold within a minute. It confused the fuck out of him.

<...<

Yoongi stared as the girl went unconscious in his hands. Her body fell forward but was held back by the rope that tied her to the chair. He released his hand from her jaw and tapped her cheek. “Hey, nameless,” he tapped her a little harder. “Agust, stop, it’s not gonna work. She’s out,” Jimin said as he stood from the couch and crouched in front of the girl. He opened her mouth and started feeling around with his finger.

“Euhm, Jimin, I don’t think that’s better than tapping her cheek,” Taehyung said, unsure of what the assassin was doing. “Shush.” Jimin felt his finger hook on something in the back of the girl’s mouth and pulled it out. He held the tiny bag triumphantly between his fingertips. “This, my loves, is the culprit. Well, what was inside this little bag is the culprit but that’s gone now.” 

Hoseok walked forward and took the bag from Jimin, examining it closely. He smirked. “She’s definitely part of Marco Polo.” A sigh came from his left. “We kind of already figured that out Hope, welcome to the party,” Taehyung deadpanned with a fancy wave to their surroundings. Hoseok rolled his eyes at him. “That was just a guess because she said their name, now you know for sure,” he said as he waved the bag around like a flag. 

“How come?” Yoongi asked, doubting that a bag could so easily reveal which gang she belonged to. “You know those suicide pills that agents used during World War ll?” “Yeah, what about them? She’s still breathing so it couldn’t have been that.” Hoseok laughed. “No, she didn’t use one of those but she did use the same method.” He walked over to the couch and sat down in a relaxed position. “When I was still with the Polos-” “Hobiii,” Jimin interrupted with a whine as he crawled towards him. Hoseok stopped and pulled the pouting boy in his lap. “I know you don’t like me talking about my time there, baby, but it’s important right now.”

He rubbed comforting circles on Jimin’s thigh to soothe him. “When I was there I saw a lot of twisted shit but this stuff really surprised me. Little bags like this one,” he held up said item, “were used to store suicide pills and the like. It’s very smart actually. They figured that when someone got captured that person didn’t have the time nor possibility to grab a pill from their pockets, so they just put them in their mouths. Ready for use when needed.” 

“And she used one to store something that would knock her out?” Hoseok tilted his head. “I think so yeah, she put it in the back of her mouth. See these strings?” Yoongi nodded. “They tie these around their teeth so the bag falls under their tongue. When they press against it the pill pops out. Then they just bite it, swallow it and tada... No chance of getting tortured or spilling any information.”

Jimin let out a whistle. “Damn. She’s just getting more interesting with the minute,” he said. He watched the girl in front of them for a minute, wrecking his memory of places he could've seen her before or people he could’ve seen her with. The assassin knew many people, it was one of the reasons why he got on Bangtan’s radar. His connections all around the world, both above and under-ground were extremely useful and valuable. Especially during things like this. Finding out who their chosen victims were was one of his main tasks, besides killing anyone who crossed his lovers of course. 

When nothing came to mind he figured he didn't know her, but someone might. 

“Hobi, I know it’s highly unlikely, but do you recognize her? Since she said your name and all.” Hoseok looked at the girl in front of him. If he were to be honest he did have an idea of who she might be. Although he prayed it wasn’t true. “Maybe,” he shook his head, “but I want to be sure before we take that road.” 

“Why not just figure it out on the way? A guess is a guess, babe, we need to help each other with this one.” Taehyung told him as he crouched in front of the girl and examined her. “Not this one, guys, seriously. If I’m right, then prepare yourselves for another war.” Hoseok padded Jimin’s thigh to get him to stand up. He walked to the girl and started untying her. After getting her upper body free, he ripped her sweater.

“Whoa, hold up, this is not how we treat-” “I know Chim and I’m not gonna undress her, that’s Solar’s job. I just need to see her back.” He moved the fabric out of the way and started searching for the only clue he could think of. 

Her upper back was bare of anything, just pure, naked skin. If you ignored the scars that is, but Hoseok wasn't looking for those. All of them had at least one reminder of ugly times on their body's. That didn't make it clear she was a Polo. 

He pulled the entire sweater of her body and threw it somewhere in a corner. His eyes slowly made their way down… His lips turned into a tiny smile when he saw the inked picture placed on her lower back. 

Found ya. 

Right there, just above the waistband of her pants, was a beautifully detailed snake. He couldn't deny that the design was gorgeous, but it wasn't the snake that grabbed the man’s attention. It was the tattoo hidden underneath. He guessed the purpose of the snake was to hide the compass he knew by heart. Hoseok couldn't understand why the snake didn't cover the whole thing though. It didn't even look like it was supposed to be hiding it. The snake was put in a position in which it added to the tattoo, instead of covering it up. 

 The compass was what he had been looking for. It was the brand mark of Marco Polo, any member has one somewhere on their body. He can still feel the scar burning on his left bicep from where sharp stones had slashed the skin when he tried to get rid of his. 

Only his didn’t have a poisonous snake resting in the middle. 

Hoseok grabbed the girl out of the chair and lifted her in his arms, making sure her back was visible for the rest of the guys. 

“So? Do you know who she is now that you’ve seen this tattoo?” Yoongi asked him, annoyance starting to leak in his voice. He was getting exhausted and just wanted to lay his head down on his pillow and sink into the heaven that was his matress. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok answered rather sombly, looking down at the face of the girl he once thought he would never see again. A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone waited for him to tell them who she was but Hoseok seemed to get lost in his thoughts. 

And he was. Every single memory of her came rushing back to the forefront of his mind from the deepest parts where he had buried them a long time ago. He was speechless and couldn’t believe that he didn’t recognize her the second Taehyung carried her through the front door. 

...

Friday 18th of August, 2006

“Mamba, meet our newest soldier Jay.” His capo said to the girl standing in front of him, well not in front of him. She was hidden behind a guy he knew to be Viper, the son of Consigliere Rizzo. Still, the twelve-year-old could feel her piercing gaze even if he couldn’t see her eyes and Mamba? What was it with all the snake names in this gang?

“Welcome, Jay,” the girl said in a calm voice, walking past Viper to greet him. Hoseok stared at her, bowing his head, because even if he didn’t know her status, the fact that she was specifically introduced to the boy gave him a hint that she stood far above him.

“He’s going to be molded into the perfect bodyguard for you, Mamba,” the capo said. The girl scoffed at that. “I don’t need a fuc-” “Mamba,” the guy next to her said. Hoseok didn’t know their relationship, but they seemed to be very close as the girl only rolled her eyes and went silent. 

Suddenly, her attention was on him again and he straightened up immediately. He had the idea she was about to analyze him and decide if he was worth it or not. His life lay in her hands, he figured, since he was supposed to become her bodyguard and all that jazz. If she decided he wasn’t good material to start with he had no doubt that they would replace him in a heartbeat, and he would be without his own rhythmic muscle.

“Fine,” the girl said as a sigh left her. “See ya another time then, Jay.”

…

Friday 18th of July, 2008

“Mamba, come on. You don’t need to learn all of that. What use would I be for if you didn’t need me?” Hoseok said, trying to get her to stop training. “Jay, I know you’ll be my bodyguard, my human shield, my personal escort for the rest of my life. Don’t you think it’s important I know the basics of self-defence? Like, for when you’re not present,” the girl said as she took a break to catch her breath. 

“Muay Thai isn’t exactly a basic of self-defence, Mamba,” he sighed. He knew there was no arguing with her but even after two years he still tried. Every. Single. Time.

...

Tuesday 17th of March, 2009

“Mamba, I’m fine. I promise.” Hoseok insisted for the tenth time. They were just a few cuts, nothing he hadn’t experienced before. “No, Jay, you’re not. You’re literally bleeding from multiple spots on your body. The person I’m looking at right now is far from fine.” She tutted disapprovingly as she started treating his wounds.

“I can’t believe he actually send you to do his dirty work.” “It’s what I’m training for bab-” He quickly stopped himself from finishing that sentence, but the girl was too pissed off to notice his slip-up. “No, it’s not. You’re training to become my bodyguard, not his personal minion.” She huffed irritatedly. Hoseok’s eyes shot up at that and he smirked. “Oh, so now you finally accept that, huh? Took you long enough,” he teased.

She slapped his shoulder softly, trying not to hurt him any further than he already was, although it was really tempting when he was being a smartass. “Shut up. I still don’t like it.” But even as she said it, he saw the small upward quirk of her lips.

...

Friday 25th of September, 2009

“Mamba, you’ve got to get up. You can’t keep lying in bed all day.” Hoseok looked at the fifteen-year-old who was wrapped up tightly in her covers. He sighed, knowing he probably wouldn’t get her out today. Just like all the other times the past week.

“Baby, I know you don’t want to and if I could I would give you all the time to properly grieve, but you need to get out. Otherwise it won’t be me asking anymore, your father is going to demand your presence soon.” He hated using her father against her, but he was telling the truth. Her father wouldn’t be as lenient as he was being right now, even if he had just lost his own son. 

A broken voice startled him out of his thoughts. “I-I can’t, I can’t JayJay,” a sob wrecked through her body and Hoseok could swear he felt it tearing through his heart. “I know, baby, I know, but I need you to be really strong right now and just, just take small steps for me. Let’s take a shower, huh? Or a bath?” He asked her. Trying everything to get her out of that fucking bed.

…

Friday 18th of November, 2011

“Mamba, now is not the time to play games with me. Where the fuck are you?” Hoseok yelled out while the burning smoke only got bigger and thicker. He covered his mouth with his shirt as he desperately tried to catch a glimpse of icy blonde hair.

The wind picked up and he finally got a clearer view of his surroundings. Looking to his right he saw the car that had driven off the road. “No,” he whispered after spotting a girl trying to crawl out of the wrecked vehicle. A fire made itself present in the back of the car. “No, no, no... Mamba, get out of there!”

Hoseok fell down when a loud explosion followed the fire. Squeezing his eyes shut he told himself to wake up, to open his eyes and see that his angel was perfectly okey, sleeping right next to him. But his eyes didn’t open to that image. 

All he saw was fire. Fire everywhere and no angel in sight. His ears picked up a sound that reminded him of a screeching banshee. Only minutes later would he find out that it was his own voice, screaming in agony as the girl was no longer there, no longer present in his life. The only light he had known, his little star, burned out without ever saying goodbye. 

...

Jimin saw the emotions flashing over Hoseok’s face. He walked up to him and cradled his tear stained cheeks in his hands. “Hobi,” he locked eyes with the shocked man, “can you come out of your head for us?” His hands slowly started stroking over his lover’s cheekbones, trying to get him back to reality.

Hoseok blinked a few times and shook his head. Noticing that his body was shaking he carefully laid the girl on the couch. Jimin was right behind him and grabbed his face again, wiping each offending tear off his cheeks with his fingers. 

“What happened my love?” He asked in a soft voice, not wanting to scare Hoseok now that he was in such a vulnerable state. Taehyung and Yoongi stepped closer to the pair, both shocked to see such an emotional reaction out of their boyfriend. 

Hoseok took Jimin’s small hands in his and kissed them. After taking a deep breath he turned towards Yoongi, completely ignoring Jimin’s question. “I need to go to bed. Can I tell you tomorrow, please?” He asked, after clearing his throat. Yoongi looked at him, saw the heartbroken look in his eyes and wrapped his arms around him tightly. “Of course, Seokie, don’t force yourself to tell us right now,” he gave the man a sweet peck on the lips, but didn’t let go.

It had been a long time since he last saw Hoseok like this, shaking, crying and on the verge of breaking. Determination to find out who this girl was and who she was to his lover grew in him. He needed to know who the woman was that crashed into their life’s for he knew she wouldn’t leave soon and definitely not without leaving destruction behind. 

“Why don’t you go with Jimin to his room? Tae and I will wait on the rest of the guys and give them a quick briefing of what’s going on and then we’ll join you, if you want. You can also just go to your own room, I don’t know wha-” Yoongi got interrupted by a giggle. He was glad to hear the other laugh again.

“You’re rambling Yoongles,” Hoseok said with a grin on his face that got even bigger when Yoongi scrunched up his face at the nickname. “I’ll let you have that one since we’re all tired and want to go to bed. So,” he patted Hoseok’s ass and let go of him, “go up with Jimin.”

Another giggle was heard and he expected to see the two of them disappear through the doors, but Hoseok surprised him for the second time tonight. He walked towards the girl on the couch and crouched down, caressing her face with his left hand, a sad smile on his lips. 

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, angel.”

With that he left the room, leaving a lot of confusion behind. Jimin send one questioning look back at Yoongi and Taehyung, who both shrugged since neither of them had any answers. 

“What the fuck was that?” Taehyung asked Yoongi as soon as the others had left hem. Blunt as always. “I have no clue, Tae, but we need to get her out of here, otherwise the guys will explode before we even have a chance to explain the disaster that’s been this night.” He said. “We can place her in the Light room,” he suggested. 

They did just that.

After Yoongi had explained the events of that night to the other guys he could finally slip under the covers and get a full three hours of sleep. They had planned to wake the girl up the next day for questioning, but she didn’t give any signs of consciousness for the entire hour they tried to wake her up. Taehyung got pissed off and offered to “awake the bitch with a kick to the ribs,” but Hoseok shoved him against the nearest wall before he could even take one step towards the bedroom. 

So, Namjoon advised to leave her alone and check on her every hour or so. The day went on as usual, a few business meetings, approving new soldiers, making sure Taehyung and Jungkook didn’t kill them within the first hour. All in all a pretty peaceful day, which left Yoongi with an itch when he stepped through the front doors of their mansion. Because the King didn’t have peaceful days, Agust D doesn’t go a day without getting challenged and Min Yoongi hasn’t rested since that dreadful night all those years ago.

He needn’t to worry though, since that itch was about to get scratched by sharp manicure nails and sadly for him not the ones his kittens loved to wear so much. 

In the evening, after all the guys had devoured Jin’s newest culinary creations and were lounching around, they heard a scream coming from the light room. Yoongi arrived first and stopped dead in his tracks when he took in the scene in front of him. On the ground next to the bed lay Jin, covered in the noodlesoup he’d made for the girl as dinner. The first thought running through Yoongi’s head was that she had attacked him and escaped. His eyes quickly scanned the room and soon found a pair of piercing eyes staring back at him. 

“Jin,” he said as he hesitantly stepped in the older guy’s direction, “would you be so kind to explain what the hell happened?” Jin stood up and glared to the bed where the girl sat straight against the headboard. “Well, Agust,” he began with a huff, “I was just turning on the light and walking towards the bed. Of course I expected her to still be asleep so you can imagine my surprise when I put down the soup to see her eyes wide open. Not just that, at the exact moment our eyes met she said boo.” The girl started smiling at that. “The only acceptable response to that was to fall down on the ground and I’d rather not disappoint the newest addition to this household.”

Yoongi shook his head as he tried not to laugh at the bullshit story Jin had just created. “Well, how thoughtful of you to not embarrass our guest with an inappropriate reaction.” At this Jin nodded his head, still holding tight on selling his excuse. “Yes, I thought so too.” 

The door got pushed open further and the rest of the guys made their way into the room. “Is everything okay?” Namjoon asked, looking adorably confused as he stared at Jin, still covered in noodle soup. “Yes RM, nothing happened.” “Nothing happened?!” Jin shrieked as he flung his arms around, noodles swinging around the room. One fell on the girl’s face and Yoongi went to take it off.

He hissed as sharp nails suddenly dug in his wrist, preventing his hand from touching the girl’s face. Within seconds he was pushed back behind Jungkook who made to grab the girl. She jumped up on the headboard of the bed, out of his reach, which even Yoongi had to admit was pretty admirable. That headboard was almost as thin as his arm, she definitely had to have some training.

“However fun it would be to stand here with all of you and watch Jungkook hunt his new prey down, I’m feeling really disgusting right now. So, please, everyone GET OUT OF MY WAY.” Jin yelled, he was already starting to shake. Namjoon and Jimin quickly grabbed his wrists and rapidly walked out of the room.

“So, sleeping beauty,” Yoongi began as he focused his attention on the girl, “finally managed to open those eyes of yours?” He didn’t get a response at that, just those green eyes blinking back at him. Her gaze followed his body as he moved towards the side of the bed and sat down, folding his hands in his lap. “Now that you decided to graze us with your conscious presence, I’ll let you in on what’s going to happen.”

“We’re going to ask you some questions and if you’re a smart girl,” he noticed her eyes twitching at that, something to keep in mind, “then you will answer each question truthfully. If you don’t then we’ll take you to the basement, where we’ll repeat every single question and trust me, you don’t want to make us repeat ourselves.” This time her eyes didn’t twitch, but he saw something flicker over her gaze, maybe she saw this as a challenge? 

He huffed. It’s been a long time since someone tried to really challenge him, well except the guys of course, they seemed to love pushing his boundaries these days. “JK, stand down,” Yoongi told the youngest, who still looked ready to pounce the girl any second. However, he was reminded of how well the boy listened to him as he backed down as soon as the words left his mouth.

The conversation only seemed to happen between him and the woman before him, but he felt the presence of Hoseok in the shadows and heard Taehyung move from foot to foot, energy always flowing. “How about you sit down?” He asked the girl, extending his arm to help her on the bed, but she just stepped down and squatted in the corner furthest from them.

“First question, what’s your name?” She didn’t answer, just looked around the room. He saw her eyes linger on the spot where he knew Hoseok stood, but they made their way to his before most would’ve even noticed. “Need I remind you that we don’t ask questions twice?” Again, no answer, just more stares. “Second question then, why did you kill Jaehyun?” A giggle was heard this time and a smile found it’s way on the girl’s face.

“Yeah? It was fun wasn’t it? Bet it felt really good to poison such a disrespectful asshole,” he leaned forward. The girl nodded with another giggle. It wasn’t a direct answer, but he figured it was as much as he was going to get at this point. He held three fingers up. “Third question, are you a member of Marco Polo?” 

She tilted her head and it reminded Yoongi of last night, of how innocent she made herself look while she was just giggling about murdering someone. Yoongi noticed that he was comparing her to his lovers. She seems to have a lot of different skills like Jungkook, is manipulative like Jimin, finds death a matter for giggles like Taehyung. He could go on and on, but he stops himself before ideas start forming in his head. 

We still don’t know who she is. Find that out first, then you can start daydreaming.

“That’s all the questions I have for now, sweetheart, just three of ‘em.” Yoongi stood up and motioned for the rest of the guys to start leaving the room. “We’ll check in every few hours and see if you’re ready to answer them. If you don’t answer in the time frame we want, well, then you’ll get to see the fun we have downstairs.” He holds the doorknob and casts one last look to the girl, who’s still sitting in the same crouched position as she had been the entire time. Just as he’s about the close the door she speaks. 

“I’d still like a bowl of noodle soup, please.”

>...>

Monday 8th of June, 2020

Now they're here, many bowls of noodle soup later and still none the wiser on who she was, why she killed Jaehyun and if she was a present member of Marco Polo. Hoseok still hadn’t told them what he knew and the tension was rising up.

"I don't know when she's going to start talking, Yoongi. It's not like I'm some kind of wizard who can just compel her to answer," Jin harshly said back. He sighed and let his posture drop, slumping down in the chair. “Let’s just take her down to the basement, tell her that the time’s up and start the interrogation process. Like we have done with every person we’ve ever taken.” That last bit was directed towards Hoseok, who had pleaded with them to wait a couple of days instead of the usual few hours.

“Let me ask her.”

All their heads turned to Hoseok. He hadn’t been in the room the girl resided in since she had awoken. “Are you sure?” Yoongi asked. “I don’t know what you’re relationship with her is or was, but we won’t push you to talk to her, Hobi.” His gaze was soft as he focused it on the assassin, but he was only met with determined eyes. “I don’t even know if it’s going to work but I want to try it out before we take her down.”

“How sad, I was already looking forward to-” ��Shut up, Taeyhung.” “Fine, fine, just do it now then so we can move on and get back to business. This bitch has been taking up way too much of our time,” Taeyhung grumbled as he stood up and left the room. A few chuckles went through the room. “Even after all these years his temper hasn’t changed one bit,” Jin said. “Eugh,” Namjoon groaned, “I know, at least he’s learned to use words to make his annoyance clear instead of attacking anyone who displeases him.”  

“I definitely don’t miss the weeks of getting stitched up by Wheein, almost daily.” Everyone laughed again at the mention of Jungkook’s memory, well all except for Hoseok who stood up and walked towards the door. “You’re really okay with questioning her, baby?” Jimin asked from his place on Namjoon’s lap. “Yeah, I’ll be fine Jiminie. Just come check if I’m still alive and kicking in about twenty minutes,” he grinned and made his way to the light room. 

His smile dropped quickly after that.

You heard someone knocking on your door and prepared yourself to go down to the basement. It already surprised you how long they tried to get answers out of you in a civil matter. Probably has something to do with Hoseok. So it came as a bit of a surprise when you opened the door to be met with the one and only assassin.

For a few seconds neither of you said a word, just staring at each other, seeing the changes that eight years have brought upon the other. “Come to take me to hell?” Hoseok scoffed but the cold expression on his face remained. “No, I’ve come to talk to you.” “By talk you mean me answering the questions you already know the answers to,” you said. “Doesn’t that sound unlogical to you? I mean it is so much more work to-” 

Your sentence got cut off when Hoseok pushed you back into the room and, in your opinion rather dramatically, slammed the door shut. “It’s not fucking UNLOGICAL that I want to have a talk with the woman who left my entire being in pieces eight years ago!” He yelled into your face, tears already streaming down his cheeks. Just looking at you brought everything back, the good and the bad. The nights spend kissing your lips and stroking your hair. The nights spend screaming and sobbing in his hands until his throat was sore and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I thought you were dead, I mean I still do. My brain can’t even comprehend that your here right now, standing in front of me, breathing and talking. Talking like you never even died, like I never saw you die that day, crawling out from a burning car that was seconds away from exploding.” His voice broke while he talked about his memories. “I left that week, just like you did. I couldn’t stand seeing your family nor your bedroom. I grabbed my bags and got out before anyone even returned from the funeral, YOUR FUCKING FUNERAL.”

He was sitting on the floor now, looking at you with eyes that gave away how much it still haunted him even after all this time. This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You didn’t want this at all. The day you ‘died’ was the day you blocked away all your memories of your time at Marco Polo, of all your struggles, but also all those days spend laughing and crying with him, your bodyguard, your sunshine, your Hobi. 

You joined him on the floor, sitting down next to him and putting your head on his shoulder, feeling it move as he took a few deep breaths. “I’ve always wondered what love would feel like, ever since I was a little girl, running around the garden and stumbling over my feet while I followed butterflies who were in the midst of a mating dance.” Hoseok chuckled softly at that, still sniffling and trying to get his breathing pattern in order. “The first time I felt something akin to love was when my brother started reading me bedtime stories, he always made sure to be in my room right when my bedtime was due. He started caring for me the way a parent should care for their child, he told stories about all the different kinds of love in the world and never failed to put in an ‘I love you’ every single day.” “Luca was pretty great,” Hoseok whispered absentmindedly. You nodded your head. “Yeah, he definitely was.”

“The second time I felt love it was another brotherly type, my brother’s best friend basically became my second brother, he was always a bit more lenient towards me than Luc and let me get away with shit a lot easier,” you laughed, thinking about all the trouble you got in. Your childhood wasn’t entirely made out of neglectment and sorrow, there were bits and pieces where you were just a normal kid, finding out that pranking your brothers with water and flower had its consequences.

“Jaebeom works under us now, has been working under Yoongi ever since Luca...” He didn’t finish the sentence. “You can say it, Hobi, since Luca passed away.” Your mind was so overwhelmed with all the memories that came crashing down that you didn’t notice the nickname falling out of your mouth. Hoseok swore his heart skipped a beat when he heard it. “I already knew that, btw,” you casually mention as you go on with your story, “I’ve been kind of working with them for a few years.” You didn’t explain further and he decided to leave it at that, it was a topic for another time. 

“So, you’ve only felt love two times in your 26 years?” He asked instead. “I thought so yeah,” you looked up at him, “until my uncle suddenly came up to me with this frightened twelve-year-old. I swore he was shaking on those skinny legs of his.” There was no laughter following your words as you had expected it would. He met your eyes, this time they were full of questions, unasked ones and ones that you never answered. “I really despised him at first, he was supposed to become my bodyguard,” you scoffed as your gaze fell to your feet, afraid of the emotions swimming around in his eyes, “, like I even needed one. Apparently everyone thought so and when I fell on my ass during our second meeting I didn’t provide him with evidence that would prove otherwise.”

Hoseok did laugh at that, the scène playing out in front of his eyes, it left a small smile on his lips as he focused his attention back on you. “Turns out the kid on skinny legs was very skilled and young y/n didn’t like that, she wanted to be like that. So, she started training and eventually they started training together. Of course seeing him all sweaty, strong and shining that bright smile of his didn’t really help her poor, teenage heart and she began crushing on him in secret.” He watched her hands draw patterns on the floor, something he remembered was a habit of hers when she was talking from the heart, often embarrassed by her own honesty.

“Eventually they both confessed during a sleepless night which turned into a wonderful dream. It was the first time she felt true romantic love, the one that gives you butterflies at first and slowly turns into this comfortable feeling you get when you’re near them. It changed into viewing their life as important as yours and wanting for nothing except their happiness.”

It was silent for a few minutes and then you suddenly took his face in your hands, cradling his cheeks as if they were made of glass. 

“I fucked up, Hobi, I messed up so bad but I had to do it. I had to get away before the ceremony and I can’t say I’m sorry because I wouldn’t do it differently if I had another chance.” Tears were now also running over your face, it felt as if a damn had been broken, every emotion found its way out of the confinements you put them in. “It just breaks my soul that I didn’t think about your happiness,” every sentence gets interrupted by deep intakes of air as you continue to sob. “I put my life over your own, I could’ve taken you or told you. I could’ve done something but I didn’t, because I couldn’t gamble with your life like that. I almost did die that day, the risk was never zero, b-but I-”

“You had to take it because otherwise you would still be stuck down there or,” Hoseok swallowed, “or you wouldn’t even be here at all.” You broke down more and he couldn’t take it anymore. Of course nothing was solved, this night opened wounds for him that never healed, but he saw that the same happening to you and just like you said. When you love someone you put their life, their happiness over your own and he could never stop loving you. Seeing you like this made him more upset and he just wanted to stop crying for a moment. 

So he lifted you in his arms and walked over to the bed, not even thinking twice before carefully laying you on his chest and pulling the covers over both of you. Before he pushed the button that would close the curtains and put out the lights, he looked the camera in the corner dead in the eye. 

“Her name’s Y/N Luna Rizzo, she is the daughter of Consigliere Rizzo. She killed Jaehyun because it was an assignment for Got7. On November 18th 2011 she escaped the mafia group known as Marco Polo by faking her own death.”

Across the hall Yoongi smirked as he twirled his whiskey around and watched Hoseok close his eyes on the monitor in front of him. Namjoon and Jin immediately started searching for any information they could possibly find about this woman. Jungkook had already left the room to go find Taehyung and Jimin made himself comfortable on Yoongi’s lap. “So what do we do now?” “Now we prepare ourselves for a war, just as Hobi predicted.” Jimin pouted as he inserted himself into the other two’s conversation. Yoongi’s eyes were still focused on the monitor, mind going through every single word the two sleeping lovers had said. He shook his head, thinking about all the shit that was waiting for them around the corner.

Welcome back, Mamba.

[kitmon]

Keys Are Under the Mat {1/?}

Llewyn Davis x OC

Summary: Struggling singer/songwriter, Llewyn Davis, has faced the rough and tumble world of the music industry as well as the callous hand of life. When an up-and-coming folk singer makes a trip back home and finds herself at the hands of the battered down couch-surfer, her first thought is to offer him a bit of compassion.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sexual activity

“Hold me, while I cry into your coat

Tie the rope round my throat, why don't ya?

Did you even read the note I wrote ya?

Boy, you're my antido-o-o-o-ote

Baby, it's only you I dote"

Her delicate fingers danced along the strings of her amaranth-colored acoustic. It was a fairly new guitar, given to her by a rather close colleague. She used to play at the Gaslight Café exclusively in the late fifties, not because she particularly liked that venue, more so because they were the only ones who gave a fraction of a fuck about her shitty guitar with a few broken strings and a makeshift capo that was made in the bathroom 10 minutes before a show using a sharpie and a rubber band. The crowd was always friendly; never hostile or awkward, just... supportive which was always appreciated on her part. Having people enjoy or at least pretend to enjoy her music was comforting at the time. As of right now, she was only visiting for old times sake, nostalgia purposes.

The new guitar was a testament to the amount of shit she'd been through. I mean signing a record deal is a pretty big deal, right? Having people know your name and buy your album. I mean, she was no Bob Dylan but she'd get stopped in the street from time to time which was unquestionably a step up from the loogies and cat-calls sent her way. Even now, her appearance at the usually humdrum populated café has drawn more attention than anticipated. The seats were all taken and the rather small building held far more people than the fire marshal recommended, but what a turn-out it was.

The audience hummed the chorus, cautious to not tune out her newfangled voice as it continued, nonchalant as ever as if there were only a few unamused patrons sitting in the crowd, but there wasn't. The populace of Greenwich Village loved her. She made a shit-hole like Greenwich something for people to keep their eyes on. And she didn't disappoint.

Her eyes remained lowered as she rather curled into herself and let the song end with a guttural reverberation. There was a silence as her eyelids lifted marginally, letting out a few pants of air to recover. Then an uproar, a surge in applause! She glanced up and flashed a charming smile, one that only showed the top row of teeth and caused her childish eyes to crinkle as she let out a giggle, concealing her laughter from the large array of eyes with her dainty hands. She adjusted herself and lifted a hand to reach the microphone.

"Thank you, you guys are a lovely audience, much nicer than Queens," the crowd let out a dispersed chuckle at her humor and she smiled again at their enthusiasm. She loved this, the feeling of having immense support. It made her feel... alive, to say the least.

"Okay, I'll be back in 20, take it easy while I'm gone." She waved off the crowd, unfurling herself from her guitar strap and handed the instrument to the stagehand, thanking the man afterward. She smoothed out any puckers or creases found in her dress as she stepped down from the stage, heading towards Pappi and another bystander, one who looked as if he'd been sleeping on the floor for days. Poor sucker looked as if he didn't even own a winter coat.

Pappi's arms extended out towards her, inviting her into his embrace. "You did great, kid," her eyes brightened at the compliment as she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her rosy cheek flush against his chest. The action should have been far more intimate than the two adults interpreted it, and most others would have perceived it that way as well. In fact, most familiars thought Pappi was fucking her most of the time.

Which he wasn't and neither one had ever considered it. Just business partners with an intimate brother-sister bond. Nothing more, Nothing less. The taller man, gripped her by her upper arms to gaze at her, with a gentleness, "Really, gave em a show."

"Aw thanks, Pappi, but I've got to admit that I'd still be singing songs on my back porch if it weren't for this dump." She jested, her hands hanging from her hips. Pappi let out a deep chuckle which was softened by her one-off laugh that wasn't exactly delicate or poised but was attractive in an unorthodox sense. The banter played out until somebody approached Pappi and tugged at the sleeve of his button-up to get his attention. She looked with furrowed brows and a curious expression as the man whispered in Pappi's ear with what appeared to be urgency. Pappi muttered a quick swear under his breath, and looked up at her with an apologetic frown and the same knitted brows she once wore.

"Sorry, kid. There's a few thugs out back making a mess," he patted her on the arm and told her he'd be right back after taking care of the 'mess'. Her head bobbed in understanding as her eyes watched as Pappi followed the man outback and into the fray. Her stare lingered on the door, but it was the serendipitous turn of her head that allowed her to acknowledge the ragged man sitting at the bar. His eyes fixated on the golden hue of the whiskey in his glass. She was almost certain he hadn't moved an inch since she came over, only stayed staring at the same glass of whiskey for at least five minutes. God, he looked like hell. His coat was hanging on by a thread, quite literally. Holes in miscellaneous places, unruly hair that looked like it hasn't been combed in days, shoes that looked soaked by the snow just outdoors and a runny nose that looked like the result of an oncoming cold. His wardrobe fitting flawlessly against the backdrop of the monochromatic greys and tans that made up the scene of New York in the Sixties. He looked familiar, she was sure of that. It was likely he'd played a few gigs at the Gaslight, same as her. Then again there were dozens of scruffy looking musicians who sidled into the Gaslight to perform, this one was hardly any different.

She sucked in a breath through her nose and ambled towards him, "So, you a friend of Pappi's?" Her elbows supported her weight against the hardwood bar, her fingers interlaced with each other as she peered down into the swirling rings of the once tall-standing oak. It took him a bit longer to register that she was speaking to him, "Oh, um, yeah, I guess..." His hand slipping up towards his face to rub at the skin, waking him up. His hooded eyes look over to her and away from that untouched glass of whiskey. Her laugh startled him, unexpected as it was. Her giggle was an unfamiliar sound. It shattered through the blaring car horns outside, the chatter of the audience, even threw the bullshit that spewed out of the radio sitting on the counter across from them. He just stared at her, unaware of just how ignorant someone would have to be to notice all the shit that's taking place everywhere around them and still have something to laugh about. It was selfish, but who wasn't these days. Everyone wanted others to be as devoid of joy as they were. Of course, there were a few stragglers who managed to keep a pep in their step and a smile on their faces. Those are the ones who get broken. They break down so quickly in a place that loses hope quicker than a bucket with gunshots loses water. But, she wasn't ignorant, and he knew this. She just decided to not take anybody's shit. And when nobody gives a fuck whether your dreams are accomplished or not, you learn to say fuck off right back. I guess that's what separates the losers from the winners. Her demeanor and the way she carried herself, with the balloon-sleeves and ruffled collar of her dress shirt, the way it was neatly tucked into her pinafore, it gave the impression that she was... incapable. But she was ten times more capable than almost everyone in that Café.

"If you don't mind me asking," she lifted her hand to wave down a bartender, not making eye contact with him until she knew someone was coming to attend to her request. "Got a name?" Her bright brown eyes locked with the gray and muddied irises of his own and it ignited a raft in his brain, making him adjust his position in self-consciousness.

"Um, yeah. Llewyn,"

Llewyn, Llewyn... she's heard that name before. She takes a sip from her glass of red wine the bartender had passed to her not to long ago. She takes a sip and contemplates why that name sounds so familiar.

"... Llewyn... Davis?"

It had slipped from her lips before she could even register it. And it surprised him, far more that she knew who he was. He couldn't remember meeting her or introducing himself to her before but then again, he was a performer. Not a very popular or reputable one mind you, but a performer none the less. She'd probably seen him at the Gaslight once before or something.

"Uh..., yeah... Hey, how'd you, um?"

"Oh, um I think I might own one of your albums. Inside Llewyn Davis, right?" The mention of his less than successful solo artist debut was a bit upsetting but he just dismissed it and looked away. "Yup... that's the one." His voice sounded disappointed and beaten but who could blame him. Chasing a dream so far that it only leads you to a dead-end can be frustrating.

"You know, I really enjoyed it," she mused, much to his disbelief but it must have only been out of politeness. "That makes one of us," he mutters, his frown dropping a millimeter or so. She couldn't decipher what he was referring to, but she could tell that whatever it was, it had sucked the rest of his joy and drive out of him. The business will do that to you, take a starry-eyed kid and promise them a dream only to drop them on their ass and tell them they'll never be more than a stand-in gig for a bunch of nobodies.

"I really loved the song— oh, how'd it go?" She pondered, the way her thick eyebrows scrunched up in concentration giving her the wonders of a child. The same way her determination to prove the potential the album had was childish. But it was the truth, she did enjoy the album and even recommended it to a few friends back when she bought it, now it just sits in a blue milk crate next to her record player, collecting dust. He gazed at her expectantly waiting to hear her utter at least a single lyric from his album.

"Oh!" She snaps her fingers in triumph, startling Llewyn once more. "It goes," and she readied her voice with a clearing of her throat and sang what she could remember. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," his eyes widened a bit at the surprise of her actually acknowledging his music, and the fact that she enjoyed it, no less. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," the lilt in her voice echoed through the Café and a few patrons stopped their chatter to cherish her sweet voice. The silence stuck around for a beat and her eyes fluttered open after her display.

"Yeah, that's it!" Her outburst wasn't expected and nearly knocked Llewyn out of his seat for about the fifth time.

"Yeah," he muttered, letting his eyes linger on her form a moment longer than he'd like to admit, brows furrowed in thinking. "Whad'ya say your name was again?" He questioned, curiosity getting the better of him. And there was that damn giggle again, opening his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities where you can giggle and laugh about things without having to feel sorry about the lack of a difference it makes. She answers and it's just nothing special but at the same time it feels like... a novelty. "Dorothy.”

[queenbirbs]

bedtime stories | Edward Mortemer x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Summary: Missing scene from chapter 14, or: Edward helps Elena fall asleep after the governor’s ball.

Word count: 3,093

Rating: E

repost due to my inability to use this website despite being on it for ten years

- - - - - -

“I can only tell ye one thing, and that’s that it’s against the rules to tell any other players the rules,” Kendrick explains as he deals out the cards.

After dinner, Office Alvarez had pulled out a deck and Kendrick had offered to teach them all the game of Mao.

“Ooh, all right, kinda like Fight Club.”

The crew hardly bats an eye at the odd phrase, though the officers glance at each other, waiting for an explanation that Elena avoids giving. Despite the lack of rules, she catches on quickly after figuring out that the game is similar to Uno.

She would’ve won the second round, too, if it wasn’t for Edward.

Sprawling back in his chair, he keeps his cards close to his chest to prevent Jonas from sneaking a peek. His other hand wanders from his lap and over to Elena, trailing his fingertips over the embroidered flowers at her waist. With as many layers as she wears, she shouldn’t be able to feel much, but his touch seems to seep through the fabric.

Curling her wrist to hide her cards from him, she catches his gaze and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Interesting tactic there, Captain Mortemer, distracting the competition.”

“I could say the same to you,” he murmurs.

His eyes flicker from her face and down the length of her frame, stopping for a few, long seconds at the swell of her breasts. A slow grin spreads across her face at his obvious teasing. She sweeps her hair over to her other shoulder, giving him a better view.  

A sharp kick to her shin yanks her out of their bubble. Across the table, Charlie smirks at her from behind her cards.

“Your turn, love.”

Scanning her hand, Elena plucks out an ace and slaps it down, prompting a sigh from Edward as his turn is skipped. The attention moves on from them when Jonas plays his card and Maggie releases a stream of swears as she picks up a penalty.

“You torture me in more ways than one, Miss McTavish.”  

“I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to make me pay for it,” she tells him, emboldened by the rum that Kendrick pilfered from somewhere. She bites back a shiver as Edward traces the petals of a flower.  

“Aye,” his voice rumbles, “I’ve a few ideas.”

After a few more rounds, Maggie declares herself the winner as she plays her last card. A chorus of groans arise from those still clutching their one final card, Elena amongst them. As the cards are shuffled for another game, Charlie stands up and yawns.

“I’m to bed, then. G’night you lying, cheating sacks of shit,” she says around a yawn, prompting other crew members to chuckle.

Mindful of the sleeping Ginny in her arms, they bid her hushed goodnights. Elena watches over her as she disappears below deck, wondering if she should go after her. A hand on her shoulder halts her contemplation; she twists in her chair to see Edward giving her a subtle shake of his head.

“Best to give her some time alone to herself.”

Elena wants to challenge his suggestion, but finds that she can’t argue with it. Instead, she reaches up and covers his hand with hers, skimming her thumb across a raised scar across his knuckles. Every nerve ending seems to collect there along her skin as Edward leans over and presses a kiss to her hand.

Suddenly overwhelmed at the notion she’s been shoving aside all evening, that they could very well be sailing straight into an unwinnable battle, Elena swallows back her hesitation.

“I think I’ll turn in, as well. Would you walk me to my quarters?” she asks.

“O’course.”

Rising to his feet, Edward helps her up and links his arm through hers. They make their way down the stairs and into a short hallway, lit only by a single lantern.

“I know you want to wait to have that conversation,” she tells him as they come to a stop in front of her door. “And I understand that. But I want you to know, in case anything happens, that my original goal has… shifted.”

His brow furrows at her words.

“As I’ve told you before, Elena, I won’t allow the Admiral to harm you.”

“But he did.” She holds up her hand to silence his immediate fury. “By hurting you, he hurt me.”

The spark vanishes from his eyes; that well of anger seems to drain from him as the deep scowl morphs into a tight line of worry. He turns towards her and brushes his lips against her temple, as if in an apology. “I’m telling you this because I know what he’s capable of,” she continues. “I know we’re walking into the lion’s den tomorrow and that we might not walk out.”  

“What do you mean, then, that your original goal has changed?”

Leaning back from his embrace, she squares her shoulders and finds his curious gaze in the dim light.

“When we do get the compass, I don’t want to go back. If it’s possible, I want to stay here, with you and the crew.” If her hand wasn’t on his chest, Elena’s sure that she would think he stopped breathing. “I mean, I--” she stumbles over her words, nervous with his lack of a reaction, “--I would like to return home, if it’s possible, to let my sister know I’m okay and grab a few things, sure. But other than that, you know--” her words cut off with an undignified oof as Edward wraps his arms around her.

“I would wish for nothing more.”

She clutches him tight, resting her cheek against the strong line of his shoulder and running her hand along the green silk of his suit. The yearning in his tone makes her throat tickle; it’s hard to breathe, suddenly, in the musty air below deck. A long moment passes, marked only by the occasional boisterous noise of the crew above and the knocking of waves against the hull.

The light touch of his hand along her jaw shakes her from the comfortable reverie. Answering his unspoken question, she lifts her head and gives him his kiss. The hand on her waist clenches tight, as if anchoring her to him. Elena answers in kind by pushing him back against the wall. Edward groans at the sensation of her body pressing along his. Capturing her lips again, he slips his tongue against hers. The air snaps around them; the outside world fades to a dull roar.

“I admit,” he whispers as he nuzzles the delicate slope of her neck, “I have wanted to hear you say those words for a long while.” He nips at her throat just above the intricate strings of pearls she wears and enjoys her little noise of pleasure. “But I did not want to say anything, for fear of influencing your decision.”

“You of all people should know that I do whatever I damn well please.”

His laughter is warm against the bare skin of her shoulder. “Aye, I’m well aware of that fact.”

Frustrated with her billowing dress impeding her attempt to get as close as she wants, Elena posits her next idea.

“Stay the night with me.”

Edward straightens to meet her eye, a half-formed apology already stenciled across his features.

“I -- I couldn’t. Not that I -- there’s nothing more I’d rather do. But if someone caught us, your reputation would be--”  

“What, ruined? I’m a time-traveling expat whose career involves plundering merchant ships and forming battle plans against an admiral in the Royal Navy.” She can’t help the smirk that pulls at her mouth. “I think my reputation precedes me.”

“That it does.” Edward is quiet for a moment, as if considering how he wants to proceed, before he admits his real reasoning. “In truth, I do not fully trust the lieutenant and his men. He may have sworn to help us against his father, but I have my reservations with how… quickly he did so.”

“Blood is thicker than water, you mean.”

“Aye, precisely.” With a sigh, he tucks her hair behind her ear. “When we are together, I want you to have my full attention.”

Her belly tightens at the thought.

“All right,” she caves, “I understand. But my request still stands, at least until I fall asleep. And no funny business, I promise.”

Edward makes a show of weighing the truth of her words before nodding his head.

“I’ll stay.”

Guiding him inside her cabin, she leaves the door open long enough to light her solitary lantern before shutting it behind them. The interior is nothing to write home about: a narrow bed shares the far wall with a crate of twine and a sack of what looks like sawdust. Elena finds that Edward’s appearance vastly improves the room. The candlelight catches at his dark hair and carves at his cheekbones; he looks as if he’s been sculpted out of raw goldstone, with his brown eyes glittering against the long shadows.

“Will you help me out of this dress?” she asks as she unhooks the necklace and lays it on the crate.

Edward nods, swallowing as he steps closer. He guides her to turn around and sweeps her hair over one shoulder. Working at the buttons along her back, he loosens them with care. Elena pulls her arms free of the sleeves and shimmies the dress down until it pools at her feet.

The corset joins the heap of fabric soon after, and she gleefully kicks it across the room, happy to have it off. Edward’s chuckle at her antics dies down when she turns to face him. Her linen shift is almost sheer in the low light, allowing him a subtle peek at her body.

“Do you need help with that?” she asks.

“Help? With what?” Glancing down, he sees nothing amiss, thank god.

“Your shirt.”

“Oh. Aye. Well, I wasn’t sure if--”

“Oh, come on. You said yourself that it was scratchy. As great as it looks, I do prefer seeing you in your normal clothes.”

“I don’t have my ‘normal clothes’ with me.”

“Hmm. What a shame. Guess you’ll just have to go to bed shirtless, then.”

He rolls his eyes at her attempt to play aloof and pushes out his chest for her to unfasten the stays on his coat. She makes quick work of them and helps him out of the green silk, before catching the hem of his ruffled shirt and peeling it off, as well. She slides her palms against the warm planes of his chest. His skin is marked here and there by scars. Pressing a gentle kiss atop the raised flesh of each one, she feels his breath quicken as she draws closer to his waistband.

“Elena,” he begs, sinking his hand into her hair and urging her to look up at him. “Please, I--”

“No funny business,” she repeats her promise. “It just makes me angry, to know that you were injured so often.”

“A pirate’s life has never been one of peace.”

“Still.” Elena covers his most recent scar, courtesy of the Admiral. “I have this overwhelming need to hunt down each and every person who hurt you.”

With a tug of her hair, Edward coaxes her chin up and kisses her, bordering on the edge of too rough -- just as she likes. It is too easy to fall into the rhythm of her, distracted by her taste and her touch. The effect of her is dizzying. He understands the stories now of sailors nearly lost at sea, swimming and swimming with no clear idea of which way was up.

“The sentiment is entirely mutual,” he tells her when they surface for breath.

That he would gladly walk headfirst into the secret house of death, if it meant sparing her another moment of pain, is a thought he keeps to himself. “Which reminds me: you must get what sleep you can if we’re to deal with the Admiral tomorrow.”

He hides the grin that wants to form at her good-natured grumbling and guides her towards the bed. Elena burrows under the blanket and glares up at him as he settles in beside her.

“You know, you always being so right and proper really takes the wind out of my sails sometimes.”

“Lass, that might be the first phrase you’ve spoken that made complete sense to me,” he speaks around the laughter in his throat.

“Really? Well, how about this: after we beat the Admiral and take back what’s rightfully ours, I’m going to find us the closest and most comfortable bed and we won’t be leaving it for three days. How’s that?”

Edward slides an arm around her waist and draws her up against him, humming with interest at her declaration.

“Make it a week,” he counters.

“Done.”    

- - - - - -

Despite the weeks of being unable to use it, Elena can’t help the instinctive need to use her phone as a crutch for nights like these. Edward passed out twenty minutes ago, but sleep won’t come to claim her. Before, she would scroll down Pictagram or space documentaries to lull her to sleep. These days, she uses the white noise of waves against the hull -- or she did, at least, aboard Poseidon’s Revenge. Oliver’s ship is new and strange, with its unfamiliar creaks and groans. Trying to ease her frustration, she sighs and shifts her body to find a more comfortable spot on the threadbare mattress.

“You would be asleep already if it weren’t for your moving about.”

She doesn’t jump at his voice, but it’s a near thing.

“I’m too wired,” she sighs.

Edward nuzzles closer, his stubble scratching at her cheek.

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

His lips forge a path along the line of her jaw and down her neck. The loose fabric slips off her shoulder with a light tug; his teeth nip at her collarbone, at the slight rise of muscle in her upper arm -- evidence of the strength and power she wields with her compact frame.

“I like your version of bedtime stories,” she says with a grin.

Easing her onto her back, Edward props himself up above her. He traces the rumpled collar of her shift where it’s come to lay across the swell of her breasts. Under her enraptured gaze, he pulls the fabric down and cups her breast, pleased when Elena arches into his touch. Brushing the pad of his thumb across her, he brings her nipple to harden, then lowers his head.

Her lungs stutter on an inhale. She reaches out, curling a fist around his hair and swallowing back a whine when he bites at the sensitive skin. Each pass of his tongue drives the steel spike of arousal deeper and deeper until she’s nearly throbbing with it. Abandoning her grip on his hair, Elena slides her hand down in between her thighs.

Her eyes snap open when Edward captures her wandering hand and holds it against the bed.

“Allow me.”

Her brain is too foggy to come up with her usual smart-ass response.

Edward settles between her legs and strokes up along her thighs. He grabs the shift’s hem and drags it up to bunch at her waist. Skimming his fingertips down her body, he smirks at the small shivers that dance through her. At her encouraging hum, he presses three fingers against the scrap of lace she calls underwear, damp from his attention. Elena whines, lifting her hips and circling them against his touch.

“I could keep you like this for hours,” he murmurs, and leans down to press a kiss to her belly.

“I will end your life here and now,” she warns, her voice thick with need.

Edward curls his fingers around the edge of her underwear and draws them down her legs. Flashing her a grin, he shifts down along the bed and curls his arms around her thighs to hold her steady. Which is a good idea -- a great one, in fact, Elena thinks, because in the next moment, he sweeps the flat of his tongue against her; she instinctively bucks her hips towards the wet heat of his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers. Her hands claw into the sheet for purchase.

The pace he sets is brutal, alternating between fucking her with his tongue and lapping at the evidence of her enjoyment. Her muscles twitch and strain under his hands. Edward tightens his grip, aroused at the idea that her skin will wear the evidence of him long after he’s finished with her. She’s so warm and so responsive, her back arching as he redirects his attention towards her swollen nub. A hand flies to cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle her sounds of pleasure.  

“Nay, let me hear you,” Edward growls against her.

Her hand falls away. The little gasps and hoarse moans seem to fill the cabin.

He met a few composers during his employment for Merrie Olde England -- the symphonies Elena creates could rival any of them. Her groans of approval spur him on; he takes her in between his lips and suckles.

“Edward!” she cries with a ragged voice as she comes apart underneath him.  

The sound of his name on her lips is like an open flame against his skin, heating him to his core. He continues the slow drag of his tongue until she pushes at his head, too sated to use her words. Edward shifts up onto his knees and kisses up her stomach, watching her collect her breath.

“The world has nothing to show more fair than the sight of you before me,” he says against her glistening skin. Locating her underwear within the mess of blankets, he slips them back on for her and tugs her shift down. He scoots back up the bed and folds her into his arms, enjoying the feeling of her heart slowing against his.

“You know,” Elena drawls as she snuggles closer, “if this whole pirate thing doesn’t work out, I think you have a career as a poet. Between that line and your little soliloquy back in the governor’s garden.”

“I believe you’re thinking of an ode.”

“See? You already know all the technical bits.”

He snorts, not bothering to entertain her line of thought.

“Go to sleep.”

“I-- well, but you…”

“You’ll have plenty of other chances to reciprocate my favors,” he promises with a light kiss against her hair. “Now, please, sleep.”

“Okay. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Elena.”

- - - - - - -

References and what-have-yous:

“The secret house of death” is a line from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra.

“The world has nothing to show more fair...” is inspired / taken almost verbatim from the first line of William Wordsworth’s “Composed Upon Westminster Bridge September 3, 1802.” A little while past the setting of DS, but what the hell.

[the-face-in-the-mirror]

Stranger Things 4 Theory/Prediction: The Clocks Symbolize Memories

Well shit, here we go again.

So obviously everybody has been going off about the recently released Season 4 announcement, with that crazy heckin’ video with the Upside Down, and the clock, and the light in the distance, and all that good stuff. And naturally, people have been making theories, so I decided to make one of my own, using evidence and clues from the announcement trailer, and evidence from previous theories (about the current three seasons) made by other theorists in the fandom.

So, obviously, the most prominent theory in the Fandom at this point (concerning Season 4) is that there’s going to be a time travel element. And I can see how some people would think that, especially with the clock in the trailer, the Twitter account posting the tweet with the clock, Back To The Future in Season 3, and Hopper’s speech mentioning that he wishes he could “turn back the clock.” However, I myself don’t see how this could make any sense, and time travel would inevitably serve to only make the show more unnecessarily complicated and filled with holes, as time travel is not an easy thing to get right and can be portrayed poorly without very careful planning.

My theory, on the other hand, is that Season 4, and all the clues about clocks and turning back the clock, has nothing to do with time travel, but rather Will’s plotline and his relationship with Mike.

Hear me out:

First, let’s examine this still from the announcement trailer.

Obviously this isn’t the best quality, but there are a few key things that we can single out: the clock, the Welcome To Hawkins sign, Will’s bike (in the iconic position that everyone has known since Season 1), and what appears to be a newspaper strewn across it. There’s also the light in the distance which could either be Hopper’s cabin, or Hopper himself, but I’ll refrain from talking about that since that’s not what this theory is about.

So the clock is obvious, and it’s been hinted that we are directly supposed to focus on the clock and that clocks and time have something significant to do with this season, primarily due to this tweet:

Now let’s talk about this tweet.

Again, there’s the clock - this clock coupled with the other clock shows that they’re important somehow, which is obvious by this point. But there’s one thing from this tweet that I never see anyone talking about, and that’s what is placed right next to the clock: an upside-down smiley face.

The announcement trailer takes place in the Upside Down, where we already know time to be somewhat skewed. Mr. Clarke even said himself in Season 1 that the Gate can affect magnetic fields (the magnets and compasses), the environment (the dying crops), gravity, and even time itself. This is very subtly touched on in Season 2 when Will sees the Mind Flayer at his house for the first time, where the clock on the wall is shown to be ticking rapidly - much faster than it should be.

This could possibly be in relation to what has been happening with Hopper and his time in the Upside Down, but again, that’s not what this theory is about.

Now, this is all well in good, but I think it means something else aside from that. And sure, Time Travel theory is slightly plausible, but, personally, I don’t think that’s what these clues are hinting towards at all - or at least not in the traditional sense. So here’s my theory: the clock and all the hints of turning it back have nothing to do with literal time travel, but rather a way of “turning back the clock” that is far more intimate and relevant to Stranger Things itself - memory.

Ever since Season 2, and even in elements of Season 1, memory has played a big part in fighting against the Mind Flayer. While he was in the Upside Down, Will sung Should I Stay Or Should I Go to himself for comfort, clinging to the memory of listening to it with Jonathan to keep himself sane. When Will was possessed by the Mind Flayer it was the memories of his childhood from Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike that allowed him to continue fighting the Mind Flayer as much as he did. The same method is applicable to Billy, who is able to break free of the Mind Flayer’s control when he is reminded of his happiest memory with his mother. Not to mention that El is able to actively look into peoples’ memories, as she does with both Billy and her own mother.

Memory plays an important part in this show, and it especially plays a key role with Will and his relationship with Mike, and how it’s going to develop in Season 4.

Let’s start with my first point: memories being important to Will’s storyline.

Warning: Mentions of abuse and sexual assault ahead.

For the purpose of this theory, I’m going off of @kaypeace21​‘s theory that the Mind Flayer represents Will's dad, and that a grand majority of the events on the show represent the past sexual abuse that Will can’t remember due to dissociative amnesia. You can read more about that here and here. Kaypeace does an amazing job on it and goes super in-depth into details I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise, so I would definitely suggest reading it if you haven’t.

Throughout season 2 Will constantly references what he says are “like old memories, in the back of [his] head,” and that his Now Memories from the Mind Flayer are “like when you have a dream” and “you can’t remember it unless you think really hard.” This is quite common with survivors of sexual assault, especially if the abuse occurred when they were children. I don’t think I even need to point out the r*pe parallels of Will getting possessed at this stage, so we’ll move on. The point is that Will’s memories of his abuse are there, he just can’t remember them properly - he’s “forgotten” them, in a sense; stored them so deep in the back of his psyche that he can’t bring them back up - and they’re represented with the Mind Flayer who abstractly plays out scenarios that parallel abuse; abuse that Will has gone through in the past.

So in terms of memory, here’s what I theorize is going to happen:

El - likely with her powers returned - is going to end up looking into Will’s memories, just as she did with Terry and Billy, and he’s going to end up remembering everything he repressed.

This definitely isn’t a pleasant idea, not in the slightest, especially with how that will affect Will in the long run; however, recovering repressed memories through clinical hypnotism is an actual method used by therapists for treating people with dissociative disorders. It definitely isn’t the best method of therapy, and is even known to be controversial due to the possibility of creating false memories, but, at times, it still helps people with dissociative disorders to come to terms with what happened in their past and begin to heal from it. Hypnotism is even slightly related to the show with the concept of MKUltra, even if we never directly see it. You can read more about Dissociative Amnesia and treatments for it here.

And why do I think this will happen? Because of another thing I haven’t yet seen people talking about in their posts concerning the announcement teaser: Will’s bike.

Will crashing his bike in Season 1 marks a moment where everything changes - where he’s dragged into the Upside Down, representing his own trauma as a whole along with El’s. And when his bike is found, that changes everything for both his family and his friends - to realize that something happened to him, that he didn’t just skip school or run away. The (what seems to be) newspaper strewn across it is representative of Will’s life changing as well; suddenly everyone in Hawkins knows who he is. He’s the boy who died in the quarry, and then the boy who came back to life, and people are paying attention to him (both good and bad) whether he likes it or not. He’s the most interesting thing that has ever happened in Hawkins, a mystery, a spectacle, and it’s clear that he hates it. Hawkins has never been welcoming to him, and with the Upside Down and everyone looking at him like he’s even “more of a freak” due to his disappearance, Hawkins is the last place he wants to be welcomed back to.

Will’s bike being in the Upside Down in the trailer shows us that, as hard as he is trying to recover and move on, he’s still stuck in that moment. He’s still between the View-Master slides, both in the Upside Down and not, and as much as he’s trying to move on he can’t, not until he’s finally able to face his abuser (the Mind Flayer/his dad).

This leads to my second point:

How memories are important in Mike and Will’s relationship.

Of everyone that shares memories in the shed in Season 2, Mike’s memory of when he first met Will is the one that really gets through to him, allowing him to break free of the Mind Flayer’s control just enough to send a message. From the camera angles, the lighting, and the acting of it alone, it’s obvious that it’s a very intimate moment between the two of them,

where Mike is at his most vulnerable

to bring Will back -

he’s sharing the most personal memory he has, the one that means the most to him.

And that is significant.

That scene gives us insight into how long Mike and Will have been friends, an indication of

how deep their story goes

, how close they were with each other. It’s not a memory that includes Dustin, or Lucas, or even any of their family members - it’s just them. The scene itself reflects that. They’re close, and they always have been.

And it isnt just that scene either; there are many instances, from Mike going through Will’s drawings after they pull the fake body out of the quarry to a photo - a tangible memory - of the Party (with emphasis on Mike and Will) being what makes Mike realize that El could be the key to finding Will.

Their memories are important to them - their past and their story are important to them; and, therefore, they’re important to the show. Crucial to the show.

Now fast-forward to Season 3, where Mike has done almost a complete 180 and focuses all of his time on El due to his perception that that’s what he has to do - he has a girlfriend now, he’s grown up (in his own eyes), and that’s all that matters. Mike’s main theme in the season is “we’re not kids anymore,” which he says to Will in the carport - Will, who wants to go back to their younger days; Will, who wants to relive a little bit of what he lost due to his trauma; Will, who wants to turn back that clock, who misses playing board games every night, who doesn’t want things to change.

Hopper, in his speech, wishes he could go back to a simpler time where he and El were closer than they are in Season 3 - when they spent more time together, weren’t distant from each other, talked to each other. And that’s what Will wants, too, throughout the entirety of the third season. He wants to go back to a simpler time where he wasn’t distant from everyone, and didn’t have to worry about the Upside Down or the Mind Flayer, or his friends - Mike - leaving him because they’re getting girlfriends and growing up and he’s stuck by himself - the lonely little gay kid in love with his best friend.

And it’s Mike’s words, and Will looking at the picture - the memory - of them from Halloween when Mike promised that he and Will would “go crazy together,” that finally send Will past his breaking point, causing him to rip the picture directly in half, symbolizing the rift between him and Mike.

With all this damage done, Mike and Will are a tattered reflection of what they used to be - what we were told about in Season 1 and what we saw in Season 2 - and Season 3 never truly takes the time to amend it. The end of the season shows that they’re clearly on good terms again (what with Will’s flirting and Mike’s fond smile towards him), but that’s not good enough. Not after that catastrophic fight that led to the destruction of Castle Byers and a clear rift in their friendship - that’s not something you can resolve offscreen.

Therefore, I believe that Season 4 will see the proper reparation of Mike and Will’s relationship.

Finally, they’ll talk. They’ll talk about everything - growing distant from each other, barely talking to each other, and the feelings that both of them, Mike especially, have been trying to ignore for years. They can fix the picture, fix the tear between them; the picture will never be exactly the same, but it’ll still be there, and Mike will retell the memory of when he first met Will, paralleling the scene in the shed, but without the Mind Flayer, and without the impending doom. And through this, they can turn back the clock, go back, in a way, to how things once were. They can recreate a time when they were closer, when it was just the two them sitting on the swings, and they can bring back what was so special about their relationship to begin with.

And with the two of them back together and stronger than ever before, Will can finally fully accept himself as he is, for his past and his present, and face the Mind Flayer (his father) once and for all.

This was a really long theory, and one that took me a bit to fully put together myself, but after a lot of research and rereading of multiple theories from Kaypeace, I think I’ve got something pretty solid here. It’s a lot, especially considering that I’m going off of a singular tweet and a 30-second announcement trailer, and there are a couple things that might be a reach, but I think it still has some weight to it. 

Obviously it’s way too early to tell if any of this could be true, so we’ll have to wait for more content, but after all of the theories I’ve read from some of you guys I have no doubt that it’s entirely plausible for some of this theory to be true. Now let’s just hope the Duffers don’t screw us over (which they might, but I will choose to believe they still have half a braincell between them), and pray that we’re on to something. Which, inevitably, we are.

[numba99]

The Intern

Summary: You are an intern at MSG, strictly forbidden to become involved in with any of the Rangers players. However, this becomes difficult when you catch the eye of a certain player. (y’all should know vague summaries are my brand at this point) Word Count:1.8k

Warnings: none for this part. But also I just want to toss out I know nothing about like sports broadcasting which is what im using as the internship here please don’t drag me if something is inaccurate or something I am trying my best okay ty also didn't proof read teehee <3

You walked up the block, nervously fidgeting with the end of your shirt. To tuck or not to tuck? That question had been nagging you then entire subway ride. You were most certainly over thinking it, but you didn’t wanna mess anything up. You had somehow managed to nail your dream internship at Madison Square Garden doing sports broadcasting for the Rangers. It felt like at any second the other shoe was gonna drop and they were going to tell you they accidentally confused you for the real intern they wanted.

That fear was pushing you to want every last delight to be perfect, hence the intense internal debate about tucking or not tucking in your shirt. You wanted to look professional, but not stuffy or uptight. The more you thought about it, the more silly it seemed and you finally decided to just play it safe and tuck it in.

As you finished adjusting your shirt, MSG came into view. The building towered over you, making you feel so small. You’d been there countless times for concerts and hockey games of course, but it felt foreign to you now. You couldn’t wait to get the first day over with so you could stop being so nervous about everything

You finally reach the door staff people were let in, flashing your badge to get through. Now that was cool. You weaved through the hallways, reaching your supervisor’s office without having to ask for help. Considering you had the sense of direction of broken compass, you were impressed with yourself.

“Hi Beth, I’m here,” you greeted, knocking lightly on the door. Your supervisor was pretty young; you guessed she was in her late 30s. You appreciated that, having been afraid you were gonna be stuck with some old dude you couldn’t relate to at all.

“Y/n, welcome! And right on time too, I like you already,” Beth smiled, waving you towards the seat across from her desk. You noted she had her shirt tucked in. Good call. You only met Beth once at the interview, but form you gathered she seemed nice. Tough, but nice. The type that wants to push you to succeed and as long as you don’t cause any problems, you won’t have any issues with you. Which was fine with you, you were good at taking direction. Nothing was going to ruin this for you.

“We’re not going to be here too long, I wanna show you around before things get too busy,” Beth began, “I just wanted to touch base with you and go over some ground rules.”

“Of course,” you nodded.

“So there’s a lot you're just going to lean on the fly or by watching. Don’t ever be afraid to ask questions, I’d rather explain to you how to do something than tell you what you did wrong,” Beth told you, “Be careful with your phone, no taking pictures or videos in the locker room unless it’s for work purposes. Be on time - but you’ve already got that covered. Um hmm... I know there's more, but so much is just learning while you do it.”

“That makes sense, I’ve got lots of observing to do I’m sure,” you replied. It’s what you expected.

Beth nodded, “Definitely. You’ll mostly be doing observations for the first few weeks, but I’ll definitely give you more to do as you get more comfortable.”

“That sounds great, I look forward to learning from you,” you smiled. It sounded kiss up-y, but you really meant it.

“I look forward to working with you,” Beth replied, “Oh one more thing, and it’s pretty important. No fraternizing with the players, that’s a pretty strict rule I have. Team events are okay, making friends is okay, but romantic relationships are strictly prohibited. It’s just not professional, you know?”

“I completely understand,” you nodded. You didn’t think that would be a problem. Sure, there were plenty of players you thought were cute, but you doubted they would think you were. Besides, you were not about to risk this placement,

“Perfect. Now it’s tour time,” Beth replied. Beth showed you where your office would be first, since it was right next to hers. it was less of an office and more of a glorified closet with a computer, but hey a place to call your own was pretty cool. It was awesome to see this side of the Garden. Sure, it was just a bunch of offices, but everything was decked out in Rangers colors and pictures so it felt so much more exiting. 

The coolest thing by far was seeing the locker room. It felt a lot bigger than it looked on TV, then again it was devoid of a team full of giant hockey boys at the moment. Beth explained most the time spent here would be observing her interviews with players and taking the notes for her. You knew you were going to see players in person, but standing there it was all starting to feel real. You were practically giddy, though you were hiding it under a layer of professionalism.

Beth showed you around a little more, before returning you to your office. She told you to just get yourself comfortable and watch some past interviews to prep for later. Your stomach did a flip when you realized you’d get see all the players tonight.

Luckily the day moved quickly. You got to watch the game in the viewing room with some other press outlets. Beth told you to take notes as you watched, which would be used to ask questions and write up articles or social media post later. Even though it was work, it was fun. You couldn’t believe this was your internship.

You tried to hide your nerves as you followed Beth in the flow of reporters to the locker room. It was surreal, seeing all the players there. You tried not to stare to hard, especially since some of them were changing. Beth warned you some of the guys are pretty shameless about it. They had won that night, so everyone was in a good mood, joking with their locker mate.

The first player to make eye contact with you was Lias Andersson. He gave you a small smile and you returned it, though you could feel yourself blushing. You quickly turned away, telling yourself to get it together. You turned your attention to what really mattered - jotting down players answers to the questions they were being asked. First it was Kreider, than Buchy, and lastly Andersson. If you weren’t so focused on getting all the details, you would have been completely starstruck.

“Are you new?” a voice asked as you were finishing up your last thought. You looked up, finding Lias smiling down at you. You were always somewhat partial to him, and he was even cuter in person. 

“Um yeah, I’m an intern,” you replied, “Is it that obvious it’s my first day?”

Lias chuckled lightly, “No, I’d just remember seeing a pretty face.”

“Oh,” you replied, at a loss for words. Was he joking? Was this some sort of intern initiation. “Thanks. Great game, I’ve gotta go.” You cringed at yourself as you walked away. What the hell was that? And why were you so awkward about it?

“Ready to head out?” Beth pulled you from your thoughts. You nodded, happy to get out of the room. You watch Beth go through the notes - which she said were very well done - picking out the best quotes and putting together some little statements to release. After that she let you go, congratulating you on a successful first day.

---

The next day you woke up feeling on top of the world. Sure it was just one day and you didn’t really do much, but it went well and you were super excited about it.

“There’s my little intern superstar,” you best friend and roommate Jess greeted you. You laughed and rolled your eyes as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. It was a rare day you two had off together; Jess was a nurse who often worked nights, so your schedules didn’t match up a lot. “Come on tell me more about it, I was half asleep last night when you told me.”

You plopped down next to her on the couch, giving her a non sports fan friendly report about how it went. As much as you tried to get Jess into hockey, it just wasn't her thing. However, she did appreciate the good looking guys, so her next question didn’t surprise you much.

“So which one are you hooking up with first?”

“None of them. My supervisor said there’s a super strict rule against hooking up with any of the players,” you replied, “Besides lots of them are a bit older than me anyway, Or taken.”

“Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score. Isn’t that the whole point of the game?” Jess teased.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Yes, but not for me, I can’t risk it.”

“Well there’s nothing against you setting up friends right? Let’s take a look at these guys,” Jess took out her phone, pulling up the roster and going through the list with you. “Zi.. Zibanejad? Don’t know if I said it right but he’s cute.”

“You did, And he is, but hes taken,” you told her. She sighed, but moved on.

“Ooh, Kreider is painfully my type,” she nearly swooned.

“Not sure about him actually, I think hes taken,” you said.

“You say that like it’s going to stop me,” Jess joked before proceeding, “Oh what about this guy Andersson?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name.

“Funny story with that actually,” you replied, before launching into the weird run in you had with him yesterday.

“Holy shit he wants to fuck you y/n,” Jess replied.

You blushed, “I wouldn't go that far. It may have been a joke, him being nice or something I don’t know.

Jess shook her head, “Men are not nice. At least not for no reason. He's totally into you. You gotta hop on that.”

“I can’t,” you repeated, “I could get fired.”

“How would she even know? Is she going to follow you into the bedroom,” Jess replied.

“I don't know, but she seemed really serious about it,” you told her.

Jess rolled her eyes. “The way I see it is you’ll be hooking up with the guy by the end of the year. And then you can get me in with this Kreider guy. We’ll be the cutest hockey wives the NHL has ever seen.”

“Yeah right,” you mumbled, playfully tossed pillow at her. As much as you knew it was ridiculous, couldn’t get Lias’ face out of your head for the rest of your day.

[holylulusworld]

Ms. Bodyguard - Trust me

Summary: Jensen is used to be the hero on his show. He’s not a coward, not at all - but when he gets attacked by an unknown man the studio insists on a full-time bodyguard. Specialist in protecting people while living with them - you agree to protect Jensen, but he doesn’t like the fact a ‘small’ girl shall protect him. Will you be able to protect the unwilling actor?

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Bodyguard!Reader

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Clif Kosterman

Warnings: angst, mentions of stalking, mentions of blood/murder, slow burn, language, comforting, mentions of suicide (nothing happens), investigations, conspiracy

A/N: The plot thickens, and we get closer to solve the mystery.

Ms. Bodyguard Masterlist

“Ouch, woman don’t be so rude! You can’t just come in here and rip my band-aid off! I could’ve been naked.” Jensen scolds while you check on his wound again. “Do you honestly believe someone hired a killer?”

“All I can tell you is that the poor girl got killed fast, efficient, and the way I would’ve done it to not cause any pain or draw anyone’s attention toward me. Your wound is the same. The person attacking stabbed the part of your body not causing you to bleed out or hit an organ, sweetheart.”

“Jensen, or Jay, please. Outside you can use the codename but within these walls, inside my house, please call me by my name.” Nodding you put a new band-aid onto his wound.

“Fine, Jensen. Today plans are to keep you alive, not leave the house before we know it’s a fortress and for you to tell me about anyone hating you. From an angry ex-girlfriend to a maid you fired. Even a guy you pissed off at a bar.”

Jensen nervously chews on his lower lip, not believing he has to write a list of enemies.

“I’ll try to remember, but it’s going to be a brief list. I mean, everyone loves me…” Jensen tries to joke. “Sorry, I’ll try to take it seriously, but this feels so strange to me.”

“I know, Jensen. Let me order food and we can ask Jared, his wife Genevieve, and Clif to help us. Maybe you forgot someone, but they remember. Tomorrow, I want to talk to your other colleagues and people you know in Vancouver.” Again, Jensen nods, not knowing how to handle the situation.

“I need you to trust me, Jay. If you do not trust me, ask someone…” Jensen shakes his head, even grasps for your hand and you pat his shoulder.

“I won’t leave, okay. Let’s see what we can find out. My friend will come around later to check on the doors and windows. Don’t worry, he’s reliable and knows I will kill him if he messes up a job…”

“Scott is done. I’ll say goodbye and we can have a look at your list. Jared and Clif will be here in an hour. Genevieve couldn’t make it as one of the kids is sick, but she made a list.”

Nodding Jensen rereads his list. A deep sigh leaves his lips fearing one of these people is the one wanting him dead.

While Jensen is distracted with his list your talk to Scott about the reason you called him. “I need a complete background check for everyone he worked, lived, or had an affair with. Clients tend to hide things from me.”

“Got it, boss. Great, you’re back.” Scott glances at Jensen who crosses out a name to write down another.

“He doesn’t look like someone hiding bodies at his attic, but I’ll try to dig anything out.” Smirking Scott shakes your hand seeing the look Jensen gives him. “I guess he likes you a bit too much…”

“Go and stop talking shit. Do your job and I’ll call you again.” The door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, making Jensen flinch. “Sorry. Finished with your list?”

“I got a make-up artist who got too handsy. A guy I yelled at as he poured his hot coffee over my pants. That hurt like a bitch.” Chuckling at Jensen’s watches you take the list out of his hands.

“A girl I promised to call after a one-night-stand five years ago. I tried to remember her phone number…”

“It’s fine. I don’t think she’s our number one priority. Who’s ‘the evil bitch’?” Jensen grunts even scrunch up his nose before he gets up to pace around the room.

“I was married. She is like a vamp when it comes to money. Always tries to suck more out of me…”

“I need more than ‘the evil bitch’, Jensen.” This time Jensen grins before he hands you a piece of paper with her name, address, and date of birth. “Jessica Calliope Cunningham. What a fucking name.”

Jensen snickers at your comment, relaxing for the first time since he got the call. “Can you tell me how the marriage ended? Infidelity? Fights?“

“Honestly, I got no clue. One day I believed we are happy; the next Jessica tells me she will move out. It was a strange time back then. According to rumors CW wanted to end our show. I had depts and my wife left me out of the blue.” Frown on your face you dial Scott's number to let him run a check on Jessica too.

“Do you think she has something to do with this? I mean, she was the one leaving me, not the other way around. Why should she want to see me dead?” Rubbing his chin Jensen glances at you talking to Scott. “Y/N?”

“I am not sure what the killer wants. If he wanted you dead, he would’ve ended the job. This doesn’t make sense right now.

There is girl, freaking out, carving your name into her skin. After she recovered at an asylum she gets killed. You get attacked but not killed, even tho, we know the guy could’ve easily killed you.

Then there is this message that you are next – but why not killing you during the first attack? He was there, had the knife in your body. A bit to the left and you would be dead…” Jensen shudders at your words.

“You can make a guy feel comfortable.”

“Sweetheart, I am trying to make sense out of this shitshow you call your life. No killer would’ve let you go, Jensen. If something looks like a horse, walks like a horse it sometimes is a dog…” Blinking at your words Jensen groans.

“This doesn’t make sense!” Throwing your hands up in surrender you nod.

“Exactly, Jensen. Nothing of this makes sense.”

“I need a drink or rather ten…”

“Same but I have to protect your ass so, no alcohol for you or me. Sit and let’s check the list. I would bet my ass on your ex-wife but let’s see if we can find someone better…”

Now a smirk appears on Jensen’s lips when he places the knife you lost onto the table.

“You know, if you lose this bet, your ass is mine?” Laughing you pat his head before you slap it. “Ouch, you shall protect not hurt me.”

“Behave, sweetheart. I am not your wet dream of a naughty bodyguard out of one of Dean’s porn. Now let’s check the list.” Jensen grins, you just admitted you watched his show.

“You watched it.” Sighing you try to change the topic but Jensen being the little shit he is gets up to poke your back. “I bet you like Dean…huh? Are you a Dean girl?”

“I am more the ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t stop to bug me with your show’ kind of girl, Jensen. Now sit over there, shut your mouth, and look pretty.” Still grinning Jensen sits onto the sofa opposite you.

“What do you like the most? My toughness, the car…my guns?”

“Your brother…” Not amused Jensen’s smirk fades. “He’s tall, smart, and knows when to shut his mouth. Oh-and I like the hair but don’t tell Jared or I’ll have to press him against the wall again.”

“I know you like Dean…” Smirk on your lips you try to not react to Jensen's words. “I’ll make you a Dean girl…or a Jensen girl.” Whispering the last words, he watches you check something on your phone. “Terminator…”

“Jessica, Jessica... I think we have a winner…Jessica. Whoa, Genevieve, Jared, and Clif only came up with your ex-wife.” Jared huffs, pointing toward his phone.

“Look what she wrote about the attack. She faked compassion but didn’t call anyone to ask if he’s alright.”

“The words she used sound odd. I mean, it does sound as if he died, not got injured.” Humming Clif rereads Jessica’s tweet.

“You’re right. Sounds like an obituary to me, Y/N. Fishy, to say the least.” Jensen doesn’t want to hear anything else, tries to forget everything that happened but the memories of the attack will still haunt him.

“I think, I’ll have a girl’s talk with her soon. That woman knows something, I can feel it. Scott is on it. If she’s hiding anything, he’ll bring it to light. For now, all we can do is to keep Jensen safe.” Jared nods silently, worried about his friend.

“We are on hiatus soon. One more week, a party, and then it’s over for summer break. Maybe it’s for the best to go back to Texas?” Hopefully, Jensen looks at you, but you shake your head.

“Whoever is after you, Jensen. He’ll not disappear only as you change your location. That man will come and try it again. I just can’t understand why he didn’t finish the job when he had the chance to.” Jensen rubs his knees nervously, glancing at you now and then while you reread the lists.

“He…that man, he said something.” Your head snaps upward when Jensen clears his throat. “I didn’t tell anyone, but he whispered something in my ear while he pushed the knife into my body.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Jensen, for fuck’s sake! Maybe this could be a breakthrough.” Angrily jumping up you pace around Jensen. “I hate if clients do shit like that. How shall I protect you, Jay? I can’t keep you safe if you lie to me.”

“I’m sorry, it was just…embarrassing. I felt weak and what he said scared me as it was partially true.” Jensen grumbles and you place one hand onto his shoulder.

“Just tell me…us…”

“He said that I’ll always remember this moment and that, if he does his job right, I’ll prefer to end my life than to live in the misery he will bring over me.” Jensen’s voice trembles when you squeeze his shoulder tightly. “He said something else...guardian angel and then he was gone...”

“That guy wanted you to commit suicide?” Jared blinks a few times. “That’s ridiculous, Jay. Why should he attack you only to force you to kill yourself?”

“Fuck…I need to…give me a minute…” Heart racing a mile in a minute, head-spinning you leave the house to take deep breaths. “This can’t be…impossible…”

“Something wrong? Y/N? What’s going on?” Clif watches you pant heavily, barely able to control your breathing. “Y/N! You are scaring me.”

“It’s impossible, Clif. He said my codename to Jensen. It’s his modus operandi but this can’t be. He can’t be here…I…I killed him…”

More tags in reblog

Ms. Bodyguard Tags

@healojane​​​, @bitchwhytho​​​, @marvelouslysherlockedhunter​​​, @mimzy1994​​​, @couldabeenamermaid​​​, @abbessolute​​​, @vicmc624​​​, @fantasydevil2002​​

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

@spnfamily-j2​​​​

@supernatural-bellawinchester​​​​

@negans-lucille-tblr​​​​

@deans-baby-momma​​​​

@thefaithfulwriter​​​​

@squirrelnotsam​​​​

@roonyxx​​​​

@neerness​​​​

@deansgirl-1968​​​​

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​​​​

@butifulsoul125​​​​

@lyinginthegingerlocks​​​​​

@neen-illustrates​​​​

@janicho88​​​​

@woodworthti666​​​​​

@thevelvetseries​​​​

@dreaminemz​​​​​

@akshi8278​​​​

@midnightsilver16830​​​​

@mrspeacem1nusone​​​​

@ria132love​​​​

@caligraphee​​​​

@the-witch-in-silence​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​

@multisuperfandom​​​​

@jason-todd-squad​​​​​

@jadesupernatural​​​​​

@psychicforest​​​​​

@luciathewinchestergirl​​​​​

@magssteenkamp​​​​​

@palefiregiver​

@tranquility-or-chaos​​​​

@jxackles​​​​

@michellemxndes​​​​​

@addictedtofictionalcharacters​​​​​

@gabifernandessn​​​​​

 @waywardrose13​​​​

@team-free-will-you-idjiot​​​​​​

@myopiamystical​​​​

@rintheemolion​​​

@isthatabutterfly​

@bluecornflowers​​​​

@rosalynshields​​​​

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

[youcancallmecirce]

Imaari’s Tale: Part Four

This is the last installment from our first session.  We’re going to play again on Friday.  Should I continue to share?   Crossposted to Ao3.  

Imaari drifted.  Sometimes, there was only a black, timeless void.  At others, she felt swept along in a velvety dream she couldn’t make sense of.  Over and over, she had the vague notion of a strange workshop with books and odd devices arrayed on tabletops and desks, always lit by a large window of startlingly bright blue sky and filled with the rising and falling of distant voices.

“Again?” she heard once, quite distinctly.  It was a woman, sounding both bewildered and frustrated.  “Why does this keep happening?”

Then the voices receded again, enveloped in the inky blackness.  Imaari floated.

Footsteps, then, a thud scrape , and the same woman’s voice.  “Wake up now,” it said.  “It is time to wake.”  

After that, Immari’s consciousness began to rise.  It was a slow resolution of consciousness, as in a too-dark room after sleeping too heavily. She could feel her body but could not make it move.  It felt strangely weighted, as if by a heavy blanket, but rather than feeling warm and comforted she was pressed in on all sides with a damp chill. Imaari’s fingers twitched, and she felt the movement on her shoulders.

Thud scrape, she heard again.  It was a little closer this time.  Imaari’s eyes slitted open, or she thought they did.  There was no change in what she could see: there was nothing but blackness, like before.  Was she really waking at all?

Thud, scrape.

Closer again, and accompanied by voices heard as if from underwater.  Imaari’s fingers tightened, her head rolling groggily from side to side, and her eyes opened wide as memory and realization washed over her.  

She’d felt the shifting of cloth over her skin as she’d moved, damp and clinging but unmistakable, and her arms had been crossed over her chest like a corpse laid to rest.

Thud, scrape.

Because she’d been hung.  They’d killed her, wrapped her in a shroud, and buried her in the cold earth.  Imaari was dead.

Panic crawled up her throat as her mind struggled to understand.  She had died, hadn’t she?  But if she were dead, how could she feel the warm puff of her breath against the damp shroud?  How could she feel the shifting press of the earth above her?

Thud, scrape.  

Had they buried her alive ?  Her breath came in short pants as she struggled, mindless with panic.

Thud, scrape. Thud, scrape.

The sound was close enough now that some small part of Imaari’s mind recognized it as the sound of a shovel, thudding into the ground and then scraping as it lifted.  Digging her up?

The voices had come closer as well, moving more quickly than the shovel.  They were men, Imaari registered dimly.  Angry men.  “They fucking what ?!” someone said, his voice suddenly very close, until it began to fade again.  “What kind of bullshit…”

Thud, scrape, coming now from all around her.   Thud, and then an unmistakably pained groan, somewhere to her left.

“I think I found one,” said another man’s voice from the same direction. “Come help me dig him out.”

One of the shovels came closer still, and she felt the earth shift above her. A bit of light began to seep in through the shroud.  Something hard grazed her side, drawing a shriek.  Having now found her voice, she gave in to sobs as she struggled, squirming as much as the tightly wrapped shroud allowed her to.

“There’s another one here,” she heard directly above her.  Another man. There was a soft thud, as if the man had thrown his shovel to the side, and hands began to seek her body amid the loose soil.  “Come on,” he said gently.  “Let’s get you out of there.”  The weight fell away from Imaari’s body, the dim light brightened, and she felt hands lifting her shoulders.  “I’ve got you.”

Imaari stilled, no longer fighting, but she continued to weep.

“Another one!” came another shout, from another direction.

“Hold still,” said someone else, a woman this time.  “I don’t want to cut you by mistake.”

“What? Cut me?” came the shrill response.  This voice sounded vaguely familiar. “What is this?  I-I was hung!”

“Please sir,” the woman said.  “Please try to be calm.”

“Gods,” came another familiar voice. “We’re in the fuckin’ Paupers Pit.”

“Who is managing this operation?  I demand answers!”

Hands pinched the fabric over her face, pulling it away from her skin, and she saw the point of a knife tear through it.  When the hole was large enough, the blade disappeared and was replaced with dirty fingers which rent it wider still, opening a window to the cloudless, star-speckled sky above.  Imaari gasped in the clear night air, reminding herself that she was alive to feel it, and began to struggle anew once the hole was large enough to free her hands.  She shoved the shroud back from her face and wriggled free as quickly as she could.  Escaping the shroud wouldn’t erase the memory of this experience, but she wanted to distance herself from every part of it that she could.  

“I guess hangin’ didn’t take,” someone observed dryly off to her left, and Imaari recognized Hardwin’s voice easily.

The man who’d cut her free rose and leaned down to offer his hand and she took it gratefully.  He frowned at her, though, and when she’d regained her feet, he leaned forward to look at her more closely.  The moon was full, but it was the only light available and human eyes were not as good as hers   “Aw, shit,” he said, looking dismayed.  “A fucking half elf?”

Imaari took another step back, suddenly afraid again.  Did he now regret helping her, now that he knew her heritage?  They were in a large graveyard, in a large section of freshly turned earth.  A mass grave , she thought, shivering.  She looked back at the place where she’d lain and saw bits of pale cloth showing through the dirt in several places.  She shivered again.  She did not want to go back to being a corpse.

The others all turned to look more carefully at the people they’d exhumed, and one of them cursed.  “There’s another one here,” he said.  Imaari followed the sound to see a huge man jerking his thumb at the figure beside him.  

“Yeah, well, fuck you too!”  he shot back.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” the man protested, turning.  A scar pulled one side of his mouth into a perpetual frown, and disappeared beneath the high folds of his cloak.

“That you, Daetrik?” Hardwin asked. He stood next to his grave and the woman who’d dug him out, pressing his wrappings into a tight ball. He was almost looking in the right direction, but not quite.

“Aye,” Daetrik replied, and Hardwin’s gaze turned accurately towards it.  

“What you got?” he asked. “I can’t see shit.”

“Sir, please,” someone interrupted.  It was first the woman, her hand set placatingly on Well Dressed’s arm. “If you will just be patient, the Lieutenant--”

“Wait a minute,” cut in one of the voices she’d recognized earlier.  Imaari turned, seeking its owner. Skeet still sat amid the ruin of his own shroud, staring.  He looked at Well Dressed, but pointed at the woman. “Who the fuck is this?”  He looked at her, then around the group. “Who the fuck are you?!”

No one answered.  Imaari looked from one person to the next, searching. There were one or two people near each of the ones she’d recognized from that morning (had it only been that morning?), each of them wearing dark cloaks and showing varying degrees of frustration, compassion, apprehension and chagrin.  Two more people stood off to the side, arguing heatedly.  They were distant enough that she had no idea what it was about; only the occasional curse or exclamation was loud enough to carry.  Behind those two, she saw a tall man with dark tattoos stalking through the cemetery with a large package perched on his shoulder.

“This is a travesty,” Well Dressed announced, his pompous voice recalling Imaari’s attention. “Buried not even three feet below the surface!”

“Could have been worse,” Daetrik said.  “It could have been six feet below the surface.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t a cremation,” Skeet said.

Hardwin and Daetrik chuckled darkly, but Well Dressed looked aghast. “Can’t a man get a proper burial?”

“So, you boys military?” Daetrik asked in the following quiet, his tone conversational.  “What unit you with?”

A few of them started. “Yeah, a few of us are,” the scarred man confirmed.  “Marines.  You?”

“Yeah, I served,” Daetrik said.  “The uh, the Elven Wars.”

“Oh, shit!  Where at?”

“North of Tessington, up by Shinfael Gift.”

“No kidding,” the man said.

“Enough of this bullshit,” Hardwin said at the same time.  “Sergeant?” He barked the title, a senior officer addressing a subordinate, and the man at Imaari’s side straightened in surprise.  Hardwin’s eyes narrowed on the man, knowing his reaction for the confirmation it was.  “Hey man, level with me,” he said cajolingly, changing tack.  “What the fuck is going on here, Sarge?”

The Sergeant glanced around at the others, then cleared his throat.  “Wait for the lieutenant,” he said, nodding toward the pair who still stood arguing. As if on cue, the taller one held up his hands in the universal sign for stop and began to make his way towards them.

He was about the same height as Hardwin, though not as broad, and carried himself with a definite air of authority.  He was probably in his forties, his dark hair threaded with grey and already receding from his brow, with tanned skin and a grim expression.  Like the others, he wore a dark, nondescript cloak.  It shifted as he moved, giving glimpses of unadorned leather armor.    

“You the Lieutenant they told us to wait for?” Daetrik asked when the man stopped in front of them.

“I am,” he confirmed, taking in all of his people with a glance and indicating that they should join him with a nod of his head.  They gathered at his back.

Skeet pushed himself up from the ground as they moved, and took a few steps forward.  “The fuck is going on here?” he demanded.

The Lieutenant turned to him, frowning, and then paused. “Wait,” he said, his frown deepening to a scowl.  “I know you.  I fucking know you!” He turned sharply to the man he’d been arguing with, who stood behind him, and pointed at Skeet.   “Who is this? Torch.  Lantern!  Someone, get me a gods-damned light!”

Several people moved, scurrying to obey his orders, and Imaari shielded her eyes instinctively as light flared to life in darkness.

“Who the fuck is this?” the Lieutenant repeated.

The man at his back, surprisingly short and older than the others, shuffled forward to frown at the  hard-faced Skeet.  “I’m...not sure,” he admitted.

The Lieutenant looked at Skeet. “Who are you?”

Skeet smirked goadingly.  “What’s it to you, buddy, eh?  I asked you first.”  The man’s face darkened, and Skeet snorted.  “Listen, guy.  I fuckin’ died a while ago, right?  And now I’m heah and you dug me up and while I appreciate the helpin’ hand, maybe you could clue me in on what the fuck is going on. Then we can exchange pleasantries.”  

Daetrik nodded in agreement. “The man has a point, Lieutenant.”

“Yes!” Well Dressed agreed, nodding emphatically.  “We were just poorly executed and poorly buried. What is the meaning of this?”

The Lieutenant hung his head and took a deep breath.  “You’re right,“ he sighed, looking up.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  Let me start over.”  He paused, considering his words.  “Arch...needs you.”

Daetrik scoffed.  “Arch needs a lot of things.”

“That’s a stupid way to start.”

The Lieutenant ignored Daetrik, but shot a dirty look at the heckler among his own people.  “The whole thing is stupid.” he said angrily.  “Listen, you have been--” He stopped abruptly, awkwardly, as if struggling for the right words.  “You have been chosen to serve as part of a fighting force to help root out Arch’s rivals.”

A beat of silence followed that announcement, and Imaari felt her mouth fall open.  Of all the things she might have expected, that had not been one of them.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hardwin said, incredulity drawing the words out more slowly than usual.

“Was the killing us part of that?” Daetrik asked, almost on top of Hardwin.  “Or could we have just skipped that, maybe?”

“You could have asked us without killing us first!” Imaari burst out, her voice shrill.

The people gathered behind the Lieutenant exchanged glances, shifting uncomfortably, and he held up his hands as if to hold back their comments.  You’re right.  Let me, let me go into this more.  You have all been chosen for your skill sets.  Er, you would have been chosen for your skill sets, but, I don’t think that you’re the group we were expecting.”

Another pause, and more uncomfortable shuffling.

“I--I don’t understand,” Daetrik said at last.

“Yeah, I--I don’t even know what to say to that.”  The two men shared a look, and then Hardwin turned, shaking his head. “Fuck this. I’m leaving.”

“Yeah,” Daetrik agreed.  “I did my time.”

Imaari stares after them for a moment, torn, then moves to follow as well.  He was still the only one who’d given her any reason to trust him.

“Tell me the people who killed us ah the ones weah goin’ afteh, that it wasn’t you, or I’m goin’ with them.” Skeet said.

“Wait, please!”

Imaari hesitated again, arrested by the genuine pleading in the Lieutenant’s voice, and looked between the people gathered behind her and the men walking away from them.  

“Unless you plan on killin’ me again,” Hardwin called over his shoulder, “I am done with this shit.”

“Please,” the Lieutenant said again. “Please, just wait and listen .”

Hardwin and Daetrik shared another look, then turned back to stare at him.  

“Thank you.”  The Lieutenant sighed heavily.  “Look, I--I can’t--tell you--that,” he said haltingly, shifting his attention to Skeet. It took a moment for the man’s meaning to fully penetrate.

Daetrik’s jaw ticked, and Hardwin growled.

“Because you ah the people who killed us?” Skeet asked, his expression turning dangerous.  “Is that what yer sayin’?”

“I’m not saying anything--”

“Because if that’s the case, then I think you owe me.” Skeet continued, speaking over the Lieutenant.

“Just, stay calm, please.”

“Answers, now,” Hardwin said flatly.  “Or we’re gone.”

“I said, stay calm!” The Lieutenant’s hand twitched towards his short sword, and all of his men put their hands on their own weapons.

“So it’s like that.” Daetrik said quietly.

Imaari’s eyes bounced between them all, trying to take in the rapid-fire words and turn them into something that made sense.  Was she still dreaming?

“Please just listen,” the Lieutenant begged. “I know this is insane.  If it had been up to us, none of this would have happened, but there is good reason.  Arch is under attack--not from Gavel or Lessen or the Stone Bloods, but from within.  We had to look, ah, outside the more traditional structures for our team.”

“It must be pretty big,” Well Dressed observed, “if you had to kill us to establish our cover.”

“So did you kill all those other people too?”  Skeet asked.  “Did you dig them up?”

The Lieutenant hesitated, looking again at the short man at his elbow.

The man sighed.  “There was--” he began, then paused in the same awkward manner the Lieutenant had.  “There was another team.  They were--ah, unrecoverable.”  He sighed again.  “That is the source of the confusion, I’m afraid.  I’m sorry for that.”

“You mean it wasn’t supposed to be us,” Skeet said, stunned.

“Let me get this straight,” Hardwin said.  “You were so desperate for a particular group of people that you murdered dozens of us to get them, but fucked it up so badly that you didn’t even get the people you needed?”

Daetrik shook his head bemusedly.  “Bloody hell. It sounds like Arch needs more help than just us.”  

“No shit!”

Skeet scoffed derisively.  “You’re right, bossman, that is stupid.”

“What’s in it for us?” All eyes turned to Well Dressed, whose expression was calculating. He shrugged unapologetically.

“Fucking finally,” the Lieutenant said.  “A question I can fucking answer.”

“How about an apology for killing us,” Daetrik suggested.  “Might be a good start.”

“Fine.  I’m sorry.”

“No, I was wrong.  That’s not a good start.  Fuck you.”

Chuckles eased a bit of the tension, and even the Lieutenant smiled.  “Fair enough.  We got off to a bad start, and maybe this is the wrong play, but we do need help excising the rot in Arch and you’re the ones we got.  Each of us has been where you are, waking up in the middle of nowhere after the trauma of being murdered for no gods damned reason.  Believe me when I say that I am truly sorry.”

“Wait, this happened to you, too?”

The Lieutenant struggled to answer, words sticking in his mouth, and the small man stepped forward once more.

“I think what the Lieutenant is trying to say is that we...understand, because we have all been...a part of this.”  Imaari winced at the way his voice grated in her ears.  His words were clipped, more halting than before, as though he struggled to force them out.    “We all--we have all gone through...this and we are all still dealing with--with this.”

“Strange,” Well Dressed said, considering.  ”Perhaps if we ask questions that are less direct?”

All eyes turned his way once more, the Lieutenant’s people all staring in open shock.

“How--” The Lieutenant began, then cut himself off with a shake.  “Fuck, we’re talking in circles and we don’t have time for any of this,” he said.  “All of you, please, we have to get moving.  Come with us, and I promise that I will answer all of your questions on the move.”

“Do we have a choice?” Hardwin asked.  The Lieutenant’s expression was eloquent.  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Well Dressed shrugged.  “It has to be better than staying here.”

“You got our stuff, or are we goin’ in our ball gowns?” Skeet asked, gesturing to his dirty prison jumper.

Some of the tension went out of the Lieutenant at the tacit agreement.  “You have their things?” he asked the tall man with the tattoos.

“On the boat,” he said, nodding.

“Boat?” Imaari echoed, looking to Hardwin.  He looked resigned.

“Thank the Monarch,” the Lieutenant said.  “This way.”

[tcsauaskblog]

13 Donald

#13 Who did this?

Gladstone decides wholeheartedly he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time the second Donald’s eyes lock on him and the only thought he has to show for it is a dispirited, ’Seriously, he needs to get a new hobby.’

Because Don crosses the school courtyard between them like it was nothing, Gladstone barely having time to blink before his cousin’s hands are holding his jawline in place, turning his head every which way and that to get a better look at the freshly purpled bruise now blossoming across his right eye and cheek.

“What happened?” Don growls, low and mean, but Gladstone barely even winces at his temper, because for all of Donald’s bark, there was true hurt and anger in his eyes. The kind that came entirely from a caring place, rooted every last inch in stupid protective love.

And Gladstone hated being the reason behind that pained expression etched across Donald’s face. It was making something hot and heavy swell in the back of Gladstone’s throat, a raw sort of compassion that Glad doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to receiving.

The kind of stubborn concern he had every intention of avoiding if Donald hadn’t been waiting for him by the flagpole long after the final school bell had rung like some kind of vigilant guard dog.

“Don’t get your flannel all worked up, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Gladstone lied because that was always easier when it came to Don’s mother-henning. He tried to swat his cousin’s hands away, but Don had an impossible iron barred grip on his chin, destroying any possible chance of escape Gladstone had, so he resorted to tapping his cousin’s arms absentmindedly while looking just about everywhere other than meeting the 14-year-old’s piercing gaze. “Where’s Dumb and Dumber? Thought y'all’d be halfway through a bag of bacon catching crawdads by now.”

“Apparently a group of squirrels got into Fethry’s lunch bag during recess and ate most of the crawdad bait, so Del and him went home to get some more and I stayed behind to let you know so you wouldn’t head down to the river by yourself and wonder where we were,” Don said all in one, short, tense breath.

Like he couldn’t be bothered to spend any more concentration on breathing as he glared down at Glad’s face, inspecting it like there was something hidden tattoed in the bruises. Gladstone ignores the flush feeling rising in his cheeks. Normally he’d be on cloud nine to have so much attention squarely focused on him.

But with Donald looking at him with all the whole world of worry that he didn’t know where to place, it was just making him sick.

“Awww, that’s really gross that you care so much,” Glad cooed in an annoyed tone, rocking back on his heels softy and doing his best not to let the action choke himself with Don’s current unwavering headlock.

“Well, thanks for letting me know. Better not keep them waiting, I bet Del the first one to catch three mudbugs gets shower privileges all week, and if you don’t think I’d sail you down the river in a New York heartbeat to win then you’re dead wrong. I always look good, but even I can admit that these curls take some time to maintain.”

And Gladstone would have used that as an excuse to wiggle himself free and stroll right around Donald, going on their merry way and ignoring the giant target bruising itself across Glad’s face. But of course, Donald’s grip on his jaw was ironclad, never wavering for a second, and there was a look on his eyes so fierce and fervid it was burning holes into Gladstone’s chest.

“Oh no, you don’t! Do even think about changing the subject,” Donald says sharply, concern and annoyance pouring into every word equally like a threaded braid and with a tone he was whole years too young to have. Taking on a persona like a frustrated guardian of at least ten years older than Gladstone, rather than an overly defensive cousin who was only a year older. “What happened?”

To be fair to Gladstone, the last thing he wanted was to fight Don. That’s why Gladstone had waited almost 30 minutes after the final bell had rung before leaving the bathroom.

Because he was hoping to miss his cousins altogether. Hoping that they would head to the river without him and he’d have some time to put some distance between the school and him so that, either way, even if Don did want to fight him about this, there was nothing he could have done.

And really, why should Don do anything?

Gladstone’s 13 and Donald’s 14 and honestly, even that shouldn’t be any reason for Donald to act like he’s suddenly Gladstone’s parent. They’re the same height for Pete’s sake! Gladstone can do anything Donald can do and there’s never a reason for Donald to treat him like some brat who can’t take care of himself, and yet here he is, acting like Gladstone’s bodyguard and it makes him want to scream in frustration.

“Relax, stupid, it was just P.E accident. I got hit in the face with a stray volleyball during one of the free games. I’m lucky I didn’t get a bloody beak.” He passive-aggressively shrugged, waving a dismissive hand away shamelessly. Hoping that was enough of an answer to skeet by. “Now will you let go already? Take a picture, it’ll last longer, but my face isn’t going to look any prettier no matter how hard you scowl.”

The pointless jab only made him scowl harder, but Donald eased his grip regardless. “You? The luckiest duck in the world. A P.E accident?” Donald says slowly, like the wheels are spinning in his head but there’s ice on the road so he can’t get enough traction to go anywhere. He let’s go of Gladstone reluctantly, but Don keeps his hands out in front of him, like he’s afraid Gladstone might bolt if he doesn’t keep his guard up and ready to grab him at any moment.

Gladstone has half a mind too, but instead, he just huffs impatiently and straitens out the collar of his shirt and readjusts his backpack on his shoulders.

“Hey, I’m not any happier about it than you, but I guess even I can get faulty luck sometimes. What can I say, it happens to the best of us.” And Gladstone’s carefully not meetings Donald’s eyes again, because he knows that even the slightest hesitance will give something away, and knowing Donald, the last thing he needs is to give his cousin some sort of stupid incentive to go charging off on his behalf to a battle he doesn’t want him to fight.

Honestly, after that day he’s had, all Gladstone wants is to head home. “That’s why I didn’t meet you guys by the lockers after school, I was in the nurses’ office getting checked out. Looks like it isn’t too bad though, no bleeding under the skin or anything, so we’re all good to hit the road.”

And he shoots Don an easy smile like it was his day job, and wishes with all his luck that it’s compelling enough to make Don drop the subject altogether when he passes around him easily, tapping him on the shoulder comfortably with all the confidence and smugness of someone who doesn’t have anything to hide.

It should have been easy. He’s hid all the bruises up until now without any suspicion. He isn’t about to let one little black eye blow his best-kept secret in one day.

Gladstone rests his hands behind his head and waits till he reaches the school gates before asking, “Hey, do you think if I do a convincing enough puppy dog pout, I can get Feth on my side to help me win the bet against Del? She really takes too long of showers in the morning and I think it’s time her reign of terror over the bathroom is over.”

He’s hoping for a laugh. Or at the very least a snide remark, but it’s only when he gets no response from Donald that he checks over his shoulder, to find that his cousin isn’t right behind him, but still at the other end of the courtyard, staring at him with a furrowed brow that made storm clouds look tame.

And then, before Gladstone could rightly ask him what he was waiting for, Donald dropped his backpack with a resounding thud that wholely echoed through Gladstone’s core, before marching back towards the entrance of the school with a conviction that would take a tank to tear down.

Gladstone feels like he swallowed ice as he watches Don’s back all for a mere 4 seconds before bolting after him, scooping Donald’s backpack up in the process, and just managing to reach the front door of the school right after it had slammed shut behind his hot heeled cousin.

“Do-ouufff-Don! Wait!” Gladstone calls, just barely managing to catch up with Donald as he rounded the first hallway. “What are you- where are you going?”

“Where are they?” Donald growls through clenched teeth, not meeting Gladstone’s eyes but slowing his tempo just a bit so that Gladstone could keep up easier.

It was a good thing he did, because at his cousin’s words, Gladstone almost tripped over himself, and Donald barely managed to catch him by his upper arm and help pull him back up to his feet. This stopped them fully, which gave Gladstone a chance to catch the breath Donald just stolen from him.

“They? They who?” Gladstone asked slowly, trying not to let the panic in his voice show as he anchored Donald’s backpack to his chest to steady his breathing. “What are you talking about?”

“Shut up Gladstone, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Donald snapped, pointing a finger at Gladstone’s swelling black eye. And Gladstone did his best not to back into the lockers behind him in surprise. “The people who did that to you.”

And Gladstone felt his whole body go frigid. Because shit. Shit! This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

“W-wait Don. You have it wrong, this was an accident, remem-?” Gladstone tried to reassure, but it must have been evident in the panic in his voice because Donald was already rounding him with those electric eyes sparking sharp and bright.

“Bullshit Glad, don’t lie to me! I’m not stupid! I know how your luck works.” He barked, and he was getting that kind of mad that turned his fists taut with how tight he was folding them.

Fethry once disclosed to Gladstone a forgotten amount of years ago, that he was always afraid when Donald made his hands go that tight, because it usually meant that he was about to hit something really, really hard. And that whenever Donald did that, his fists always came back bruised and bloodied red.

It was the reason why Fethry usually held Don’s hands whenever it looked like he was about to get mad at something petty or about to get into a fight. It was a defense mechanism, one only a 10-year-old Fethry, with all the love and admiration and whole bleeding affection for his only family, could come up with, and it worked.

Don couldn’t rightly hurt himself, if he was already holding onto and protecting something else.

“Accidents don’t just happen to you. You don’t just get hurt.”

Something about his words brought something mean and biting clawing to the front of Gladstone’s heart, and he frowned as he took a step forward towards his cousin. That spitfire fight that Donald always seemed to bring out in him coming back to life. “Oh please, Don. I’m lucky, not invincible. I get hurt all the time! Just last week I got hit in the head by that apple!”

Donald rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt something. “Yeah, exactly! Because I threw it at you! It wasn’t an accident!”

“Yeah? And? What’s your point? I still got hurt!” Gladstone argued, squeezing Donald’s backpack tighter, like it was the only lifeline he had at the moment. Because really, what was his cousin’s point? What was the point to any of this? “Honestly, I don’t get why you’re so mad right now. It’s not a big deal, I’m fine, ok? It’s just a black eye-”

“STOP TRYING TO PUSH ME AWAY, YOU PRICK!”

Gladstone will never know why the hallways were so empty and quiet that sunny afternoon, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s grateful that no one was around to see the expression his cousin was making.

Painful. That’s really the only way Gladstone could describe it. Like something was breaking and tearing Donald from the inside out, and he was staring at Gladstone with a burning fury because love looked like that sometimes.

And Gladstone’s hit with a sudden wave of nausea, because for all the sneaking around and hiding the bruises and scars was supposed to keep his family away and protect them, it just ended up hurting them in a way he never meant it to.

“You’re not fi- don’t pretend to be-,” Donald chokes, and he isn’t crying, but his eyes are shiny and he rubs at them aggressively with the back of his palm anyway and takes a shaky breath. “Your luck only protects you from things it has control over. Supernatural or otherwise, be it weather, or traffic or even sports, your luck has always pulled through, with you being on top.”

And then those tight fists are on Gladstone’s shoulders, rubbing a fond hand against the back of Glad’s neck, and Gladstone doesn’t care to wonder if it’s to steady himself or the shaking coursing through Gladstone’s body. “But I’ve been around you long enough to know that your luck doesn’t control people, Glad. And it can’t protect you against their emotions, good or bad. So when you get hurt, it’s only because people hurt you.”

“And don’t you dare,” Donald says, tracking a finger softly over the bruised skin under Gladstone’s eye and glaring at him with a raw passion that hurts, and Gladstone ignores the stinging cornering at the edges of his eyes. “Try to tell me that that isn’t a big fucking deal. That you aren’t worth getting mad about.”

Later on that night, he’ll definitely be glad that there wasn’t anyone in that hallway to see the tears pour out of his swollen eyes when Donald pulls him into a rough, awkward hug. But at that moment, he can’t think to do anything other than drop Donalds backpack and hug his cousin just as tightly and with every last inch of his trembling strength.

After a few moments, they pull away, and both are rubbing their eyes without mercy, so when they both look up at each other with red, puffy eyes, they do little more than try to stifle tired laughter that echoes through the hallways. And Gladstone thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“God, what were you even thinking,” Donald sighs, rubbing a rueful hand through his hair in spent exasperation.

“I was thinking I don’t need my older cousins coming to bail me out every time I get into a stupid scrap just because he feels obligated to,” Gladstone quips back without shame as he bends down to retrieve Donald’s backpack so that he doesn’t have to look at his cousin. “I’m not your problem, ya know.”

“The hell you aren’t,” Donald shot back without cruelty, and staring at him with those deep blue eyes that Gladstone could just drown in. “And, Jesus Glad, you’re not an obligation either. You’re family. You’re all I got.”

And with pure ernesty in his voice, he takes the backpack from Gladstone’s hands when he says, “You and Della and Fethry, you’re all my problems. Della probably being the biggest pain in my ass, but for better or for worse, you’re stuck with me. And I know I can be overbearing and protective but it’s just cause… cause I care. And worry. And you guys are idiots so you stress me out constantly. But, until the day you die, you guys are my one and only problems. Period. And I wouldn’t have it any other way for even a second. Got it?”

And he said it with so much honest confidence and truth, not giving Gladstone even a square inch of wiggle space to argue with him, that Gladstone had no choice but to believe him. So he didn’t argue, and just gave a soft nod and a smile that erased whole years of worry off of Donald’s face when he said, “Got it.”

Donald smiled back as he threw his backpack over his shoulder, but there was still a tense sort of air about him that Gladstone couldn’t very well erase no matter how much he wanted too.

“You’re not still thinking of fighting them, are you?” Gladstone asked, and Donald looked up at the bruise on his face like the answer to the meaning of life was tattoed right there and Don was doing everything in his power to decipher it.

Just watching Donald’s hands start to clench up again made Gladstone’s stomach do Olympic worthy backflips in worry, so he didn’t hesitate to leap forward and put an easy hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Look, I promise you, it’s really not as bad as it looks ok? Doesn’t even hurt. Bit of ice and some aspirin and I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. Plus, I don’t even think the dudes are here anymore, and Del and Feth are probably wondering where we are by now. So please, for now, can we just go home?”

Donald has a soft spot for Fethry roughly the size of Jupiter, that kid could convince Don to commit arson with him and all he had to do was give him a flash of those honey colored puppy dogs and Don was a hook-line-and-sinker in seconds.

Gladstone knew that was just par for the course when you’re the baby brat of the family. But never in all his 13 years did he wish he could hone in his younger cousins powers more than he could at that moment as he stared at his cousin with wide, pleading eyes and just please, please Donnie. Let’s just go home.

And for a second, Gladstone didn’t think it would work, but after waffling in his own thoughts for what felt like a handful of minutes, Donald sighed reluctantly. He ran a hair through his fluffy hair, making it look messy and haphazard, and gave Gladstone and equally haphazard, incredulous look. “Fine, on two conditions.”

Gladstone hated conditions, but if it meant avoiding another fist fight, then he could work with the circumstances. “Shoot, coyboy,” he answered.

“First, you tell me about how you got this black eye. I wanna know everything that happened,” Donald listed, which in retrospect, seemed fair and easy to do. So when Gladstone nodded his understanding, Donald continued with, “And two, you stop keeping things kinda things from me. I don’t care if you get into fights, but I at least want to know about them when you do. I’m tired of you trying to sneak around me like I don’t notice you coming home with bruises and limps.”

And that, that kind of sent Gladstone’s whole world on a dizzying spin, and he was thankful that Donald ignored the way his hand instinctually tightened its grip on his arm. Because he didn’t know that Don knew. He thought he had kept it hidden so well. And if Don knew, did Della or Gus or Gran. Did Fethry know?

In his mind, there never seemed like a good time to bring up the fact that older kids just loved making him their number one punching dummy. It didn’t help that he was lucky, so he was a natural target for envy and hatred and snide comment and looks thrown his way.

It also didn’t help that he was a bit (or a lot) of a smart mouth and that usually ended up getting him in more trouble than he was worth. And sure, Donald and Della were popular, and it wasn’t a secret that they were cousins, so Gladstone was sure if he made a little noise about his situation, the bullies wouldn’t even stand a chance against them, and Gladstone would probably never be bothered again.

But Gladstone didn’t want to be saved by his cousins. The same way he would be saved by his luck. This was his problem. He was his own problem, and dammit if he couldn’t even handle this by himself.

So when the bruises started piling up, Gladstone just made every excuse in the book he could come up with to avoid attention from his cousins. Because the last thing he needed was for them to come save him. The last thing he need was for him to just be a nuisance, and bother, and worry, and not be able to do anything by himself.

But boy, even he couldn’t do that right, because Don had seen right through him like he always did and something close to white-tipped fear clenched around his heart when he yelped, “Ok, fine, but we can’t tell Gran of Della, Ok? Please. I’ll talk to you, but I don’t want to worry them about this. Not yet, not until I… Until I figure this out. Please, Don?”

Something soft and feather-light eased at the corners of Don’s eyes, and he rubbed a callous but endearing hand roughly through Gladstone’s hair before slinging an arm around him and leading him towards the school exit.

“You’re a selfish brat, you know that?” He says, and he isn’t meeting Gladstone’s eyes, but he’s smiling with a fond, crooked grin that’s full of all the warmth of the sun when he adds, “as long as we figure it out together, that’s fine with me.”

And Gladstone can’t help but laugh when he snakes an arm comfortably around Don’s side like it’s second nature as he soaks in this rare, tender moment he finds himself in.

That he’s actually in agreement with his older cousin.

Course, he’d never tell Donald that. And he hopes his cousin won’t mind that that’s one of the only things he’ll keep to himself from now on.

[entamewitchlulu]

Arc V Month Day 12: Favorite Ships

ohohohoho, did you mean my favorite day??  I love talking about ships, I love exploring possible character dynamics whether those are romantic, platonic, sexual, antagonistic, or whatever, and Arc V is FULL of great character dynamics as well as great potential ones that while they never interacted much or at all in canon, I still think would be really fun to play with

I could talk for hours about ships, and I have a LOT of faves within Arc V (arc v was actually the beginning of my multishipping tendencies, before this I was a strict single-ship-per-character type), but for the purposes of time and space I will talk only about my “starter pack” as I like to call it lol.  Tho, if you would like to hear my thoughts on any other Arc V ship, please don’t hesitate to drop into my askbox!  I love to talk about this >w<

Escapeshipping (Asuka/Osiris Red Girl)

One half of the ship may not even have an actual name, but that doesn’t stop me from being in love with this little rarepair.  I’ve always liked the idea of bi Asuka, but before Arc V, there really wasn’t a female character I really enjoyed shipping her with.  Arc V came to the rescue by giving her a gf (it also gave Crow a bf...Arc V said gay rights).  Even though all we get of them is one flashback, it’s pretty clear that the two of them were close, close enough for the Osiris girl to confide in Asuka her treasonous thoughts and to want to save Asuka by bringing her along in her escape rather than simply escaping on her own.  And it’s the Osiris girl’s sacrifice that drives Asuka to be as much of a rebel against Academia that she is.  That’s the set up for a powerful tragic love story right there, and we only had half an episode -- that’s pretty epic imo.

Chaperoneshipping (Gongenzaka/Sawatari)

I named this rarepair, so it has a special place in my heart lol.  I just think it’s probably one of the funniest, and yet sweetest ships I’ve got for Arc V.  The two of them are pretty much diametric opposites -- Sawatari never stops moving or talking and is super full of himself, while Gongenzaka is based on standing completely still and has a pretty healthy understanding of himself and his limits.  Every single interaction they had was gold, as the two of them have such different ideals and beliefs, but they play off of each other so well.  They’re literally the tol gay + smol gay and I love them and their banter a lot -- plus, I legitimately think that the two of them are pretty good for each other.  Gongenzaka can help ground Sawatari but also take care of him when his inevitable loss of confidence spirals back again, and Sawatari can put an exasperated smile on Gongenzaka’s face and help him loosen up here and there.

rest are under the cut so this doesn’t get TOO long lol

Darkrebelshipping (Shun/Yuto)

This is one I haven’t actually paid as much attention to lately, but I still do really enjoy it!  It’s a little cliche, but I just find their relationship pretty interesting.  It’s clear that they’re close friends who trust each other, but there’s also a lot of friction between them because they have such fundamentally different value systems.  They both want the same things, but what they’re willing to do to achieve those things is very different, and seeing how that effects the two of them in different situations is very interesting to me.  Plus, I just kind of love how they both look like they would go to Hot Topic together lol.

Moonblossomshipping (Ruri/Selena)

Am I using my own screenshot edit for these two?  Yes, yes I am, because despite my deep and abiding love for this ship, they never officially got to interact while not possessed lol.

As the above mentioned lack of interaction notes, this ship is mostly in my head, but I think it has a lot of interesting potential as a dynamic.  Ruri and Selena may be parts of the same person, but they have some unique differences that make their potential relationship intriguing.  Selena is a very headstrong person who rarely thinks before she acts, acting on an innate sense of justice that may be skewed because she rarely takes the time to closely examine where that image of justice is coming from.  She’s an angry and impulsive person determined to prove herself, and yet she’s also very disciplined in other places.  Ruri, on the other hand, comes from a much softer world, and from what we’ve seen of her, she also has a strong sense of justice -- though her views on it come from a place of sympathy/empathy and a desire for compassion towards others, rather than Selena’s warrior-like take on making justice happen.  That softness + Selena’s sharpness makes for a great contrast, and the fact that their two worlds are pretty much perfectly opposed in the struggle in canon also sets up for some great star-crossed lovers shit which I’m ALWAYS into.

And outside of that?  They just are....so pretty.  They have the best aesthetic together.  I was shipping them somehow before Ruri was even revealed, I am here for the long haul.

Duskshipping (Dennis/Yuuri)

Here’s another ship that gave me less than half an episode of content and made me go absolutely wild over it.  Yuuri and Dennis may have only interacted for a few moments and only twice overall, but there’s something about those moments that still captivates me.  The whole concept of Yuuri being this terrifying force that people run to the side of the hall to avoid, even as a child, but then being met by a laid-back, cheerful greeting from Dennis, fascinates me.  Dennis isn’t scared of Yuuri at all, in fact, he seems to find Yuuri amusing to some degree.  He’s the only character in the entire show who hasn’t immediately viewed Yuuri as some terrifying monster.  Part of that may be simply due to Dennis’s cheerful + semi suicidal personality, but I think there might be a little more to it than that, especially since Yuuri doesn’t seem at all annoyed at Dennis’s lack of respect.  There’s this sense of relaxation to their interactions, as though they’re used to hanging out, as though they’re comfortable with each other.  For people like the two of them -- Dennis, with his self-loathing covered up by a mask of cheer, and Yuuri, with his monstrous, malicious glee towards destruction, that unspoken comfort with anyone, much less people so different from each other, feels very important.

Stealthshipping (Sora/Tsukikage)

This one hit me like a frieght train all at once.  For most of my favorite Arc V ships, I got the sense that I would like them early on into their character introductions.  Basically from the moment I saw most of them, their first interaction or even their first introduction alone, I had the feeling I was going to love them as a ship.  These two?  I had no idea I was going to make THIS my favorite ship for the two of them...and honestly, my only romantic ship for either of them.  And like, why would I have?  Their first interaction is where Sora kills Tsukikage’s brother.  Angsty, to be sure, but I barely thought they’d even meet again.

When they did, however, and how it all played out after that, I was smitten.  Two soldiers who met on opposite sides of the conflict, who had every reason to hate each other, and every reason to destroy each other, who found themselves slowly, slowly putting that unease aside for the common goal ahead of them, until they became a team to be reckoned with.  Sora apologizing for what he did to Tsukikage’s brother and even offering to atone any way Tsukikage wanted as long as he could save Yuzu and Yuya first, Tsukikage putting down his grudge “just for now,” slowly becoming the two of them coming to each other’s aid and fighting like a team?  It was so powerful.  I definitely need to create more content for the two of them.

Genesishipping (Ray/Zarc)

Let’s be honest, we all ship this one a little bit.  They’re the penultimate tragic, antagonistic couple, even if they probably never actually met in the past.  They’re perfectly opposed forces, creation and destruction, and Ray is more than willing to come back over and over again to fight Zarc, while Zarc builds pretty much his entire self around being able to defeat Ray again.  Plus, considering all of the bonds between their counterparts? It’s obvious that in another life, these two would have been friends, or even lovers, which just makes their actual first meeting all the more tragic.  They have a wealth of possibilities to explore, and it’s one of the most popular ships in the fandom for a reason.

Appleshipping (Rin/Yugo)

otherwise known as THE CUTEST OTP....I don’t know what to say about Apple that I or others haven’t said before.  They are such a power couple.  They’re so sweet and wholesome, but they’re also inherently kind of tragic.  They grew up in a world that didn’t want them to survive, but they did.  Yugo’s pure love for Rin, and Rin’s motherly nagging, probably out of fear that Yugo’s happy nature might end up with him getting hurt in this awful world they live in, hiding her own deep love for him back, is just such a sweet, beautiful combination.  The way they constantly work together and constantly think of each other is just so sweet and lovely, and I love them a lot.

Lustershipping (Yuzu/Masumi)

The ORIGINAL Arc V gays, the one I shipped before I even started watching the damn show.  Shallow bit out of the way first, but they’re a pink/blue ship, and their color schemes together are GORGEOUS, which is my weakness.

Past that, though, this is the first pair of significant f/f rivals we’ve gotten in YGO to my knowledge, and I’ve found lately that I’ve become something of a sucker for some brands of rival pairs.  They’re antagonistic, but it drives them both to be better, and they shit-talk each other, which is great to see with an f/f rival pair, but they end up being super respectful and even grateful to each other for pushing them to get better and better.  And if you don’t think Masumi’s got a crush on Yuzu at the very least, I don’t know what to tell you lol.  She gave the girl a ROSE.

I’d love to play with their continuing relationship more with the pair of them as rivals who eventually become friends before they know it, and then perhaps something more :)

Pendulumshipping (Yuya/Reiji)

And here we are.  You all knew it was coming if you’ve been here for longer than 10 minutes, lol.  Yuya/Reiji was my fave from the beginning, and it only grew and grew and grew until it became my most important and favorite OTP of everything I’ve ever shipped.

I’ve told the story a million times, but I first began shipping them when Reiji imagined he was dueling Yuya while testing his pendulum cards.  What kind of a person do you have to be to move someone as immovable as Reiji, who’s spent his entire life making himself strong and unaffected for the task ahead?  What kind of person do you have to be to stick in Reiji’s mind like that?  And for a while, it felt very one-sided to me, though I played around with the idea of Yuya eventually returning those feelings -- still, back then, I felt almost guilty about the ship because more than one person called it potentially abusive, and I could see where they were coming from -- canon at that point had shown them as antagonists towards each other after all.  And then canon kept trucking along and showed me that it wasn’t just that at all -- a seed of trust was starting to blossom between the two of them.  The moment that Yuya called out Reiji’s name by his first name out of concern to see him trapped with the Council, that’s when I realized they absolutely did both have some level of trust in and care for each other.  And when Yuya shouted out his trust in Reiji despite Roget’s revelation about Reiji’s father, proving that he did trust Reiji and his judgement after all, and when their tag duel arrived, and Reiji decided he would throw in with Yuya all the way, that he would stand behind him and believe in him til the end and the two of them fought together, that was it.  It’s place as my favorite OTP was sealed.

There’s just something so soft and gentle about them, despite their beginnings.  They don’t have the same antagonistic air to them that most main ygo protag/rival pairs have to time.  Despite their beginnings, they were always on the same side, and it was never about trying to one up the other, even at their last battle -- it was always about working together for a common goal, and making the other better.  And I just really, really love that.